Today has been a day of extremes. I began the day in Durham, NH where it was sunny and hot, and I was glad to spend an hour in the air-conditioned yoga studio where we contemplated our spiritual connection to a higher power. I am ending the day in a torrential thunderstorm in Craftsbury Common, VT, where we just heard a talk in which we were invited to contemplate our spiritual connection to our rural heritage, or to our “place” in the world.
As I drove toward Concord, NH, the temperature on the car thermometer registered 99, which has to have been a record for this date. I was confident that as I drove north, the temperature would drop. Not the case, or at least not by much. It fell to 94 in Littleton, but then, as I crossed the Connecticut River into Vermont, the temperature plummeted to 68, and the Vermont radio station informed me that there was a tornado watch in effect for the entire state. The sky was black and the winds kicked up (the radio said 45 mph gusts) and I wished I did not have the unfamiliar part of the trip ahead of me. With my eye on the sky for funnel clouds, I made my way north on 91, and by a circuitous route to Sterling College in Craftsbury Common, a tiny, picturesque white village hidden in the northeast kingdom of Vermont. If I were Robert Frost, I would no doubt craft a poem about NH and it’s cold relative to the west, and become famous…..
My connection to this place is both rooted and spiritual, and brings me to my next random thought, that these past few days have been filled with connections to several men who are either literally or figuratively dead to me. Today’s connection is to my oldest brother, who died 20 years ago. Even as I write that sentence, I can’t believe that his death was that long ago, as I can still hear his laugh, see his face, and imagine him sitting at the dinner table jiggling his knee, or drumming his fingers on the table, playing a fugue which only he could hear. In any case, here, in Craftsbury, VT, he began his teaching career after his graduation from Dartmouth, and we drove him and his stuff to what seemed to me to be the end of the world, and deposited him, and aforesaid stuff in what looked mostly like a poor excuse for a summer camp. I think he lasted one or maybe 1 ¾ of a year here, being fired for trying to close the school down after he discovered that the headmaster was falsifying the students’ transcripts. Though he was sent packing, the school stayed open only a short time after, though I don’t know if it closed because of Rob’s crusade. I think it was here that he ran into a deer and totaled his VW bug, and then “had” to buy a Porsche, in which he and younger brother Dick drove across the country to spend the summer in California.
Our speaker tonight cautioned against nostalgia, as a romanticization of the past and a substitute for remembering the truth of the past, and I find that it is easy for me to slip into nostalgia as I think about Rob and that time in our lives and in his life. After he left here, he moved to a school in Connecticut, near where I soon landed as a freshman in college, and spent some bizarre weekends with him, perhaps the subject of another blog.
I sat with a woman at dinner who taught for 8 years at White Mt. School, and that precipitated true nostalgia, and thoughts of ex-husband, Bob Whitten and the years we lived at White Mountain. They were, in many ways, the happiest years of our married life, but if I am honest, they were also, for me, some of the unhappiest. For him, I believe they were the happiest, and represented the place he had lived the longest in his entire life and felt the most rooted. He died 8 years ago, and as I prepare to spend 4 days on the WMS campus, actually living in the dorm where we were dorm parents for 2 years, I feel his presence. I wonder how it will affect me while I am there, and I hope, if anything, that it will be a comfortable experience and that it will bring back the happier memories. Will that be nostalgia or truth?
Finally, last night Todd sent me his itinerary for China, and I realized that he would be spending a day or two on the Yangtze River, docking at Yichang. That, I have to admit, made me think of my other ex-husband, whose great uncle spent 3 or 4 winters living in a temple in a small village up the River from what he called I-Chang. I transcribed his wife’s diary, written both from the small village and from the larger town of I-Chang, and always hoped to see and travel the river before the 3 Gorges Dam was built. For 10 years I lived and breathed Walter and Anna Granger, and I can’t say that I would want to re-live that time period, but if anything, I’d like to write to my ex and say “guess what, you turkey, Todd is going to see the very places that Walter and Anna write about in their diaries!” Part of me is smug that a member of my family will be there first.
And so, here I am in the Northeast Kingdom, not far from the birthplace of my grandmother and my mother, and I am thinking about the men who are now lost to me. The thunder, lightning and rain have started again, and tomorrow will bring clearer air, and a brain cleared of these cobwebs from the past, now that I have committed them to paper. (Paper?)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
On Polygamy
Like all issues, the removal of children from the polygamous "Yearning for Zion" group because of alleged abuse is complex and has many sides to it. On the face of it, the anonymous phone call from a 16 year old who was claiming abuse, but who then could not be found, seems to render the whole episode suspicious (who REALLY made the call? Were the police looking to close down the community?) and of questionable origins.
Having said that, I want to say how surprised I am that the courts have upheld the parents and ruled that the children will be returned to them soon. I want to go on record as saying that sooner or later, there will be a case which overturns this one. As I watch the news coverage and see the women in 19th century prairie attire, with identical hairstyles from that same era, I am struck that at the very least, the existence of an apparently sanctioned "cult" in which women can be "kept" as a harem, and stuck in a lifestyle over a hundred years old, is, on its face, abusive. Add to that that young girls who are barely teens are "married" to middle-aged men and forced to bear their children, makes the situation even more abhorrent, and in my opinion, illegal.
I always thought that bigamy was illegal. How is it that polygamy is o.k.? Where is the outrage from all those folks who think that gay marriage will undermine "real marriage?" i.e. one man, one woman.....Where is the outrage from the folks that perceive the oppression of women in Muslim cultures because they are kept behind the veil? In our culture, being kept in a compound, wearing identical dresses and hairstyles of another century, and being one of many wives to the same man, seems to me to be equally or more oppressive.
The reason, finally, that I think this case will be overturned some day, is that it reminds me of the progression of court cases from Plessy v. Ferguson in the 1890s, that determined that "separate but equal facilities" for blacks were constitutional, to Brown v. Board of education in 1954, which ruled that "separate facilities are inherently unequal." I would say that polygamous marriage is inherently abusive. How long will the courts take to come to that same conclusion?
Having said that, I want to say how surprised I am that the courts have upheld the parents and ruled that the children will be returned to them soon. I want to go on record as saying that sooner or later, there will be a case which overturns this one. As I watch the news coverage and see the women in 19th century prairie attire, with identical hairstyles from that same era, I am struck that at the very least, the existence of an apparently sanctioned "cult" in which women can be "kept" as a harem, and stuck in a lifestyle over a hundred years old, is, on its face, abusive. Add to that that young girls who are barely teens are "married" to middle-aged men and forced to bear their children, makes the situation even more abhorrent, and in my opinion, illegal.
I always thought that bigamy was illegal. How is it that polygamy is o.k.? Where is the outrage from all those folks who think that gay marriage will undermine "real marriage?" i.e. one man, one woman.....Where is the outrage from the folks that perceive the oppression of women in Muslim cultures because they are kept behind the veil? In our culture, being kept in a compound, wearing identical dresses and hairstyles of another century, and being one of many wives to the same man, seems to me to be equally or more oppressive.
The reason, finally, that I think this case will be overturned some day, is that it reminds me of the progression of court cases from Plessy v. Ferguson in the 1890s, that determined that "separate but equal facilities" for blacks were constitutional, to Brown v. Board of education in 1954, which ruled that "separate facilities are inherently unequal." I would say that polygamous marriage is inherently abusive. How long will the courts take to come to that same conclusion?
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Call Me Crazy
I just checked my email and had a message from Chelsea Clinton.....I know, I know, so did a million other people.....BUT, I just have to say that I'm beginning to wonder if the Clinton campaign is in La-la land. I have been and continue to be a Hillary supporter. On the other hand, for "Chelsea" to email with an opportunity to vote on my favorite campaign t-shirt makes me just say "What???" Why didn't they think of doing this in January? Are they trying to raise money? Do they think that with 3 primaries to go and lagging in the delegate count that anyone really cares about a t-shirt design?
I'm just dumbfounded. I guess my reaction tells me that even I, a diehard Clinton fan, believe that it's over, or may as well be. Sad, but true.
My other reaction is, "Doesn't the campaign have anything better to do with its time?
Yikes!
I'm just dumbfounded. I guess my reaction tells me that even I, a diehard Clinton fan, believe that it's over, or may as well be. Sad, but true.
My other reaction is, "Doesn't the campaign have anything better to do with its time?
Yikes!
Friday, May 23, 2008
Random Thoughts
Random Thought #1
I wish I had a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish ice cream or coffee heath bar crunch.......I would eat all of it. Instead, I'm reduced to a handful of chocolate chips
RT #2
Spring has been absolutely gorgeous at my house. The tree outside the kitchen door has been full of brilliant pink flowers, and as they fade slowly the petals have blanketed the ground beneath. This tree has been beautiful other years, but I haven't had as much chance to enjoy it, or simply stand at the kitchen door and contemplate it.
Similarly, I have seen more different birds at the feeder this year than ever before. I was actually watching while an indigo bunting, which I've never seen before, stayed at the feeder for 20 minutes or so one morning. A pair of orioles are eating the oranges I have out; some little redpoles (sp) are responsible for cleaning the feeder out every second day; the male cardinal is busy chasing a catbird away from the female. A male and female rose-breasted grosbeak have been at the feeder this week. Several wrens vie for the wren house hanging from the crabapple tree.
RT #3
I've been thinking a lot about my dad this week. First, I thought of him as I tied string (the same string he used to use to tie newspapers together into rolls) in between two stakes at regular intervals so that the peas would have support as they climb. Just the fact that I have vegetables growing this year reminds me of dad and the beautiful gardens he used to tend so faithfully, and the bountiful harvest he always had, and which he shared with others through the Co-op in Laconia.
I thought about him as I hung fencing around the raised bed, carefully pounding in the metal stakes with a hammer that had been his.
I thought how I should write down the date I planted the peas, chard, lettuce and onions and how I should have kept track of how long it took for each to come up. I thought about recording the amount of rain when it fell so I would know when I need to water. Then I thought of all his painstakingly kept records we had thrown out, and thought, what is the point of such record-keeping, as eventually, it will all be thrown out.
I thought how many years dad stacked wood in exact 4 x 4 x 8 rectangles as I moved all my outside wood into the basement into a somewhat less than perfect stack and wondered what fraction of a cord I had. I made a mental plan as to how I would stack the ultra-dry wood I'm going to get from the Geeslins back toward the house under the deck, while putting the newly cut wood from the three choke cherry trees under the outer edge of the deck. I started a stack of the smallest pieces of the choke cherry branches and covered them with corrugated plastic, to keep the rain off, just like dad did.
It's hard to work outside and not think of dad. I wonder how long I'll be able to maintain the lawn and gardens and will I, like dad, find it impossible to hire people to do the work I've always done.
RT#4
I've pondered the fact that at the same time I am marveling over the beauty of Mother Nature, people have died by the thousand in the cyclone in Burma and the earthquake in China. How can the world be so serene here and so dangerous and deadly over there? When Senator Kennedy was discovered to have a malignant brain tumor, I felt that we had experienced our own form of Mother Nature's negativity - a tsunami of grief for the family that has experienced so much already.
RT#4
I returned to the classroom this week to teach two Peace Studies classes and found the kids to be engaged participants, eager to think about how they can become "peace activists." That same night, I had dinner at a friend's house and had a chance to meeet two extraordinary activists - one who works for Non-Violent Peace Force, a group who goes into countries where there is violence and stands beside the victims of the violence hoping to protect them from their aggressors - the theory being that it is harder to bomb a house in which Americans are staying; the other is on her way to Nairobi where she will be running a training program for 15 teams of African women to learn how to build a water filtration system and use a small solar cooker to pasteurize their water. I am privileged to have the chance to meet people like these who are devoting their lives to others.
I wish I had a pint of Ben & Jerry's Phish ice cream or coffee heath bar crunch.......I would eat all of it. Instead, I'm reduced to a handful of chocolate chips
RT #2
Spring has been absolutely gorgeous at my house. The tree outside the kitchen door has been full of brilliant pink flowers, and as they fade slowly the petals have blanketed the ground beneath. This tree has been beautiful other years, but I haven't had as much chance to enjoy it, or simply stand at the kitchen door and contemplate it.
Similarly, I have seen more different birds at the feeder this year than ever before. I was actually watching while an indigo bunting, which I've never seen before, stayed at the feeder for 20 minutes or so one morning. A pair of orioles are eating the oranges I have out; some little redpoles (sp) are responsible for cleaning the feeder out every second day; the male cardinal is busy chasing a catbird away from the female. A male and female rose-breasted grosbeak have been at the feeder this week. Several wrens vie for the wren house hanging from the crabapple tree.
RT #3
I've been thinking a lot about my dad this week. First, I thought of him as I tied string (the same string he used to use to tie newspapers together into rolls) in between two stakes at regular intervals so that the peas would have support as they climb. Just the fact that I have vegetables growing this year reminds me of dad and the beautiful gardens he used to tend so faithfully, and the bountiful harvest he always had, and which he shared with others through the Co-op in Laconia.
I thought about him as I hung fencing around the raised bed, carefully pounding in the metal stakes with a hammer that had been his.
I thought how I should write down the date I planted the peas, chard, lettuce and onions and how I should have kept track of how long it took for each to come up. I thought about recording the amount of rain when it fell so I would know when I need to water. Then I thought of all his painstakingly kept records we had thrown out, and thought, what is the point of such record-keeping, as eventually, it will all be thrown out.
I thought how many years dad stacked wood in exact 4 x 4 x 8 rectangles as I moved all my outside wood into the basement into a somewhat less than perfect stack and wondered what fraction of a cord I had. I made a mental plan as to how I would stack the ultra-dry wood I'm going to get from the Geeslins back toward the house under the deck, while putting the newly cut wood from the three choke cherry trees under the outer edge of the deck. I started a stack of the smallest pieces of the choke cherry branches and covered them with corrugated plastic, to keep the rain off, just like dad did.
It's hard to work outside and not think of dad. I wonder how long I'll be able to maintain the lawn and gardens and will I, like dad, find it impossible to hire people to do the work I've always done.
RT#4
I've pondered the fact that at the same time I am marveling over the beauty of Mother Nature, people have died by the thousand in the cyclone in Burma and the earthquake in China. How can the world be so serene here and so dangerous and deadly over there? When Senator Kennedy was discovered to have a malignant brain tumor, I felt that we had experienced our own form of Mother Nature's negativity - a tsunami of grief for the family that has experienced so much already.
RT#4
I returned to the classroom this week to teach two Peace Studies classes and found the kids to be engaged participants, eager to think about how they can become "peace activists." That same night, I had dinner at a friend's house and had a chance to meeet two extraordinary activists - one who works for Non-Violent Peace Force, a group who goes into countries where there is violence and stands beside the victims of the violence hoping to protect them from their aggressors - the theory being that it is harder to bomb a house in which Americans are staying; the other is on her way to Nairobi where she will be running a training program for 15 teams of African women to learn how to build a water filtration system and use a small solar cooker to pasteurize their water. I am privileged to have the chance to meet people like these who are devoting their lives to others.
Monday, May 12, 2008
What did you do today?
Having an accomplishful day has always been important in my birth family. Now that I am "retired" from teaching, I have many days when I don't feel particularly "accomplishful," and on those days, I feel vaguely ill at ease. Lately, I've been trying to figure out what it is that makes me feel like I have made good use of my time and what it is that makes me feel like I've done absolutely nothing of consequence all day.
Take today, for example. Today, I think I accomplished quite a lot. The day got off to a rocky start when I decided to look at my calendar at 8:30, still in my pajamas, to discover that I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 in nearby Dover.......well, that caused me to take the shortest shower I think I've ever taken, and exceed the speed limit in a way that I haven't been doing lately in my miserly attempt to save gas. After such a come-from-behind start to the day, I proceeded to get the car washed, it having been the target of low-flying birds overnight, and then came home and balanced my bank statement the first time I tried.
I tossed in laundry, and hung it out to dry, in spite of the fact that skies were cloudy and i thought it might rain. While I was outside, I emptied out last year's pots of chrysanthemums and made 3 neat stacks of empty pots under the screen porch, dumped a trashcan full of leaves I had raked a few days ago and rearranged wheelbarrows and garden carts so that I could wheel the lawnmower out and plug in the battery so that I can use the key starter. Before I had lunch, I did 45 minutes or so of raking and cutting back bushes along the back side of the stream that flows through the yard.
When I went inside for lunch, I already felt accomplishful. I read two essays while I ate lunch, then retired to the computer where I sent out multiple emails to try to recruit more people for my summer institute. When I tired of doing that, I worked on a spreadsheet of names and addresses of people who have come to our events this year. At close to 4 o'clock, I remembered to call mly mother, and then I headed back outside to reward myself with some more raking and clean-up of the back lawn. I cultivated between the rows of vegetables coming up in one raised bed and continued my raking of endless willow branches until after 5. I resisted the desire to try to start the lawnmower and do some mowing, knowing that the battery is supposed to charge for 24 hours.
So.....here I sit, feeling good about my day, and watching Dancing With the Stars, and I feel very accomplishful. Since I have to deal with this darn Puritan/Calvinist work ethic, I think I should reflect on what it is that makes today accomplishful. I realize that devoting a chunk of time to something seems to be important. Some days I try to do too many different things. Today I really focused on lawn work, because I thought it was going to rain, and once the back gets soggy, it will be days before I can walk back there. So.....not only did I spend a lot of time out there, the type of work left visible results, and that seems to be important to me as well. I attribute my desire to actually be able to see results to the 33 years of teaching and having mostly intangible results. The work I did on the project was good today as well, but emails are very intangible. I did what I did to reduce the amount of time I will lie awake thinking about what else i can do to try to beat people out of the bushes. Only one person actually answered an email today, but I think I'm closing in on doing all that I can, and then it's out of my hands.
At some point, maybe I'll be able to just do anything with my day and not obsess about needing to accomplish anything. For now, that seems to be a ways away. It's about a lifetime of "doing" and only a short exposure to just "being."
Take today, for example. Today, I think I accomplished quite a lot. The day got off to a rocky start when I decided to look at my calendar at 8:30, still in my pajamas, to discover that I had a dentist appointment at 9:00 in nearby Dover.......well, that caused me to take the shortest shower I think I've ever taken, and exceed the speed limit in a way that I haven't been doing lately in my miserly attempt to save gas. After such a come-from-behind start to the day, I proceeded to get the car washed, it having been the target of low-flying birds overnight, and then came home and balanced my bank statement the first time I tried.
I tossed in laundry, and hung it out to dry, in spite of the fact that skies were cloudy and i thought it might rain. While I was outside, I emptied out last year's pots of chrysanthemums and made 3 neat stacks of empty pots under the screen porch, dumped a trashcan full of leaves I had raked a few days ago and rearranged wheelbarrows and garden carts so that I could wheel the lawnmower out and plug in the battery so that I can use the key starter. Before I had lunch, I did 45 minutes or so of raking and cutting back bushes along the back side of the stream that flows through the yard.
When I went inside for lunch, I already felt accomplishful. I read two essays while I ate lunch, then retired to the computer where I sent out multiple emails to try to recruit more people for my summer institute. When I tired of doing that, I worked on a spreadsheet of names and addresses of people who have come to our events this year. At close to 4 o'clock, I remembered to call mly mother, and then I headed back outside to reward myself with some more raking and clean-up of the back lawn. I cultivated between the rows of vegetables coming up in one raised bed and continued my raking of endless willow branches until after 5. I resisted the desire to try to start the lawnmower and do some mowing, knowing that the battery is supposed to charge for 24 hours.
So.....here I sit, feeling good about my day, and watching Dancing With the Stars, and I feel very accomplishful. Since I have to deal with this darn Puritan/Calvinist work ethic, I think I should reflect on what it is that makes today accomplishful. I realize that devoting a chunk of time to something seems to be important. Some days I try to do too many different things. Today I really focused on lawn work, because I thought it was going to rain, and once the back gets soggy, it will be days before I can walk back there. So.....not only did I spend a lot of time out there, the type of work left visible results, and that seems to be important to me as well. I attribute my desire to actually be able to see results to the 33 years of teaching and having mostly intangible results. The work I did on the project was good today as well, but emails are very intangible. I did what I did to reduce the amount of time I will lie awake thinking about what else i can do to try to beat people out of the bushes. Only one person actually answered an email today, but I think I'm closing in on doing all that I can, and then it's out of my hands.
At some point, maybe I'll be able to just do anything with my day and not obsess about needing to accomplish anything. For now, that seems to be a ways away. It's about a lifetime of "doing" and only a short exposure to just "being."
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Elimination of Unwanted Daughters.....say what?
Once again I find myself taking issue with Jeff Jacoby, my least favorite columnist in the shrinking stable of Boston Globe op ed writers. On Sunday, 4/6, Jacoby writes about a recent study which reveals that Asian-Americans, and Indian-Americans having multiple births, show a marked bias towards boys in second and third births where the first, or first and second births have been girls. The study concludes that in these populations, sex selection is occurring in greater numbers of pregnancies.
Jacoby uses this study to launch a rant against abortion and the “theology of ‘choice’ which elevates the right to abortion above all other considerations.” Jacoby seems to accept (reluctantly) that these practices go on in developing nations, where having boys is obviously a “rational” preference as a consequence of cultural traditions. It’s all right as long as the practice stays where it belongs, in far away China or India. It is not all right in the U.S. of A., where we should know better.
I would like to inform Mr. Jacoby, that the idea of sex selection in this country is not exactly a new one. Old wives tales abound about how one can conceive a boy instead of a girl or vice versa. Thermometers and daily temperature charts used to be the available technology, combined with the timing of intercourse. Did it work? Maybe sometimes. Now, there are ever more accurate and earlier means for determining the gender of the fetus, and hence, earlier opportunities to abort and try again.
As one who subscribes to the idea of a woman’s choice as a guiding principle in the decision to abort, I can’t say that I think aborting a female fetus because you want to have a male child is what I personally would choose. I can, however, see how someone from a culture which has valued boys above girls might want to make that choice. She (and her partner) will have to live with whatever guilt that decision may provoke. Mr. Jacoby thinks there should be a law against such abortions. He is of the ilk who would ban all abortions, and this is yet another way that the pro-life movement can erode the current law of the land, which gives the pregnant mother the right to choose an abortion.
If abortion for sex selection became illegal, then every decision to abort would have to go through the scrutiny of the law to make sure sex selection was not the reason. Currently, women do not have to give a reason as to why they want to abort. And that is because it is no one’s business but theirs.
I think Mr. Jacoby misses the point of what the real issue is, in his effort to use this study to buttress arguments against abortion. The real point is two-fold. First, we have in this instance yet another example of our technology outstripping our ethical understanding and second, we have the dominant culture in this country casting stones at the sub-dominant cultures whose traditions we dislike.
Potential solutions to the use of genetic testing, ultrasound and blood-testing to determine the sex of a fetus, might be to place a moratorium on those tests while ethicists and ordinary people discuss what is morally right and what is morally wrong. Consider also, a discussion with persons of other cultural backgrounds as to why they feel the need or the desire to perpetuate a particular cultural tradition, and just what the tradition means to them. A question which could be taken up in conversations around the country might be “Why are male children more valued than female children?” It is not unusual to hear of families “trying one more time to have a child of the opposite gender, even in our alleged superior, first world culture.
Jacoby ends his column by saying “You don’t have to be a feminist to know that being a girl is not a birth defect, or to be horrified by a practice that lethally reinforces the most benighted forms of sexual discrimination. For what kind of feminist would it be who could contemplate the use of abortion to eliminate ever-greater numbers of girls, and not cry out in horror?” At that conclusion, I want to laugh to hear him on his high horse as if he really supported feminism. In fact, being a girl IS still a birth defect in this culture if you examine women’s wages, the number of women in positions of power, the number of women killed by violent men, etc. And perhaps Mr. Jacoby hasn’t noticed any of the not-so-subtle sexism in the media that Hillary Clinton is trying to overcome in order to become the Presidential nominee of her party.
All I can say is that abortion for sex selection isn’t my cup of tea, but I think it’s way better than the infanticide of girl babies and children previously practiced (and still practiced) in some cultures. Or, say, selling your girl child into slavery or prostitution. So Jeff, I’m not yet prepared to “cry out in horror” at this new phenomenon in our country.
William Saleton wrote in Slate.com, a much more cogent opinion, I thought. To wit:
“Technology can facilitate regression as easily as it facilitates progress. But if you think of yourself as a pro-life conservative, the data should humble you, too. In the populations in which it has increased, sex selection isn't a newfangled perversion. It's a custom, and a patriarchal one at that. If the sex-selection story teaches us all to be a bit more skeptical of both tradition and technology, that'll be real progress.”
Jacoby uses this study to launch a rant against abortion and the “theology of ‘choice’ which elevates the right to abortion above all other considerations.” Jacoby seems to accept (reluctantly) that these practices go on in developing nations, where having boys is obviously a “rational” preference as a consequence of cultural traditions. It’s all right as long as the practice stays where it belongs, in far away China or India. It is not all right in the U.S. of A., where we should know better.
I would like to inform Mr. Jacoby, that the idea of sex selection in this country is not exactly a new one. Old wives tales abound about how one can conceive a boy instead of a girl or vice versa. Thermometers and daily temperature charts used to be the available technology, combined with the timing of intercourse. Did it work? Maybe sometimes. Now, there are ever more accurate and earlier means for determining the gender of the fetus, and hence, earlier opportunities to abort and try again.
As one who subscribes to the idea of a woman’s choice as a guiding principle in the decision to abort, I can’t say that I think aborting a female fetus because you want to have a male child is what I personally would choose. I can, however, see how someone from a culture which has valued boys above girls might want to make that choice. She (and her partner) will have to live with whatever guilt that decision may provoke. Mr. Jacoby thinks there should be a law against such abortions. He is of the ilk who would ban all abortions, and this is yet another way that the pro-life movement can erode the current law of the land, which gives the pregnant mother the right to choose an abortion.
If abortion for sex selection became illegal, then every decision to abort would have to go through the scrutiny of the law to make sure sex selection was not the reason. Currently, women do not have to give a reason as to why they want to abort. And that is because it is no one’s business but theirs.
I think Mr. Jacoby misses the point of what the real issue is, in his effort to use this study to buttress arguments against abortion. The real point is two-fold. First, we have in this instance yet another example of our technology outstripping our ethical understanding and second, we have the dominant culture in this country casting stones at the sub-dominant cultures whose traditions we dislike.
Potential solutions to the use of genetic testing, ultrasound and blood-testing to determine the sex of a fetus, might be to place a moratorium on those tests while ethicists and ordinary people discuss what is morally right and what is morally wrong. Consider also, a discussion with persons of other cultural backgrounds as to why they feel the need or the desire to perpetuate a particular cultural tradition, and just what the tradition means to them. A question which could be taken up in conversations around the country might be “Why are male children more valued than female children?” It is not unusual to hear of families “trying one more time to have a child of the opposite gender, even in our alleged superior, first world culture.
Jacoby ends his column by saying “You don’t have to be a feminist to know that being a girl is not a birth defect, or to be horrified by a practice that lethally reinforces the most benighted forms of sexual discrimination. For what kind of feminist would it be who could contemplate the use of abortion to eliminate ever-greater numbers of girls, and not cry out in horror?” At that conclusion, I want to laugh to hear him on his high horse as if he really supported feminism. In fact, being a girl IS still a birth defect in this culture if you examine women’s wages, the number of women in positions of power, the number of women killed by violent men, etc. And perhaps Mr. Jacoby hasn’t noticed any of the not-so-subtle sexism in the media that Hillary Clinton is trying to overcome in order to become the Presidential nominee of her party.
All I can say is that abortion for sex selection isn’t my cup of tea, but I think it’s way better than the infanticide of girl babies and children previously practiced (and still practiced) in some cultures. Or, say, selling your girl child into slavery or prostitution. So Jeff, I’m not yet prepared to “cry out in horror” at this new phenomenon in our country.
William Saleton wrote in Slate.com, a much more cogent opinion, I thought. To wit:
“Technology can facilitate regression as easily as it facilitates progress. But if you think of yourself as a pro-life conservative, the data should humble you, too. In the populations in which it has increased, sex selection isn't a newfangled perversion. It's a custom, and a patriarchal one at that. If the sex-selection story teaches us all to be a bit more skeptical of both tradition and technology, that'll be real progress.”
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Intersecting circles of life and death
Today was a day that had a roundness to it that I appreciate. I spent the morning cutting pieces for the Home of the Brave quilt I have taken responsibility for making to give to a local family whose son was killed in Iraq in January. As I cut, of course I thought about this family, the grief they must be experiencing, and I thought about the war which has now brought grief to thousands of families in this country and in Iraq. A week ago last night I stood in a vigil to draw attention to the 5th year of the war. Last night and this morning, I heard with a sick feeling about the upsurge in violence in Sadr City and in Basra. Another NH soldier was killed 2 days ago, making 41 casualties in our small state.
This afternoon, I took the quilt pieces to the high school, where seven others joined me in sewing blocks. Together, we made ten blocks in an hour and a half. I was glad to see my former colleagues, and I SO appreciated their willingness to help on this project. Some of us had taught the young man who died, or one of his older brothers. All of us knew the family, and some of us had been on the faculty and two had been students when the oldest son died of brain cancer during his senior year. Every year, the mom makes a beautiful quilt and raffles it off to raise money for the memorial scholarship which they established after the death of their oldest son. It seems more than fitting for those of us who have been part of the extended Oyster River family to be making a quilt to express our desire to comfort them at the time of their second horrific loss.
I was most touched by the presence today of one of my close friends from the English Dept. whose brother happens to be currently stationed in Bagdad. She is not a seamstress and had not even the least idea of how to pin fabric together, but she became our seam presser, and made an important contribution to the ease with which we were able to complete so many blocks. When I thanked her for coming, she said "I have a ton of work to do, but I just thought.....if something happens to my brother, I hope someone will make a quilt for my mom." I was struck by how differently she was perceiving this afternoon's activity from all the rest of us, and just how much fear and anxiety she holds in her heart every day for her brother who is directly in death's path with every day that he remains in Bagdad.
On my way out of the building, a former student, now a sophomore was standing in the entry area, and greeted me warmly. "Hi Ms. Morgan," she said. "Hi," I said, "How are you?" "I'm doing great," she said. "I was just talking about you to one of the interns today," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yeah," she said. "I was telling her that you were someone who knew how to tame a ninth grade class." "Well, I tried," I said, turning and smiling at her as I walked out into the parking lot. I wish I had said, "Yes, but I hope 'tamed' was not synonymous with 'squashed."" Her name was Gabby, and she was. Gabby, that is. Fortunately, she was also very smart, and had always done her reading and preparation for class. I appreciated her, at the same time that I had to constantly sit on her. So to speak.
Arriving back at home, I spent a few minutes re-planting my "Support the Troops, End the war in Iraq" sign in the stump in front of the house. All the wind and weather this winter had partially uprooted it. I will be very happy when I no longer need to have this sign out front, when the Home of the Brave quilt project can come to an end, and when we have a leader in the White House who will not risk the lives of our young people so needlessly.
On television tonight, I flipped channels and saw a rebroadcast of an interview project we carried out in American Studies called the Power of One. My dear friend Emma was the teacher/environmentalist being interviewed by two of the smartest and nicest students I have ever worked with. I had never seen their entire tape, and it was a joy to watch and to think back on the whole project which was designed to encourage kids to realize the difference that one person can make through the way he or she lives his or her life. It's a lesson for me to remember as well, when I become discouraged about the large events in the world over which I have no control.
Today, I felt the threads of my life weave together in an interesting way, through my life as a teacher, a friend, a quilter, an organizer, a political activist . . . . . a tamer of ninth graders.
This afternoon, I took the quilt pieces to the high school, where seven others joined me in sewing blocks. Together, we made ten blocks in an hour and a half. I was glad to see my former colleagues, and I SO appreciated their willingness to help on this project. Some of us had taught the young man who died, or one of his older brothers. All of us knew the family, and some of us had been on the faculty and two had been students when the oldest son died of brain cancer during his senior year. Every year, the mom makes a beautiful quilt and raffles it off to raise money for the memorial scholarship which they established after the death of their oldest son. It seems more than fitting for those of us who have been part of the extended Oyster River family to be making a quilt to express our desire to comfort them at the time of their second horrific loss.
I was most touched by the presence today of one of my close friends from the English Dept. whose brother happens to be currently stationed in Bagdad. She is not a seamstress and had not even the least idea of how to pin fabric together, but she became our seam presser, and made an important contribution to the ease with which we were able to complete so many blocks. When I thanked her for coming, she said "I have a ton of work to do, but I just thought.....if something happens to my brother, I hope someone will make a quilt for my mom." I was struck by how differently she was perceiving this afternoon's activity from all the rest of us, and just how much fear and anxiety she holds in her heart every day for her brother who is directly in death's path with every day that he remains in Bagdad.
On my way out of the building, a former student, now a sophomore was standing in the entry area, and greeted me warmly. "Hi Ms. Morgan," she said. "Hi," I said, "How are you?" "I'm doing great," she said. "I was just talking about you to one of the interns today," she said. "Oh?" I said. "Yeah," she said. "I was telling her that you were someone who knew how to tame a ninth grade class." "Well, I tried," I said, turning and smiling at her as I walked out into the parking lot. I wish I had said, "Yes, but I hope 'tamed' was not synonymous with 'squashed."" Her name was Gabby, and she was. Gabby, that is. Fortunately, she was also very smart, and had always done her reading and preparation for class. I appreciated her, at the same time that I had to constantly sit on her. So to speak.
Arriving back at home, I spent a few minutes re-planting my "Support the Troops, End the war in Iraq" sign in the stump in front of the house. All the wind and weather this winter had partially uprooted it. I will be very happy when I no longer need to have this sign out front, when the Home of the Brave quilt project can come to an end, and when we have a leader in the White House who will not risk the lives of our young people so needlessly.
On television tonight, I flipped channels and saw a rebroadcast of an interview project we carried out in American Studies called the Power of One. My dear friend Emma was the teacher/environmentalist being interviewed by two of the smartest and nicest students I have ever worked with. I had never seen their entire tape, and it was a joy to watch and to think back on the whole project which was designed to encourage kids to realize the difference that one person can make through the way he or she lives his or her life. It's a lesson for me to remember as well, when I become discouraged about the large events in the world over which I have no control.
Today, I felt the threads of my life weave together in an interesting way, through my life as a teacher, a friend, a quilter, an organizer, a political activist . . . . . a tamer of ninth graders.
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