First Grade Feminism

Today was the 1^st Grade Poetry Celebration.  Each student read an original poem at a microphone in front of a crowd of adoring parents.  At the end of each piece, applause was given and one compliment was taken from the audience.  The poems ranged in length, subject, and ability.  Miss Thing read an original work about Mt. Lassen, her favorite place.  It’s brevity driven more by her lack of study skills (can we really attribute such things to a 6 year old?!) than her knowledge of the location.

Parents dug deep for complements, praising rhyme, subject matter, lyricism, and emotion.  For one particularly nervous young man, whose poem was especially brief, the praise was even for his bravery at repeating the poem twice and slowing down as he had been asked.  But for two girls, the praise was how their poems and their outfits matched.   A young girl who wrote about a botanical garden and appeared in a floral dress and another who penned some lines about bees and honey and wore a striped, bubble skirted dress. 

The dads who gave these complements did not intend to make these girls small.  They did not realize that they bypassed the girls’ work and praised their fashion sense.  The look on one girl’s face told me that her choice of outfit was incidental, rather than intentional. 

Why do we do this?  When stretched to compliment a boy, we choose character.  When stretched for a girl, we choose her looks.  And then we wonder how to get more girls involved in math and science.  We have to stop sending the subtle, but unmistakable signals that our girls are to be valued for their appearance and not their substance.

When you go home to your daughter today, ask her what she excelled in.  Ask her what the most interesting thing was that she did all day.  Assume her excellence and probe for it.  That will send the unmistakable signal that her substance is what matters.

Women in Combat

Secretary Panetta made the official announcement: 230,000 military combat roles will be open to women.  I think this is a tremendous stride.  Since combat operations are necessary for real high-ranking advancement in the military, this will open the door for women to have more meaningful military careers and a voice at a most important table.  Like every other hall of power, I think things will be better - more solid, perhaps - with women's perspectives and leadership.

I don't think this is going to make war softer or less aggressive.  Sure, my best, idealistic self would love to say that we will see an end to war, it is simply not the case.  We will always find reasons to fight, are driven to conflict.  This is human nature, not a trick of gender.

It has been interesting to watch my male friends grapple with this question.  Some certainly embrace the idea for many of the reasons I find it to be a step forward.  Opportunity for women in the military to advance their careers, achieve parity in rank & pay, all in the service of our country.  For the men I know who don't like the idea - staunch conservatives and wild liberals alike come down to the same arguments.  "What society sends girls to fight and die in war?"  "Women are precious vessels, givers of life."  "Women are physiologically different than men and simply can't do the same tasks."  "How pregnant/post partum does a woman have to be before she is pulled from/put back on the line?"  "I just don't like it."

No one is suggesting that we change the physical requirements for entering into combat duty.  With 230,000 combat roles, not all will require the same physical rigor and again, while men as a whole may be stronger, able to carry 250lbs of a fellow soldier as well as their own gear and weapon, not all men can do this, and some women can.  This is a matter for a test of the individual, not for a broad restriction of women in general.  Combat roles include engineers, intel, sharpshooters,  and yes, special assault forces.  Not all these roles will be open, and all will require the same testing and importantly, training.  For a solid first person account of this as well as an outline of the ways in which women are already serving in combat situations, Slate has a great piece by Kayla Williams.

I think of the other arguments as sentimental.  Not necessarily in a bad way, just sentimental.  It helps that these concerns have been advanced by friends, rather than say - Rush Limbaugh.  The sentiment contains both a sense that women are delicate flowers and need to be protected, and the notion that we as a society are or should be too "civilized" to put women in harm's way.  I confess that I find the "delicate flower" component oddly sweet.  Particularly when it is advanced by those who I know have chosen to live their lives with strong, vibrant women who they fear as much as they worship.  From these men it seems rooted in a sense of gentlemanliness, of chivalrous order.

It's the other side of the sentimental argument that I really have trouble with and that highlights both how war and conflict have changed, and a kind of hypocrisy about how we comport ourselves as a society both at home and abroad.  US women in the military are already dying in combat, even if they are not in "official" combat roles.  And women who are in conflict zones all over the world are in constant danger whether risking rape while getting water on a daily basis, or being caught in the crossfire in an urban invasion, women and children - innocents - die every day all around the world.

But women are also caught in the crossfire here at home.  Violence is still an epidemic in many of our urban centers.  Young men and women, mothers, fathers, children, have to bury their loved ones on a daily basis. There is no hand-wringing about the delicate nature of women in this country who fight every day to keep their children and grandchildren safe.  It is the men AND women who are our first responders who bear the burden of our safety at home.  Women have served in police and fire departments for decades now with pride and valor.  We have answered the call of service to keep our communities safe and achieved much.  Is there really any reason to believe that we will do less in military combat roles?

Rubio vs Castro: What Makes You Latino?

Now that the political theater of the conventions is over, the commentary keeps plowing on from: who got their message out, who motivated their base the most, and, oh so importantly, which party had the best (read: most) Latino representative.

I’ve complained in the past about demographers insisting that the Latino Vote is a monolith.  Insisting that Latinos swear political allegiance to only one party is just a different way to stereotype, as far as I’m concerned.  And recent polling shows Latinos shifting to become independent voters in droves.

My favorite claim in this comes from the right wing insistence that Rubio is “more Latino” than Castro because he is fluent in Spanish.  Funny how the party that insists we wetbacks learn English would tout the retention of language as a key component to being fully Latino.

My Spanish is terrible.  My parents didn’t prize keeping language and any native language acquisition I would have gained died with my maternal grandmother when I was six years old.  I feel like I would have had more opportunity if I had language beyond a 5 year old.  I insist that my daughters learn Spanish because it will make them better people and better citizens.

But lack of language has not made me less of a Latina.  It has not severed my ties from my family or my culture.  I am a bridge from one world to the other with or without Spanish.  Do I think I might be a more effective bridge with language? Yes.  It’s something I question quite a bit.  Something I struggle with personally.  The thing about a bridge is that it’s not on one side or the other – it is by definition in between, a conduit for movement from one side to the other.

Is 20 Years Enough?

I attended my 20 year high school reunion this weekend.  It was crazy and more than a little surreal.  High school is such a strange transitional time.  You move from barely being a teenager to almost being an adult, with none of the self-directed growth you can do in college.  Basically, you are thrown together with a lot of people you probably would never have chosen.  And all together, you must survive four years of education that will shape the rest of your life.

I was a high school misfit.  I think most of us are.  For most people, it is the first chance we have to play at being adults.  We play at relationships and personality traits the same way we play at make-up and hair styles, trying things on for fit.  If you are lucky, you find a group of people who accept you as you are (or as you are pretending to be on that day), and you learn and grow and morph and run away to college.

For me, those people were in theater.  Our drama troupe was called Company and we were largely a group of people who just didn’t fit anywhere else.  I think many Company members walked in several circles and really, isn’t it the nature of drama that we can be chameleons?  I never felt like I had a lot of ability to move around socially when I was in high school, and I wouldn’t say that it was all wine and roses, but I had good friends across many years and I had really hoped to see some of them this weekend.

Nope.  Most of the folks I really liked in high school, those I was closest to, were not at the reunion.  That’s the other thing about arty types, we’re not really joiners.  So, I had a couple of glasses of wine, a couple of surprising conversations, and left with my husband, my oldest friend, and my dignity.

The Wrong Kind of Brown

Followers will know that Deldelp Medina and I have a session submission in to SXSW.

One of the things that SXSW is very clear about is that your session should answer 5 questions that you need to articulate before you can submit.  The five questions we came up with are these:

1. Why isn't our generation of Latinos considered exceptional?
2. How do we become visible in the media landscape without being reduced to the lowest common denominator?
3. How will bi-culturalism replace bi-lingualism for our children; what can we gain and what are we afraid to lose?
4. Are we the wrong kind of brown when it comes to entrepreneurship?
5. Why do we hold onto our cultural baggage: racism, misogyny, & homophobia?

We developed these questions out of our own experiences.  These are conversations that happen in living rooms and bars when smart, thoughtful people get together; but, the conversation isn't happening in a larger forum where it belongs.

This past Monday, a paper was presented from the University of Cincinnati called  "Who "They" Are Matters: Researchers Assess Immigrant Stereotypes And Views On Immigration".  Turns out, sociologists have done some research on the topic and indeed, we ARE the wrong kind of brown when it comes to entrepreneurship.  Americans have a decidedly negative view of latinos and feel that we are a drain on the economy, even though we build businesses and contribute more than we take away.  Again, the facts don't matter here, only the Fox news-branded perception.

So what changes these small-minded perceptions?  Clearly not facts.  I think it is personal experience.  Do you know a smart latino?  Maybe you don't think of that person as an immigrant?  I grew up in a middle class suburb.  Do I "act" like a latino?  What would you think about me if you met me on the street?  One of the reasons this study is so compelling is that they purposefully took a group of people from Ohio, a place where the immigrant and latino populations are far below the national average, a place where people could reasonably be expected to NOT have any day to day contact with either a latino or an immigrant.  Guess who shapes those views in the absence of experience?

I have no silver lining today.  I'm just annoyed.  It's one thing to think or feel something.  It's quite another to have it proven to you that people you've never met think that you and your children are worthless.

Help us bring this conversation into the light of day.  Vote for us here, the process is kind of a pain, but we'd be very appreciative!

Welcome Back to Public (Private) School

I went to Catholic school from K-12, so when Miss Thing started at our local public school last year, there were a number of things that didn’t really phase me that seem to give folks a lot of consternation.

First, I don’t really worry about what teacher she is going to get.  There was only ever one class at each grade for me from K-8, so there was no choice.  Maybe I just haven’t been at this school long enough to have opinions about the teachers, but in life, we all have to work with people we like and people we don’t.  Learning to navigate personalities is a part of learning how to be in the world.

Second, was the amount of money we ended up shelling out to supplement the school staffing and curriculum.  This was largely to two entities, our local education foundation and the PTA.  My parents paid a lot of money in tuition for my private education, and then always were required to commit another 40 hours per year in volunteer time. Shelling out close to $1000 to make the education work didn’t really strike me as odd, at first.

Like any parent with the time and resources to do so, I have done my best to be engaged in Miss Thing’s classroom and her school.  I began attending PTA meetings last September to better understand the work this organization does on behalf of our school.  I learned that the PTA and our local educational foundation fund science, technology, music, art, and library time.  The public school my daughter attends is highly functional, but what makes it work is the sheer volume of resources the PTA and the local education foundation are able to pour into these programs and salaries.  Programs that are fundamental to basic education and future entry into the rapidly shifting job market.

We do not acknowledge that California schools that succeed do so because of this kind of private investment.   And what can be incredibly frustrating about the PTA is constantly hearing how glad people are to live in the district and how thrilled teachers are to have such substantial parental involvement, as if this involvement is purely a matter of choice.  But this level of investment is not available to all parents and students, not out of a lack of desire or care, but due to socioeconomic factors that result in a lack of access to the time and capital that must be invested to make a modern public school function in this political and economic climate. 

Our school is a public/private partnership.  Without the substantial private funding that supplements the budget, our school would not work.  While I applaud my school district and parents for making our school work, it is shortsighted to imagine that our society will succeed unless all our children have the same access to high quality public education.  Our society cannot thrive while large populations of students and communities are cast off.  

Education cannot be a policy afterthought, nor should it be allowed to fall into disrepair in order to make it easier to privatize schools.  If our policy makers are serious about securing our economic future, full & free public education should be available to every community.  Not just those who can afford it.

SXSW Really? Yes.

I recently developed a proposal for SXSW with Deldelp Medina, one of the smartest people I know.  If you knew my friends, you would know that this is really saying something.  Our proposal is about the confluence of stereotypes that keeps people like us – Latinos of our generation – out of leadership, power and influence.  You can read more about it at the SXSW panel picker.

Family and friends keep asking why.  Why this, why here, why now.

1. Representation.  My views and perspective, in all their complicated glory, are not out there.  I don’t see or hear anyone like me when I turn on the TV or radio. 
2. Discourse.  My views ARE complicated and complex.  I think this is true for most people in this country and we do ourselves a disservice by buying into the way we play politics from a divisive single-issue perspective. 
3. Leadership.  I have been working my way into leadership in so many aspects of my life and it can be a struggle.  This is one way to take it.  And truthfully, it’s the hardest part because it involves a kind of self-promotion that I struggle with and thought I left behind a long time ago.

So, check out our proposal: From Dot Com-y to Altmamí.  If you like it, vote for us. 

Join our conversation on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/altmamis

You can also follow us on Twitter @smbrowngirl and @deldelp

If you want to hear from Deldelp, check her out http://latinainca.tumblr.com

What Is a Soul?

Sitting down to dinner tonight and the following exchange greeted me:

Miss Thing:  Mommy, is a soul blue?  What is a soul?

The Husband:  I want to hear the answer to this…

Me (taking my time chewing to try to compose something of a satisfactory answer to my 6 year old daughter):  No, I don’t think a soul is blue.  Some people think that a soul is the thing that makes people different from animals.  A soul lets us think, reason, and love.

Miss Thing:  Is that all?

Me:  That’s enough.  A soul is what lets us love.  Without a soul, you wouldn’t be able to love mommy.

Kisses and a quick snuggle and then dinner returned to all its mundane glory.  In the kitchen I asked The Husband what he thought of my answer, and he told me I deserved a philosophy prize…something like The Cracked Nut.

What is a soul?  If my daughter was older, I would tell her it is a spark of divinity.  The eternal within all of us – the thing that is unbreakable, that animates our poor carcasses of flesh for this all too brief sojourn.   As I think about it now, I wonder what is divinity, what can it possibly be BUT love?

Once in a while, mommy gets it right.  Now where is that Cracked Nut award?

Ritual of Love

This week, I went to Children’s Hospital in Oakland to witness my 13 year old god-daughter Ariel’s First Holy Communion. I first wrote about Ari on this blog here, and if you want her complete story, you should see the Caring Bridge site her mom maintains.

Ariel’s story is hers, and not mine, so I will simply say that in her quest to make some sense and gain some understanding of this phase of her life – up against the ravages of an aggressive and deadly disease –she decided it was time to make her First Holy Communion. For those of you non-Catholics, this is the sacrament that defines Catholicism from every other Christian faith. Catholics believe that in the sacrament of the Eucharist, the bread and wine trans-substantiate into the literal body and blood of Jesus Christ. A miracle occurs every time we are together. We invoke our Holy Lord to come and be present with and within us.

So we gathered. Ariel, Crystal-her mother, Beverly-her grandmother, Elena-my mother, and I were met by Sister Bernice who guided us all through a simple and focused ritual that made Ari a closer part of this spiritual community.

Beverly brought Ari a communion veil and small crown of flowers that were made for her own mother. She brought a picture of her mother in 1929 and one of herself, each on the day of their own First Holy Communion. I joked that the veil was still intact and hadn’t spontaneously combusted since it never sat on Crystal’s fiery red head. Beverly told us that she had spent weeks making Crystal’s communion dress, but when she put the dress together with the veil, its age made it look dingy against the bright, crisp white of the new fabric. She was too afraid of ruining the fabric to bleach it, so she made a new veil and did her best to replicate the floral crown – Crystal remembers her mother working in frustrated detail on that crown.

Our joking complete and a few pictures snapped, Sister Bernice called us together to begin the ritual. She told us about how Jesus celebrated a special meal with his disciples and why the host is flat and not bread-like at all. She spoke of communion as a reminder that Jesus loves us. She told us that the disciples had asked Jesus what God was like, and that Jesus could have said anything – He could have told them that God is a judge or that God is punitive, but Jesus described God as Father (and since God is sexless, as Mother, too), loving and caring, full of compassion for his children. We formed a circle, held hands and recited the Our Father/Mother together. We all took communion.

Sister Bernice reminded Ariel that the Eucharist is available to her whenever she needs to be reminded of that love and hold it from the inside out. Then, in a close circle around Ariel’s hospital bed, we all extended our right hands and blessed Ariel. This circle of women, of matriarchs, blessed this child so she would not be afraid and so that she would see and feel that we are here – and that God is here with her, always.

It has been a long time since I have participated in such a perfect religious ritual. I am reminded that ritual has purpose and meaning. We were not going through any motions. Ari needed to know that God is on her side and is holding her – whatever else is happening to her right now. My own prayer for Ariel is that she can know that there is a spark of the divine within her, a spark that was there from the moment of her birth that will continue on into eternity. I want her to know that love is powerful and transcendent and that there is no God but love. I want her to feel that the love and strength she holds is more powerful than death and that she does not need to fear what may come. I hope she knows that her Auntie Heidi is here, by her side and in her heart forever.

Random Acts

It’s Tuesday night and already it has been a long week. Office life is a bit treacherous just now but dinner still needs to get on the table and it is clear to me that cooking will not happen. Oh well, the girl has been clamoring for Chipotle so I decide to stop and be the hero to at least one person today.

I get the car parked and make my way to the restaurant. There are two high school aged boys propping the door open. They are the end of the line. I consider how long I will be waiting just to order some burritos and decide that in the time it would take to get back in my car and go somewhere else, I could just wait and be done with it.

When I get in line I notice that the line is dense. It is not the usual line that is dispersed in pockets of twos and threes indicating different groups of family and friends, this line is packed solid with high school aged boys. In a mix and match blend of uniforms – the pungent and unmistakable scent of post-workout adolescent boy funk hangs in the air. This is going to take a while. I look at one of their T-shirts and wonder if it is a wrestling team before turning my attention to the email on my iPhone. Did I miss anything critical at the office today?

I’ve been perusing messages for a minute or two when an adult grabs my attention: “Would you like to come and order?” he asks. Coach leads me down the parade of boys with an occasional, “Hey guys, let’s let some of the other customers order ahead of us.” When he gets me to the front of the line, he warns the boy next to me to behave or I might just hurt him. I joke to the boy that it’s not me, but my five year old daughter he should be afraid of. It’s here that I finally see by their uniforms that they are Campolindo Cougars and learn they are a football team – a 10-0 football team.

I place my order, get my food and head back to thank the coach for letting me pass. I realize as I’m walking out the door that none of the boys grumbled when I went ahead, and for a solid mass of what had to be 50 testosterone filled youth, they were surprisingly quiet and very respectful of me and of the space. It’s a small thing really, making young men aware of the people around them. But I believe that it is these small acts of kindness that make us all better people.

Remembering

Ten years ago this morning the phone rang. My then-fiancé knew the news would not be good, as phone calls at 6am never are. It was my best friend urging me to turn on my TV. Her words didn’t really register, but the images on the television told the story.

On that day, this day was unimaginable. On that day, I witnessed my now-husband’s fury unleashed as his sense of having been personally attacked came to full force. I retreated from image after image of the towers falling – the carnage was too much to bear. I prayed as I crossed the Bay Bridge to see my mother, hoping that the violence of the day was over and that I would not be harmed as I drove an endless seven mile span.

My mom and I purchased my veil that day – a surreal act, but my wedding was only 11 days away. We went to sit with friends. The evening newscast had moved on to showing people jumping off the top of the tower hand in hand. For some reason, this was harder to hear in Spanish. There is something in the reflexive verb tirarse that was more painful and intentional and violent than the English – as if to jump off could simply be done on a sunny day, tirarse feels like the way one handles garbage, not the stunning act of those who chose flight over the flames.

…

On this day, I awoke to my five year old climbing in bed for a snuggly hour of peaceful sleep. She is too young to understand these events and we have had enough family tragedies in the intervening years for me to want to try. On this day, I leave it to those more eloquent than I to craft the words that children can understand, and to offer the blessings and unity of divine purpose that only people of faith can help us all to remember.

This past decade has transformed us all in every possible way. My husband and I will be celebrating our ten year wedding anniversary in 11 days, and the growth of our family and our life together continues to deepen and evolve. On that day, this quiet day of children laughing and playing was unimaginable, but here they are, dancing at our feet, and I am grateful.

Bellatrix is Back

My 12 year old god-daughter, Ariel, was diagnosed with cancer over 3 years ago. No run of the mill cancer for her, she got a very rare, very deadly form called rhabdo-myosarcoma. After an 11 month course of treatment, she was given the pronouncement “no evidence of disease”. Cancer families know that to say “cure” or “remission” is to tempt fate. NED is the moniker that is most meaningful in the initial post-treatment years.

Ari is precocious and smart, and a huge Harry Potter fan. She dubbed her cancer Bellatrix and fought with her family by her side and beat the crap out of cancer…until today. It appears Bellatrix wants a rematch. I am stunned. We are all stunned. Her mother and I have been causing trouble together for almost 20 years. We are family and my aching heart does not know what to do.

I find myself thinking about God and faith today. I suppose there is nowhere else to turn when the unthinkable becomes manifest. I am vacillating between two wildly different notions of the divine. The first defies anyone who believes in a personal, interested God – a God who gets involved in the mundane of our lives. How could such a God do this terrible thing to my Ariel…AGAIN! The other is a benevolent and merciful force of the universe – a God who is manifest in life itself. A God that I thank for my daughters as I kiss them and snuggle them as I put them to bed. But even this God makes me want to shake my fist at the sky and rage.

The thing about cancer, at least the thing that is so present for me right now, is how helpless we are against it. How little we can DO to make it better, to help those we love with this horrible disease, and how little we can do for their families and loved ones. Our mutual friends are asking me what they can do…and the only think I can say in this moment is: pray.

Gabrielle Giffords: It's Personal To Me

Gabrielle Giffords is still in critical condition, although there are some reports that she has regained consciousness.. A crazy young man shot her and 17 other people, killing at least 5 of them last time I checked. One of the dead is a 9 year old girl. I have been listening to this story unfold. I can’t look away from it. I am horrified that this congresswoman was shot at close range, in her home state in front of a grocery store while she was doing her job.

At one point today, I sat in my car listening to the radio outside of Safeway. My four year old was sitting in the back seat, playing her Leapster and I just started to cry. For me, this act was personal. It hit home. Gabrielle Giffords was one of twenty congresspeople targeted, literally, by Sarah Palin’s PAC. She, along with other Democrats who voted for healthcare reform, was placed in the crosshairs on takebackthe20.com. Giffords was even on record expressing concern about the safety of herself and her colleagues after this page launched.

In July a crazy man was headed to my office to lie in wait and exact revenge for the workers who died in the BP oil spill by shooting 14 people who work with me. He too, was a lone gunman. He had heard about my organization through Glenn Beck. He was driving erratically on the highway and was intercepted by the California Highway Patrol in a 12 minute gun battle on highway 580. I thanked God again today for those officers. But the fear and the frustration and the panic of what could have been resurfaced for me today.

Gabrielle Giffords was doing her job. She was at a Safeway taking advantage of an opportunity to meet with her constituents and learn about their concerns. Had things turned out differently, I would have been walking into my office on a Monday morning when Byron Williams opened fire – today, my girls could be motherless. That is my enduring nightmare. One moment you are doing your job, simply trying to do the best you can by your family. The next moment is your last. This is not the promise of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. This is not a healthy democracy where ideas can be debated.

When I step back from my incredibly emotional ledge, I can recognize that we do not yet have all the facts. I am aware that Sarah Palin and Glenn Beck did not plot directly with these men to do harm. But don’t they, as public figures, have some responsibility for the words and images they promote? Do they take a moment’s pause when something like this happens to reflect on whether or not they had a role in causing harm?

I am a project manager. When I screw up a project I manage, I am accountable to my boss and my organization. Who are Palin and Beck accountable to? Do they bear any responsibility for the words and images they promote? What happens to our discourse when we choose the language of violence to make a point or tackle a complex social issue? How are we all harmed by reductive language and emotional, tribal politics more interested in power and the next election than in finding solutions that can help to lift us all?

There is a lot of conversation about the quality of our political discourse right now. It can be tempting to imagine that this means we all have to agree. But the real challenge is to learn to disagree; to make sure that we debate ideas and do not attack people; to start our conversations with the notion that the “other side” has the same goals in mind, the betterment of our country and our lives, and that we often see different paths to achieving this goal. Don’t we know that we are all in this together?

Hello 2010

Welcome 2010. You with your fresh promise, your mid-term elections, continued economic recovery and hope for full equality. Welcome to new challenges, old friends and new beginnings.

This year, I will be trying to find a voice and rhythm for this blog. Expect postings that are personal, political and just plain random. Up to now I've managed only a handful of posts in just over two years. I've tried to keep my thoughts at a pretty high level and have waited until moved to write. Well 2010, you may be subject to my mental diarrhea. So, apologies in advance for my flights of fancy, stories of baby poop and half baked political analysis.

Thanks for playing. Let the random thoughts begin!

Election Day

Today is a day of emotion. You can feel the buzz of it all around as people engage in our democracy deeply and personally.

I spent my BART ride into work reading about all the propositions that haven't been widely in the news. It is fascinating what these pieces of legislation say about us as a society - particularly the three California initiatives that revolve around the criminal justice system. I am heartened that we are looking for ways to begin to move our criminal justice system from one of incarceration to one of rehabilitation; disgusted that our prisons and police want to have a percentage of the budget allocated in the same way that we allocate money to education; and deeply saddened at our willingness to increase the prison population, make sentencing more prescriptive and find new terms like "gang-related" which are only code for young men of color.

These potential amendments in particular give me great pause today. Are we really prepared to throw away a whole segment of the population? Are we so short-sighted that we believe incarceration is a better option than health care and education? Did you know that prison planners look at 2nd and 3rd grade test scores as a reliable method of creating and constructing prisons? Why are we so eager to fund incarceration for segregation rather than rehabilitating young men so they can become responsible and productive members of their communities?

I have no answers just now, only questions. And I'm sure more will crop up throughout the day - more news as it develops...

Tribal Politics

With election season coming to a rapid and dramatic close, it seems like a good opportunity to let everyone know that they suck. Have you noticed that this election has become tribal in its vindictiveness? People are just making things up because they can't stand the other team. I am as horrified by the people who say "I've never voted Republican in my life" as if to say that they never stopped to consider the possibility that there was a person not on their team who might take better care of them than a fellow Democrat; as I am of the people who are running around calling Barak Obama an Arab or a Muslim as if that necessarily means that the man is evil and untrustworthy.

Let's face it, each team is trying to grab and maintain power. I think the best thing we could do is begin to form coalitions that defy right and left to make change happen in the world. More on that later.

you get what you pay for

I've been thinking a lot lately about how it is we spend billions of dollars on war and continue to cut spending on education and social programs. The rhetoric of "tax increases" to reinstate spending on these programs is mind blowing. That congress is actually arguing about whether or not to find a way to offset Alternative Minimum Tax (AMT) relief is astonishing. Do we really think that our country can function without those billions of dollars provided by the AMT? That it is ok to go right on cashing more checks we can't cover?

So, back to spending - if we're not willing to spend money on government and infrastructure, we get crappy roads, our children fall behind from an inadequate education, if they even manage to inherit a planet they can live on...we get what we pay for.

Likewise, if we spend billions and trillions of dollars on war, we are viewed as global bullies, we get violence and terrorism, we travel less out of fear and our children become even more isolationist deepening the cycle of mistrust...we get what we pay for.

There's a great op-ed in the New York Times a friend sent me from Tom Friedman. He asks the question why we - our government, our country, our citizens - can't seem to understand that the next big global marked is for green, clean energy. Can you imagine? An America committed to cleaning up our messes, cleaning up the world and in the process creating a new green economy to propel us forward into an age we could be proud of? I, for one, would love to start paying for that.