Refusing to Be Responsible

When I was a kid, my parents always stressed the importance of telling the truth, and not making excuses if I did something wrong. I'd be surprised if your parents didn't teach you the same thing. For example, if you didn't do your homework, don't lie and say the dog ate it (or these days, that the computer crashed and erased it). Be honest and admit you messed up; and be prepared to accept the consequences of your actions.

What brought this to mind was some recent news stories which involved people who did something far worse than failing to do their homework; yet their reaction was to blame someone else rather than taking any responsibility for their part in what went wrong. In one story, an ugly brawl broke out after a college football game between rivals Michigan and Michigan State, a game that Michigan won 29-7. Things evidently got out of hand as the game was ending, when angry words were exchanged between some players. The situation escalated as the teams went into the tunnel at the stadium, on the way to their respective locker rooms. By some accounts, a group of players from Michigan State attacked a player from Michigan, kicking and punching him. An investigation into who did what, who started it, and why, is still ongoing. But preliminary reports seemed to devolve into various people blaming everything from crowding in the tunnel to trash talk between players. Meanwhile, four Michigan State players have been suspended, as both coaches called the behavior "unacceptable," and lamented the "poor sportsmanship." But why did it happen? Teams lose games. Teams have bad days. So, why did some players think that brawling with the other team was a useful way to act?   

And then there was the brutal assault on Paul Pelosi, husband of Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi. The guy who did it had become a follower of the QAnon conspiracy theory; and having heard repeatedly online and in conservative media that Nancy Pelosi was to blame for the problems in society today, he planned to kidnap the Speaker (she wasn't there-- she was in Washington DC), and "hold her accountable." He planned to demand that she "tell the truth," and break her kneecaps as punishment if she lied about the terrible things he believed Democrats had done. We know this because we have his own statements to police. And yet, a number of Republican politicians, and even some famous people like Elon Musk, either rationalized what happened, or spread an outrageously false story that Mr. Pelosi was actually at a gay bar and had a quarrel with his attacker, whom he knew. (He did not know the man, and he was asleep at home, as witnesses to the attack attested. But that didn't stop the rumors.)  One Republican governor, when asked about political violence in America today, blamed it on Black Lives Matter. But however you feel about Nancy Pelosi, there is no excuse for someone breaking into her home and beating up her husband. Sad to say, some politicians could not bring themselves to say that political rhetoric has gotten out of hand, nor could they acknowledge their side's part without reminding everyone that the other side is just as bad.

But as my mother used to say, "two wrongs don't make a right." Whether some trash-talking football player egged you into a fight, or whether you sincerely despise your political opponent's policies, when did violence become an acceptable response? When did blaming "them" become the best way to handle a problem? And when did finding the right excuse replace admitting you were wrong? When I was caught lying about my homework, my parents were not amused. Even though it was not the biggest sin in the world, they didn't want me to think that lying and making excuses was okay. They wanted me to be ethical, or to at least understand the importance of ethics. That was then. Now, we seem to be in a historical moment when whatever happens, too many folks (especially celebrities and politicians) seem to think that saying "it's not my fault" is enough. 

But it's not. Leaving things unresolved and putting the blame on someone else sets a terrible precedent. I don't miss the "good old days," and I don't expect a return to "how things used to be." But I do miss the era when folks took responsibility for their actions, and I'd like to see that attitude make a comeback.  It starts with something simple: telling the truth and acknowledging when we do something wrong, as well as striving not to make that mistake in the future-- whether it's about a little thing like not doing the homework or a big thing like allowing our emotions to get out of control. My parents taught me that honesty matters, and I want to believe it still does. But it saddens me that some people seem to think getting away with lying matters more.

Left to Our Own Devices

When I was planning out my upcoming blog post early in the week, I had no intention of blogging about computers or smartphones or anything related to technology. And then, mid-week, as I was getting ready to go to work, I logged onto my computer to look at my class-notes, as I have done hundreds of times, but this time, I found... nothing. In fact, my documents weren't where they had always been-- where they had been just a few hours ago, in fact. So, I tried to get into my email program, but once again... nothing. In fact, the program didn't recognize me at all. It said I had no account and needed to create one.

The computer itself was working-- I could get onto the internet and search for a website with no problem, although my bookmarked sites were gone too, and so were my various saved passwords. Losing all those passwords was unexpected. (Yes, I had written them down, to be on the safe side, because who can remember all of them? I've got a good memory but I've also got a lot of different passwords!!!) Meanwhile, far worse than the sudden annoyance of having to log into every site I normally went to was the fact that all of the work I had stored on my desktop for years was no longer there, and I didn't know why.

Evidently, there had been some kind of major crash (I had no idea what caused it, or when it happened), but nothing was where it had been before. I could still access some things from my phone or my tablet, but the majority of my work, and all of my research, was stored on my desktop computer, and something was wrong with it. Terribly wrong. I have a program that backs up all of my files, but there were a lot of them and I needed some of those files before I went to work. That wasn't going to happen.

It's amazing the things you take for granted. I grew up in the era before the internet and computers, and I was a late adopter-- I didn't get onto social media till 2008-2009, and frankly, to this day, I'd rather talk to folks in person or chat by phone rather than email or text messaging. But I understand that the world has changed, and it's in my best interest to access the online world. Plus it has some very real benefits: I've found so many wonderful old magazines and newspapers have been digitized, making my research as a media historian much easier. And thanks to Zoom, I can chat with people from all over the world, in real time. As someone who grew up in an era when doing such things only took place in science fiction, it's great to be able to actually do them now.

Until it's impossible. Until the stuff you got accustomed to accessing with the touch of a button suddenly vanishes. That is really disconcerting, especially when you're not sure whether it can all be found again. (I have some files that go back to my very first year online-- 1996.) Believe me, I understand that a computer crash is not the biggest problem in the world, and people are going through far worse things. But at the time, all I could think of was what would I do if I had no access to nearly thirty years worth of correspondence, syllabi, articles, research, rare photos, and more. Fortunately for me, my husband repairs computers for a living, but even with his expertise, it still took several days to find and/or recover what went missing. As for what caused the crash, that's still uncertain (my husband thinks an automatic update went wrong, but who knows?). 

And now, as things are (sort of) back to normal, I'm struck by how dependent on the internet and social media I've become. It's something I didn't want to admit: after all, I tried my best to resist it for as long as I could. Perhaps something like this has happened to you, and if it has, I wonder if you too felt as frustrated and helpless as I did-- confronting the necessity of doing without something you didn't realize mattered so much... until it was no longer there.

Hard for Me to Say I'm Sorry

As I write this, Jews all over the world are approaching the end of the Ten Days of Repentance, the period of time between Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year) and Yom Kippur (The Day of Atonement). While most people associate New Year with parties and making resolutions (the majority of which are seldom kept), Jewish New Year is a bit more serious. Yes, we have a festive meal, along with apples and honey, representing the wish for a sweet new year; but then, we enter a time of reflection, when we look back on what we accomplished, but also look back at where we missed the mark, where we failed to do the right thing, where we did not live up to the ideals we claim to have.

According to tradition, during the Ten Days of Repentance, we should sincerely apologize to those we have wronged. Whether the wrong was intentional or accidental, it's still an opportunity for us to reestablish communication with those who did not see us at our best. We've all treated others unfairly or taken out our mood on someone who didn't deserve it.  But even when, deep down, we know we were in the wrong, we often don't make amends. Instead, we blame the other person. Or we stop talking to them (or avoid them)-- anything rather than admitting that maybe we could have handled things better. And that's how relationships that could still be repaired never get fixed. 

If I'm being honest about myself, a lot of folks did not see me at my best this past year. Maybe it's the remnants of the pandemic (a lot of us lived on Zoom for a year and a half, and we lost many of our social skills); or maybe it's stress from various things in my life, like my husband's illness (he's better now, but things were kind of scary for a while). But the fact remains: I don't believe I was my usual friendly self much of the time. Instead, I often felt tense, or awkward, or impatient.  And I know for a fact that sometimes I took it out on people I care about. 

I regret it. I wish I had handled this past year much better than I did. And all I can do is say I'm sorry and promise to try to do better in the year ahead. But sometimes, saying that doesn't seem nearly enough. I guess in many ways, I'm my own harshest critic and I have a difficult time feeling like I deserve another chance. But during the Ten Days of Repentance, being self-critical isn't the goal. This period of time is an opportunity to ask forgiveness from others (as well as from God)...and to be willing to make a new start. Too many of us are so focused on our mistakes that we miss the chance to start again.   

And so, I hope those of you I've wronged will accept my apology. In a world where there is often far too much anger and too many people holding grudges, we can all use an opportunity to forgive-- and to be forgiven. And that is my wish for you who are reading my blog, whether you are Jewish or not: I hope that the New Year will bring more kindness, more patience, and above all, more forgiveness-- for me, for you, and for all of us.

Making Time for Compassion

I've been thinking a lot about religion these past few days-- and not just because the Jewish New Year will be here soon. What made me think about it is a news story many of you have heard about-- how Florida's Republican governor, Ron DeSantis, shipped a planeload of "illegals," most from Venezuela and Columbia, up to Massachusetts. He claimed he was doing it because Joe Biden has an "open borders" policy and it's time for Democrats in "sanctuary cities" to share the burden of all the illegal immigrants pouring across the border. 

(Of course, if this was about punishing Democrats in Blue States, Massachusetts has a Republican governor, but that's evidently beside the point. Also beside the point-- Pres. Biden has never spoken in favor of open borders, and like all previous presidents from both parties, he has struggled to control the flow of desperate people trying to get into the United States. Meanwhile, for years, Congress has been unable to get together on a solution to what everyone acknowledges is our broken immigration system. But I digress.)  

Supporters of Governor DeSantis applauded his action in flying the migrants up to a Blue State. He was praised on conservative talk shows too. Republicans politicians were almost gleeful at the thought of owning the libs by dumping lots of "illegals" on their doorsteps. Similarly, supporters of Texas GOP Governor Greg Abbott applauded when he shipped thousands of migrants up to New York and Chicago and Washington DC, all to score cheap political points, and to energize the Republican base, rather than addressing the root causes of the surge of folks at the border. (And no, it's not because there's a Democrat in office-- Republican presidents have struggled to find an answer too-- ask George W. Bush.)

But here's why I was thinking about religion. Many of the folks who were the most gleeful about seeing the "illegals" get shipped to the Blue States were folks who claim to be religious. They attend church, they quote scripture, and based on what I see on social media, they frequently pass judgment on everything that's wrong in society. And they have no sympathy for "illegals"-- they want them all shipped back to their countries, even the folks fleeing persecution or running from gangs. They seem to share the view that these immigrants don't deserve to claim asylum; they seem to believe that these are criminals who, in the words of a certain former president, are "bringing drugs; they're bringing crime; they're rapists..." 

Agreed, there are bad apples in every bunch. But the hungry and exhausted men and women and children who arrived in Martha's Vineyard, an island community nowhere near the big city of Boston (where the migrants were told they were going), did not seem to be criminals. They seemed to be people in search of a better life. Should they have crossed the border illegally? Probably not. But that is a bigger conversation, and as I said, it's one that politicians have been avoiding for several decades. Meanwhile, here they were, with no warning. By some accounts, Gov. DeSantis even hired a videographer to take photos of the chaos that he seemed to hope would occur upon the plane's arrival. More cheap political points-- but beneficial for his reelection campaign.

No chaos occurred, however. Instead, there was compassion. People of all religions and all backgrounds leaped into action and welcomed the new arrivals. People fed them and sheltered them. People made arrangements for a Catholic mass, and for medical care. Of course it wasn't an ideal situation (contrary to myth, Martha's Vineyard isn't just a playground for the super-rich... there are lots of residents who are far from wealthy). Of course people were concerned about whether they had enough resources to help. But all of that was put aside as everyone focused on doing the right thing.

So, perhaps that's the lesson: sometimes, being religious isn't about finger-pointing at those who are breaking the rules, or being gleeful when your perceived enemy is suffering. Sometimes being religious means showing the same love and understanding you would want God to show you in a time of crisis. I know we need to find a solution to the problems at the border, but I can't believe any God would want to punish people whose crime was seeking a better life; and I can't believe any Scripture would encourage us to hate or mock such people. So, welcome to Massachusetts, whoever you are. I'm sorry you were treated with such disdain in Florida and Texas. And I pray this will be the start of better things for you. And as for the folks who are applauding your struggles, I wonder how much mercy and compassion God will have for them when Judgment Day arrives... 

A Touch of Grey: Some Thoughts on Aging (and Ageism)

There's a commercial for a nutritional drink called Boost in which a woman says, "Age is just a number. And mine's unlisted." Every time I see that commercial, it reminds me how even in 2022, women are taught that they shouldn't discuss their age. In past generations, women were even told to lie about it-- to say they were younger than they actually were. Actresses always did this: evidently, studio moguls didn't want to hire a woman who was "too old."

It was a factor on TV as well-- older men were distinguished. Older women were... invisible. And if you think I'm exaggerating, look at your local or national news: chances are if the person doing the weather is a guy, he's conservatively dressed in a suit and tie; but if it's a woman, she's wearing a sleeveless dress (even if it's winter), and more often than not, the dress is tight enough to show that she has sex appeal (even if she also has a degree in meteorology). Agreed, things have improved a little from a generation ago when guys could be balding and paunchy and still be on TV, while women had to look eternally young and cute if they wanted to get hired. Today, there are a few veteran female reporters and anchors who are older, but very few of them look their chronological age. Nor are they supposed to.

What brought all this to mind was a recent story from Canada, where a widely-respected and very popular CTV news anchor named Lisa LaFlamme was fired. All across Canada, people wondered if her age (she's 58) was one reason. And then, there was her hair. During the pandemic, like many of us, she wasn't able to get to a salon for a good haircut, nor was she able to color her hair. So, she began anchoring the news with grey hair. Somehow, the republic didn't fall. Viewers who liked her before liked her with her natural hair color. But evidently, this was upsetting to some folks in management. Also upsetting: when everyone came back to the office again, she decided to continue wearing her natural grey hair, rather than getting it colored. 

This shouldn't have been controversial, but for some folks, it was. Of course, her managers insisted that wasn't why she was being fired-- it was a business decision, they were taking the newscast in a new direction, etc. etc. But her fans put two and two together and came to the conclusion that she must have violated the unwritten taboo about women on TV not being allowed to look "too old." There's a segment of the viewership (and perhaps even the ownership) that still expect us to be "eye candy," it seems.

In Boston, in the 1980s, veteran news anchor Shelby Scott had something similar happen to her. I was quoted in an article about it in the Boston Globe recently, after she died: folks who remembered her called her an outstanding newswoman, a respected voice in Boston news... but back in the 1980s, when she reached her mid-40s, she was suddenly removed from anchoring in favor of someone much younger. And her male bosses defended the decision, saying it was time for a new direction (which is code for "it's time to hire a younger female"). Interestingly, the only people who defended her were other women who had encountered the same attitudes.

I understand that TV and movies are visual, and whether you're male or female, looking good on camera matters. But who gets to define "looking good"? I have watched lots of guys who are not exactly movie-star handsome, but they are informative and interesting. The same standard should apply to women. Having watched Lisa LaFlamme, and veteran reporters like Judy Woodruff and Christiane Amanpour, I find them personable, and they're comfortable on camera; but more importantly, they write well and they know their stuff. So, they have a few wrinkles. So, Lisa's hair is grey now-- why does any of this matter? Are we still stuck in the belief that women in media are not allowed to age? And if that's where we are, could someone please tell me why?

What Happened in Vinton (and why it matters)

I've never actually been to Vinton, Iowa, but I feel as if I know something about the place-- in fact, back in the late 1990s, I wrote a historical article about a momentous event that happened there: the first radio station ever owned by a woman went on the air in the summer of 1922-- WIAE in Vinton, owned and operated by Marie Zimmerman (and built by her husband, city electrician Bob Zimmerman). Not much was digitized in 1998, so I did my research old-school. I located living relatives and wrote letters to them, I looked through reels of microfilm, I contacted several Iowa newspapers, and I called the Vinton Public Library, where I chatted with the reference librarians. The folks at the library were very kind, and very helpful. They were also very interested in my research. Marie Zimmerman was one of the many forgotten women in the history of radio, and since she was from Vinton, the library was eager to see a copy of the article I was writing. Later, they even posted it on their website.

Fast forward to the spring of 2022, and all across the country, a well-organized group of conservative parents has been demanding that certain books be removed from libraries-- not restricted, but removed entirely. In some cities, these folks have demanded that specific books, those that allegedly have a "liberal agenda," be taken off the shelves:  books about Joe Biden or Barack Obama or even Martin Luther King, books about combating racism, books about LGBTQ issues, and books about sex education. When librarians did not comply, some folks simply checked those books out and then refused to return them. 

But at other libraries, the staff found themselves barraged with hateful phone calls, threats (including death threats), and online abuse; they were accused of hating America, of promoting pornography, of indoctrinating children, etc. etc. Some staff members, including several library directors, got so intimidated by the relentless abuse that they resigned. And some libraries even closed-- perhaps that was the goal all along.

I wish I were making this up, and I am sure some of you may think I'm exaggerating. I'm not. In city after city, this same thing has been happening, which is why I'm firmly convinced that this is all part of an organized effort to control what is in libraries, and keep certain ideas away from the folks who might benefit from learning about them.  

Much to my disappointment, one of the communities where the campaign of threats and intimidation occurred was Vinton, Iowa. As one publication reported several weeks ago, "The [Vinton Public Library] went on a temporary hiatus after a series of heated public board meetings, where angry community members blasted the library for its LGTBQ children’s literature and kids’ books by first lady Jill Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris." Community members also demanded that gay staff members (or those who "seemed" gay) be fired; and since the community was predominantly Christian, they insisted that the library must carry more Christian books.

Don't get me wrong-- I'm fine about libraries carrying Christian books, or Jewish or Hindu or whatever else (including books by atheists). I'm also fine with parents wanting only age-appropriate content for children to read. But I am not fine with censorship. I am not fine with parents saying a library cannot carry books about people whose religion is different from theirs, or whose politics they disagree with. Nor am I fine with saying that someone who might be gay should be fired, or that books about gay people be removed. And above all, I am absolutely not fine with angry and hateful phone calls or online smears directed at hardworking librarians. So, the Vinton Public Library was forced to close, depriving kids, and parents, of books and computers and quiet spaces to study-- how is that a good outcome?

But this is where we are. There are some folks who believe they have a right to scream at librarians or force libraries to shut their doors, or try to get certain books banned. Of course, the effort to ban books isn't new, and both sides have done it over the years; it has also occurred in countries all over the world, and it usually does not end well.  Censoring books, or censoring ideas-- even ideas that are controversial-- that's a slippery slope. When I was growing up, I am sure my parents didn't want our local library to carry certain books, but I can't imagine my parents, or anyone from that era, screaming at librarians or trying to close libraries down. As someone posted on the Vinton Library website, "If you have a closed mind, you get a closed library." And that seems to be exactly what we are getting these days. 

To Boldly Go Where No-One Has Gone Before

I was still a teenager when the original "Star Trek" made its debut in 1966. It was on NBC, and although I watched some of the episodes, I admit that I wasn't a big fan of the show. To be honest, I much preferred "Star Trek--The Next Generation," which debuted almost twenty years later. But there was something I did like about the original "Star Trek"-- it had what we today would call a multicultural cast.  I also liked the fact that the cast members were not all stuck in stereotypical roles. In many TV shows of the 50s and 60s, minority characters were either depicted as not very smart or unable to speak good English.  And women were still either secretaries or housewives; and especially in comedies, they were frequently depicted as somewhat scatterbrained.

But "Star Trek" was unique for its time. Yes, the main character was a white male (Captain Kirk), but the crew of the Enterprise included a Vulcan, a Russian, an Asian, a Scot, and a Black woman. And it was the Black woman who was unlike any other characters on TV in the mid-60s. Her character's name was Lieutenant Uhura, and the woman playing her was Nichelle Nichols. She was born Grace Dell Nichols, and most viewers were probably unaware of the fact that she was a talented singer, stage actress, and model. But I'm sure they noticed that on "Star Trek," she was not anyone's servant (one of the few roles given to Black actors and actresses). Nor was her character written in a patronizing way. Rather, Uhura was the ship's communications officer, someone well-versed in science, who was also capable of taking control of the helm when needed. 

Perhaps she was not aware how much her presence meant to young Black viewers-- Whoopi Goldberg recalls watching her and being delighted to see a Black character in an important role. And Dr. Martin Luther King was aware of Nichelle Nichols too-- when she wanted to leave the series for a role in a Broadway play, Dr. King personally encouraged her to stay with "Star Trek," because, he said, it was so important for Black kids to learn that they could be anything in life-- even someone on a star ship, or a doctor, a professor, anything. And so, she continued on as Lieutenant Uhura.

Of course, not everyone was happy she was there: America was still in the midst of the Civil Rights Movement, and some southern affiliates of NBC were uncomfortable with any show that had an interracial cast; one scene from 1968 evoked some controversy, when the plot called for her and Captain Kirk to share a brief kiss. But for the most part, her role was well-received, and greatly appreciated. It even led to her doing some work for NASA, helping to recruit Black and female employees, some of whom became astronauts. She also appeared in other film and TV roles over the next several decades.

Nichelle Nichols died on July 30, 2022, at age 89. Agreed, she wasn't a real science officer nor an astronaut, but her presence in the cast of "Star Trek" did what Dr. King hoped-- it created new possibilities. At the beginning of the original show, it talked about how the voyages of the Enterprise were about seeking out new worlds: to "boldly go where no man has gone before." I prefer the revised version from "The Next Generation"-- to boldly go where no-one has gone before. The way I see it, having a dream, creating a possibility, embarking on your life's latest adventure...this is something anyone can do. For many years, women and people of color were told those dreams and possibilities didn't apply to them. Today, they do, and characters like Lieutenant Uhura paved the way. Rest in peace, Nichelle. And thank you.