I'm going out on a limb here to describe some of my disquiet about our country's heroic and valiant efforts in Haiti, a country which has always struggled but which recently has been visited by a truly doomsday earthquake.
It is not that I don't care for the suffering of the people of Haiti, nor that I believe they are somehow undeserving of the enormous aid we and other nations of the world have given unstintingly. I believe in nations with more blessings sharing with those who have so little.
My disquiet is illustrated by a piece of irony from a few years ago. There was this joke making the rounds about the difference between a hurricane in Indonesia and a hurricane in New Orleans. The punch line was: If you are in Indonesia, the US government will send aid. (Ba-dum dum)
I understand that in an increasingly global economy, we are all so interconnected. United we stand, divided we fall.
Remember the old adage, "Charity begins at home"? The adage was seldom applied growing up in the deep South. Missionaries from "deepest darkest Africa" (my childish mind always envisioned a place where the sun did not shine, since it was referred to as the "dark" continent) were much lauded. Congregations hung on their every word, gathering clothing and Bibles to fill an overseas container for the "poor heathens across the ocean." While just across town, there were dark-skinned children who lived in shanties, who went to bed hungry and who weren't allowed to attend our schools and churches.
Does anyone else see the utter hypocrisy of a Congress debating whether to fund healthcare and education for US children on the one hand (evidently, we don't have all that much money) and on the other hand sending doctors and food and medicines to Haiti, whose victims are undoubtedly in more dire straits in this current crisis?
Please don't think I am unfeeling or in favor of ignoring Haiti or that I grew horns since my last post. I just wonder where our priorities lie and why.
Several years ago, a good Christian lady whom I admire and respect a great deal made the emphatic statement that we are a society who values children. She practically dropped her dentures when I responded with "No, I don't think we value children."
My argument was this: If you listen to our rhetoric, you could certainly make a case for our society's care and value of children. But if you were to look at our actions, you could equally make a case for us not giving a tinker's damn about children. Or, at least not those who live in the next block.
Our rhetoric says: "Every child deserves to grow up in safety in a loving home, nurtured and educated to achieve their God-given potential."
Our actions say: "Every child doesn't deserve to grow up in a loving home, or even grow up at all. In this country, the world's most wealthy, we have children whose only meal of the day is the one they get at school. If that. Children are regularly given back to parents who have proven to be abusers. Child molesters are released after 4 years on good behavior and our schools have become warehouses or babysitters.
While our schools are daily stressed with funding all the various programs special needs children need (not to mention the untold millions spent on children who do not speak English), our "average" and "gifted" students lanquish in classrooms that are not designed to meet their needs or grow their minds.
Several years ago, I observed that our Alternative Schools have become, by happenstance, our "gifted" program, "No Child Left Behind" having desimated school budgets to fund the convoluted and at times contradictory requirements of that unfunded mandate.
Alternative Schools, to the uninitiated, are set-aside schools whereby the behavior-disordered students are kept away from the "good" students, presumably so the good children won't become infected with whatever the "bad" students have.
When you look at these "disordered and disorderly" students, you realize that, in many instances, they are students who couldn't get the beleagured teachers' attention, so they acted out. They are bored and unchallenged by the dreck that our education systems spew. Teachers are having their feet held to the fire to educate the special needs children, while the average and gifted students are just supposed to get it on their own.
(A teacher friend of mine told me the apocryphal story about her child, then 9-years-old, who said that ADHD Johnny in her class was given a piece of candy every day if he sat quietly for an hour. The child complained that SHE had sat quietly all day, so why didn't she get a piece of candy? Why indeed?)
The founders of a gifted charter school have determined that, for every $10 spent on average students in the US, $100 is spent on special needs children, while $1 is spent on gifted and talented children. From which two groups are we to rebuild our technological research capabilities, to find a cure for cancer, to probe the mysteries of the universe?
Once again, I'm not suggesting that the special needs kids do not deserve the attention and financial emphasis they currently enjoy. They certainly do and in a true "No Child Left Behind" universe, they would certainly be included. But we are "Leaving Behind" the children of average and above average talents and capabilities to cater to those who might never learn enough to make it in the world. Perhaps this is one of the reasons we are trailing the world in education.
Two possible conclusions come to mind and I'm not sure to which I subscribe:
1) That the world (and our country) has the wherewithal to truly take care of ALL children, whether in Haiti or in an inner city school. whether gifted or special needs, and we have chosen NOT to use our resources in that fashion (and therefore do NOT value children) or,
2) That we have limited resources and therefore should be spending those resources on children in our own country who might one day find that cure or make that technological breakthrough. Once those have been served, then we certainly should spread the wealth, but until then, charity begins at home.
Perhaps there are other conclusions, but these are the ones that spring to my admittedly limited mind. Like Jonathan Swift in his satiric "A Modest Proposal", I confess to a smallish world view. This is indeed a "modest proposal" that I would be very surprised to see come to pass whereby we gave all children what they need to become productive adults.
I understand that "poverty" in the United States doesn't look quite the same as "poverty" in a third world country. Our students consider themselves truly poor if they can't afford an iPod or the latest pair of $100 jeans. But we have children who live on the cold streets of Detroit, not on the streets in tropical Haiti. We have young teens who sell their bodies for a warm place to stay and a Big Mac. Does the child who goes to bed hungry in the good ole US of A feel any less hungry than the poor kid in Haiti?
Until we stop slashing school lunch programs, until we keep child molesters permanently behind bars, until we ensure the safety of teen sex slaves, until we make sure every child lives in a warm, safe place, with enough food to eat and access to a quality education, then we are not a society who values children.
It's just rhetoric.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Rush Limbaugh's Heart
Did you catch this story over the New Year holiday? Rush Limbaugh complained of chest pains while vacationing in Hawaii (perhaps he was invited over to the Obama's rental for a cocktail? NOT!). He was "Rushed" to the hospital, immediately admitted, spent a couple of days getting checked out, whereupon the doctors pronounced that there is nothing wrong with Limbaugh's heart.
Really???
I would posit that there are quite a few things wrong with Limbaugh's heart. Maybe not the beating, pumping organ thing in his chest. But with his heart, the feeling, caring about his fellow man thing located who knows where. Because upon being released from the hospital, our friend Rush held a press conference during which he announced that we have a wonderful health care system, that there is nothing wrong with our health care system and that he was treated just like any other patient.
Perhaps he meant to say, treated just like any other patient WITH HEALTH INSURANCE. Now, I don't pretend to know what coverage he has, nor what the total bill was upon release. And my guess is that the fine physicians in Hawaii sent him home with a list of instructions. Lose weight. Eat healthy. Have your personal physician check you out. Exercise.
I imagine that Rush, being all Rush, asked them if they could possibly give him a prescription. For the pain, of course. And they laughed and said, "What a kidder!." And Rush said, "I'm not kidding. Can you hook me up?"
So Rush leaves and continues on his vacation (I'm trying to keep the image of Rush in a speedo tanning on the beach out of my head) and when he gets back home, he hires a personal trainer and works out at a posh gym and has whoever cooks his meals buy those lean cuts of meat that cost a bazillion dollars an ounce. When he dines out, he tries out that swank new joint that serves silver-dollar-sized portions in the middle of a plate with pretty sauce drizzled on it. When he gets the co-pay bill of $50, he whips out his checkbook and with a flourish signs the check and everything is all right with the world. Oh, and his personal physician orders a thousand tests and confirms that the cardiologists in Hawaii were indeed right...there's nothing wrong with Rush's heart.
Really? Nothing wrong with his heart? Just like any other patient?
I'm guessing, odds being what they are, that on that very day at that same hospital, some poor slob (we'll call him Tanaki) came in with chest pains. Unfortunately, Tanaki is one of the 30 million (16 million? 42 million? Who knows?) people in our country who have no health care insurance.
Tanaki was parked in the ER for a couple of hours, then taken to a "triage" room where he cooled his heels for a couple more hours. (Oh, I forgot, the minute Tanaki came in the ER door, he was asked to show his proof of insurance and, barring that, some proof of income, so they would know he can pay.)
Then they ran an EKG by a tech who is new on the job (it's a holiday, remember, and the skeleton crew AREN'T what you'd call the most experienced pros) and the EKG was read after a time by a radiologist or cardiologist who is also new. They can't admit Tanaki 'cause there's nothing wrong with his heart, just like Rush. They can't hold him over for observation because, unlike Rush, he has no health care insurance.
Tanaki goes home with the same list of instructions. Lose weight. Eat healthy. Have your personal physician check you out. Exercise.
Except that Tanaki can't afford a personal trainer, nor a posh gym. Tanaki works 75 hours a week at two jobs, neither of which provide insurance because he's not "full time". Tanaki has no personal physician and he can't afford the expensive meat and the organic vegetables, etc. He was presented with a bill for a bazillion dollars upon leaving the hospital. He and his disabled wife stress about how to pay this bill off, a little bit at a time. With the $50 per month they have to squeeze out of their budget, they figure they'll be about 122 when they finally pay it off. Oh, and now, he has a "pre-existing condition."
Perhaps Rush should check back into the hospital and have another full work-up. 'Cause there's definitely something wrong with his heart. Not to mention his brain, but that's another blog.
Really???
I would posit that there are quite a few things wrong with Limbaugh's heart. Maybe not the beating, pumping organ thing in his chest. But with his heart, the feeling, caring about his fellow man thing located who knows where. Because upon being released from the hospital, our friend Rush held a press conference during which he announced that we have a wonderful health care system, that there is nothing wrong with our health care system and that he was treated just like any other patient.
Perhaps he meant to say, treated just like any other patient WITH HEALTH INSURANCE. Now, I don't pretend to know what coverage he has, nor what the total bill was upon release. And my guess is that the fine physicians in Hawaii sent him home with a list of instructions. Lose weight. Eat healthy. Have your personal physician check you out. Exercise.
I imagine that Rush, being all Rush, asked them if they could possibly give him a prescription. For the pain, of course. And they laughed and said, "What a kidder!." And Rush said, "I'm not kidding. Can you hook me up?"
So Rush leaves and continues on his vacation (I'm trying to keep the image of Rush in a speedo tanning on the beach out of my head) and when he gets back home, he hires a personal trainer and works out at a posh gym and has whoever cooks his meals buy those lean cuts of meat that cost a bazillion dollars an ounce. When he dines out, he tries out that swank new joint that serves silver-dollar-sized portions in the middle of a plate with pretty sauce drizzled on it. When he gets the co-pay bill of $50, he whips out his checkbook and with a flourish signs the check and everything is all right with the world. Oh, and his personal physician orders a thousand tests and confirms that the cardiologists in Hawaii were indeed right...there's nothing wrong with Rush's heart.
Really? Nothing wrong with his heart? Just like any other patient?
I'm guessing, odds being what they are, that on that very day at that same hospital, some poor slob (we'll call him Tanaki) came in with chest pains. Unfortunately, Tanaki is one of the 30 million (16 million? 42 million? Who knows?) people in our country who have no health care insurance.
Tanaki was parked in the ER for a couple of hours, then taken to a "triage" room where he cooled his heels for a couple more hours. (Oh, I forgot, the minute Tanaki came in the ER door, he was asked to show his proof of insurance and, barring that, some proof of income, so they would know he can pay.)
Then they ran an EKG by a tech who is new on the job (it's a holiday, remember, and the skeleton crew AREN'T what you'd call the most experienced pros) and the EKG was read after a time by a radiologist or cardiologist who is also new. They can't admit Tanaki 'cause there's nothing wrong with his heart, just like Rush. They can't hold him over for observation because, unlike Rush, he has no health care insurance.
Tanaki goes home with the same list of instructions. Lose weight. Eat healthy. Have your personal physician check you out. Exercise.
Except that Tanaki can't afford a personal trainer, nor a posh gym. Tanaki works 75 hours a week at two jobs, neither of which provide insurance because he's not "full time". Tanaki has no personal physician and he can't afford the expensive meat and the organic vegetables, etc. He was presented with a bill for a bazillion dollars upon leaving the hospital. He and his disabled wife stress about how to pay this bill off, a little bit at a time. With the $50 per month they have to squeeze out of their budget, they figure they'll be about 122 when they finally pay it off. Oh, and now, he has a "pre-existing condition."
Perhaps Rush should check back into the hospital and have another full work-up. 'Cause there's definitely something wrong with his heart. Not to mention his brain, but that's another blog.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Now Bring Us Some Figgy Pudding
Just finished watching Julie/Julia a few days ago, so perhaps that is why I was inspired to blog about figgy pudding.
Yep, the self same figgy pudding in the carol. I kinda came to making figgy pudding for the first time this year through the back door. You see, my fig tree, which last year mostly fed the birds, decided to have some really serious plant sex this year. All that sex, all those little babies in the form of wonderful figs.
I guess the flavor of figs is an aquired taste. I only recently became a fig fan, mostly because of this darned fig tree with its profligate sex. Last year, I was waiting until they turned a sort of burgundy brown, which I THOUGHT was the signal the fruit was ready to eat. Wrong.
When they are burgundy brown, the figs are actually almost rotten and extremely mushy, which is the birds' idea of a Baskin-Robbins triple scoop with fudge sauce AND sprinkles.
This year, after discovering when figs are really ripe, I picked figs. And picked. And picked. And picked. I made gallons of fig jam, I made my version of fig newtons, I gave a local chef pounds of the fruits. I don't know what he did with them, but knowing his reputation, he probably made a luscious sauce for pork. Or a souffle. Or something.
So anyway, the fig tree was still producing. I think it must have continued to produce fruit for 3-4 weeks. Now, as I've said, I'm a fig fan, but this was really too much. Having been raised to NEVER waste ANYTHING, I started drying figs. I have a countertop dryer and for several weeks, the poor thing blew warm dry air on tons of figs.
It was at this point (yes, I'm kinda slow) that I realized I had no idea what to DO with dried figs. We're talking tens of pounds of fruit, even accounting for the dried fruit being lighter than the fleshy fruit. I'm a fig fan, but not THAT big a fan.
Suddenly, Julia Child popped into my head and started singing "Now bring us some figgy pudding" in that impossibly lyrical-yet-somewhat-annoying voice she had. Figgy Pudding. What in the heck is that???
I did what any early 21st century researcher would do. I Googled. (funny that this word has become a verb, what?) Google pointed me to literally HUNDREDS of recipes for figgy pudding. Who knew that figgy pudding was such a popular recipe, since everyone I know has said, "Figgy pudding? You're making figgy pudding...like in the song? What is it?"
I'm slow, as I've pointed out. I thought that if I found a recipe at all, it would be in some obscure Chaucerian-age book located in the Vatican archives. And yet, here were hundreds to choose from. So I started reading. And reading. And reading.
I found out that figgy pudding is a sort of cross between a bread pudding and a fruit cake. I finally settled on a recipe that was featured on a cooking show on NPR. These people, I thought, are esoteric enough to be experts on figgy pudding, but practical enough to have altered the recipe so that those of us who know our way around a kitchen could make it, despite not being professional figgy pudding bakers.
I misspoke. It turns out that figgy pudding isn't baked, at least the original wasn't (though some of my rejected recipes bake it). It's steamed. And here's the best part of all...YOU POUR BRANDY ON IT AND SET IT ON FIRE!!!! I have never in my life lit on fire (at least, on purpose) any of my culinary creations. I tend to be the type of cook who sticks with the hospital auxiliary published cookbooks which feature a lot of Jello and mayonaise in cakes and potluck casseroles in their selections. My favorite cookbook is a very dog-eared Better Homes and Gardens red-checked number (you no doubt have seen this cookbook on your grandmother's shelf).
So here I am, steaming a cake and lighting it on fire!!! I feel so adverturous and out there. So "outside the box" and avant garde. I have a notion of what it must taste like, from reading the ingredients. But I have no idea at this point if it will taste good. Maybe it will be one of those offerings to my family where they laboriously eat it, telling me it's the best thing they've ever had but no, they are too full for any more. When people ask for seconds of dessert, after a huge holiday meal, you know you've struck a chord. I have visions of this being a "no seconds for me" kind of dessert. Something you can say you've tried, but secretly think "so this is why no one makes figgy pudding any more."
One advantage to making figgy pudding, you can make it up to three weeks in advance and it keeps. Due to the ingredients, I imagine it's one of those dishes that improves with age.
So several mornings in advance of our Christmas dinner, I made a figgy pudding. All by myself. Another thing you should know about making figgy pudding is that it's one of those recipes that requires that you make this mixture and then that mixture and then fold them together and then you make two more mixtures and then fold these together and then...you get the idea. Many steps and every conceivable bowl and saucepan in the kitchen is dirtied in the construction.
The recipe calls for brandy. Lots of brandy. Which you use to reconstitute the dried figs and then light THAT on fire. So here I have this flaming saucepan in my kitchen while I'm attempting to make bread crumbs! I could scarcely take my eyes off the saucepan in flame.
I finally assembled all the parts and then assembled all of the assemblies and scraped the final mixture into a Bundt pan. I dragged out my water bath canner (the only container in my house that would accomodate the Bundt pan), filled it with water and gently lowered the cake into the water bath. The recipe instructs you to cover the cake pan with aluminum foil and cover the water bath with foil as well. Then you put the top on the water bath and wait.
Two hours. That's how long it takes to steam the figgy pudding. Due to all the foil and the scalding water, one cannot look at the pudding during cooking. I held my ear to the side of the water bath to insure that it was gently simmering, but other than that, I had to trust NPR that they know what they're doing. (That and the INCREDIBLE smell! It really smells good.)
I am now officially a figgy pudding maker. But what does it taste like, you may ask? Search me. I haven't yet served it, so I have no idea. Will update the blog when I know. I will also let you know if I burn the house down on Christmas in my flaming attempt to be "out there."
What else can I do with dried figs?
Post Script: The Figgy Pudding tasted really good, but I had left-overs...guess it's one of those, "No, no seconds for me" dishes.
Yep, the self same figgy pudding in the carol. I kinda came to making figgy pudding for the first time this year through the back door. You see, my fig tree, which last year mostly fed the birds, decided to have some really serious plant sex this year. All that sex, all those little babies in the form of wonderful figs.
I guess the flavor of figs is an aquired taste. I only recently became a fig fan, mostly because of this darned fig tree with its profligate sex. Last year, I was waiting until they turned a sort of burgundy brown, which I THOUGHT was the signal the fruit was ready to eat. Wrong.
When they are burgundy brown, the figs are actually almost rotten and extremely mushy, which is the birds' idea of a Baskin-Robbins triple scoop with fudge sauce AND sprinkles.
This year, after discovering when figs are really ripe, I picked figs. And picked. And picked. And picked. I made gallons of fig jam, I made my version of fig newtons, I gave a local chef pounds of the fruits. I don't know what he did with them, but knowing his reputation, he probably made a luscious sauce for pork. Or a souffle. Or something.
So anyway, the fig tree was still producing. I think it must have continued to produce fruit for 3-4 weeks. Now, as I've said, I'm a fig fan, but this was really too much. Having been raised to NEVER waste ANYTHING, I started drying figs. I have a countertop dryer and for several weeks, the poor thing blew warm dry air on tons of figs.
It was at this point (yes, I'm kinda slow) that I realized I had no idea what to DO with dried figs. We're talking tens of pounds of fruit, even accounting for the dried fruit being lighter than the fleshy fruit. I'm a fig fan, but not THAT big a fan.
Suddenly, Julia Child popped into my head and started singing "Now bring us some figgy pudding" in that impossibly lyrical-yet-somewhat-annoying voice she had. Figgy Pudding. What in the heck is that???
I did what any early 21st century researcher would do. I Googled. (funny that this word has become a verb, what?) Google pointed me to literally HUNDREDS of recipes for figgy pudding. Who knew that figgy pudding was such a popular recipe, since everyone I know has said, "Figgy pudding? You're making figgy pudding...like in the song? What is it?"
I'm slow, as I've pointed out. I thought that if I found a recipe at all, it would be in some obscure Chaucerian-age book located in the Vatican archives. And yet, here were hundreds to choose from. So I started reading. And reading. And reading.
I found out that figgy pudding is a sort of cross between a bread pudding and a fruit cake. I finally settled on a recipe that was featured on a cooking show on NPR. These people, I thought, are esoteric enough to be experts on figgy pudding, but practical enough to have altered the recipe so that those of us who know our way around a kitchen could make it, despite not being professional figgy pudding bakers.
I misspoke. It turns out that figgy pudding isn't baked, at least the original wasn't (though some of my rejected recipes bake it). It's steamed. And here's the best part of all...YOU POUR BRANDY ON IT AND SET IT ON FIRE!!!! I have never in my life lit on fire (at least, on purpose) any of my culinary creations. I tend to be the type of cook who sticks with the hospital auxiliary published cookbooks which feature a lot of Jello and mayonaise in cakes and potluck casseroles in their selections. My favorite cookbook is a very dog-eared Better Homes and Gardens red-checked number (you no doubt have seen this cookbook on your grandmother's shelf).
So here I am, steaming a cake and lighting it on fire!!! I feel so adverturous and out there. So "outside the box" and avant garde. I have a notion of what it must taste like, from reading the ingredients. But I have no idea at this point if it will taste good. Maybe it will be one of those offerings to my family where they laboriously eat it, telling me it's the best thing they've ever had but no, they are too full for any more. When people ask for seconds of dessert, after a huge holiday meal, you know you've struck a chord. I have visions of this being a "no seconds for me" kind of dessert. Something you can say you've tried, but secretly think "so this is why no one makes figgy pudding any more."
One advantage to making figgy pudding, you can make it up to three weeks in advance and it keeps. Due to the ingredients, I imagine it's one of those dishes that improves with age.
So several mornings in advance of our Christmas dinner, I made a figgy pudding. All by myself. Another thing you should know about making figgy pudding is that it's one of those recipes that requires that you make this mixture and then that mixture and then fold them together and then you make two more mixtures and then fold these together and then...you get the idea. Many steps and every conceivable bowl and saucepan in the kitchen is dirtied in the construction.
The recipe calls for brandy. Lots of brandy. Which you use to reconstitute the dried figs and then light THAT on fire. So here I have this flaming saucepan in my kitchen while I'm attempting to make bread crumbs! I could scarcely take my eyes off the saucepan in flame.
I finally assembled all the parts and then assembled all of the assemblies and scraped the final mixture into a Bundt pan. I dragged out my water bath canner (the only container in my house that would accomodate the Bundt pan), filled it with water and gently lowered the cake into the water bath. The recipe instructs you to cover the cake pan with aluminum foil and cover the water bath with foil as well. Then you put the top on the water bath and wait.
Two hours. That's how long it takes to steam the figgy pudding. Due to all the foil and the scalding water, one cannot look at the pudding during cooking. I held my ear to the side of the water bath to insure that it was gently simmering, but other than that, I had to trust NPR that they know what they're doing. (That and the INCREDIBLE smell! It really smells good.)
I am now officially a figgy pudding maker. But what does it taste like, you may ask? Search me. I haven't yet served it, so I have no idea. Will update the blog when I know. I will also let you know if I burn the house down on Christmas in my flaming attempt to be "out there."
What else can I do with dried figs?
Post Script: The Figgy Pudding tasted really good, but I had left-overs...guess it's one of those, "No, no seconds for me" dishes.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Being myself
My childhood taught me that you have to behave, be nice and not disagree with people or people won't love you. You should always live a good, Christian life (whether it's not stealing or not playing cards) because no one will like you if you don't. And for God's sake, don't speak your mind or people REALLY won't like you. Just agree with the majority's moral standards and let it go at that.
Another important lesson from my childhood was paying attention to "What will people think?" This was a major theme, to alter your behavior so that "People" will think well of you. Don't go to that guy's house unchaparoned or "People" will think you are not a good girl (and, more importantly, they won't LIKE you). So when you ignore that stricture and go to the guy's house unchaparoned and get raped, it's YOUR fault, not the guy's, right? The not-good girl had it coming and SHE is the one who slipped, morally speaking.
Unfortunately, recently, I've found this still to be true. On Facebook, I've reconnected with several friends from grade school days. They are mostly still in the same home town, still insular and conservative. So, I express my opinion on various political matters and, surprise, they don't like me because my views don't match theirs. I made the mistake of having an opinion which doesn't jive with their moral standards.
In my late teens (always the late bloomer), I tried very hard to behave badly...couldn't even do that very well. My biggest rebellion was to smoke cigarettes (a rebellion I'm still paying for, unfortunately). I hung out with the "stoners" but they wouldn't include me in their stoner sessions because they thought I was a narc. I tried to hang out with the "good" kids, but I might be a stoner and a not-good kid. I got the reputation for being "loose" without ever actually having been "loose". I didn't get to have fun and still got blamed for having it! To my family and former friends, I'm a black sheep and a not-good girl. To my friends, I'm impossibly conservative and too good a girl.
I once played a board game where one is given a moral situation and then has to choose from several reactions to that situation. Then the other players decide whether or not one would actually react to the moral situation in that way. I drew a moral situation which had actually happened to me in real life. So I chose the alternative that I had actually done.
Turns out the game is really about whether you are a good liar. The other players, most of whom had known me for many years, ALL decided that I was lying and that no one would have chosen the moral high ground in that situation. I was devastated, not only because I lost the game, but because I didn't understand why everyone understood me so poorly. Does everyone else in the world have this cloud hanging over them...that people don't believe they're as good as they are and nothing will change their minds? I've told several people close to me who didn't know me as a child that I was a very good girl, mostly to knowing smirks. They don't believe me. Makes me wonder if I REALLY understand anyone else, at all.
I believe in situational ethics. Whatever the most loving thing to do is what is the most moral. Under this moral code, murder is never acceptable but euthanasia might be. (Did you know that the Bible distinguishes between "murder" and "killing"?) I once discussed this with a woman, a good Christian Southern woman, who said that she didn't believe in situational ethics...that ethics do not change EVER, but that the most moral act depends on the circumstance. (!!!???!!!)
I lived for a time with a man who was a chronic liar. I think he actually couldn't help it. I think he'd lied for so many years that he was physically, morally and mentally incapable of telling the truth. (He was also as crazy as a loon, but that's another blog!) It took me several years to realize that he was lying and that, even on inconsequential topics, he COULDN'T tell the truth. His belief was that everyone lies, all the time, and it's no big deal to lie. He once told me that a mosquito I had just swatted wasn't a mosquito but was in fact a Equadorian flying gnat! I guess he was just practicing lying. I haven't practiced enough, evidently, 'cause even when I lie (like when I lie to set up a surprise birthday pary, for example), I can't get by with it.
Which leads me to believe that we all, having no experience with moral processes outside our own heads, believe that everyone has the same moral/immoral standards as our own. If you believe that everyone lies, then of course, it excuses your own lies. Everybody does it, right? We can't imagine someone always telling the truth, so we believe those people don't exist.
If one tells the truth, as best one can, then it is practically impossible to believe that others lie or even to tell when they are lying. And so we are gullible, believing in the good in everyone. If someone tells us that the Congress is planning death squads for the elderly, then we believe it because the person who told that big honkin' lie is a Christian and incapable of lying.
We watch the evening news and are shocked at the guy who kills his entire family and then himself. "How could anyone DO that?" we cry. How could anyone, let alone 19 anyones, fly planes into buildings and kill over 3,000 people? We struggle to understand the moral and emotional deficit of the serial killer, the killer who cannibalizes his victims, the suicide bomber, the rapist, the child molester.
The truth is, if we could understand the serial killer, the suicide bomber, the child molester, THEN WE WOULD BE THAT PERSON. If we understood this kind of depravity, then we would have the same depravity. So it's really a blessing that we DON'T understand the depravity. It means we have way higher moral standards than the person who COULD do that.
It is left to those of us who are good people to deal with the depraved amongst us because, it's a given that the depraved won't see anything wrong with it. As good, moral people, do we put those people to death? Do we lock them up and throw away the key? Do we lock them up for a time and then let them out to perhaps commit more depravity? We don't have many good options, do we?
We can't wrap our minds around the moral code of any other, so we assume that will behave just as we do. None of us understands the im/morality of any other.
Another important lesson from my childhood was paying attention to "What will people think?" This was a major theme, to alter your behavior so that "People" will think well of you. Don't go to that guy's house unchaparoned or "People" will think you are not a good girl (and, more importantly, they won't LIKE you). So when you ignore that stricture and go to the guy's house unchaparoned and get raped, it's YOUR fault, not the guy's, right? The not-good girl had it coming and SHE is the one who slipped, morally speaking.
Unfortunately, recently, I've found this still to be true. On Facebook, I've reconnected with several friends from grade school days. They are mostly still in the same home town, still insular and conservative. So, I express my opinion on various political matters and, surprise, they don't like me because my views don't match theirs. I made the mistake of having an opinion which doesn't jive with their moral standards.
In my late teens (always the late bloomer), I tried very hard to behave badly...couldn't even do that very well. My biggest rebellion was to smoke cigarettes (a rebellion I'm still paying for, unfortunately). I hung out with the "stoners" but they wouldn't include me in their stoner sessions because they thought I was a narc. I tried to hang out with the "good" kids, but I might be a stoner and a not-good kid. I got the reputation for being "loose" without ever actually having been "loose". I didn't get to have fun and still got blamed for having it! To my family and former friends, I'm a black sheep and a not-good girl. To my friends, I'm impossibly conservative and too good a girl.
I once played a board game where one is given a moral situation and then has to choose from several reactions to that situation. Then the other players decide whether or not one would actually react to the moral situation in that way. I drew a moral situation which had actually happened to me in real life. So I chose the alternative that I had actually done.
Turns out the game is really about whether you are a good liar. The other players, most of whom had known me for many years, ALL decided that I was lying and that no one would have chosen the moral high ground in that situation. I was devastated, not only because I lost the game, but because I didn't understand why everyone understood me so poorly. Does everyone else in the world have this cloud hanging over them...that people don't believe they're as good as they are and nothing will change their minds? I've told several people close to me who didn't know me as a child that I was a very good girl, mostly to knowing smirks. They don't believe me. Makes me wonder if I REALLY understand anyone else, at all.
I believe in situational ethics. Whatever the most loving thing to do is what is the most moral. Under this moral code, murder is never acceptable but euthanasia might be. (Did you know that the Bible distinguishes between "murder" and "killing"?) I once discussed this with a woman, a good Christian Southern woman, who said that she didn't believe in situational ethics...that ethics do not change EVER, but that the most moral act depends on the circumstance. (!!!???!!!)
I lived for a time with a man who was a chronic liar. I think he actually couldn't help it. I think he'd lied for so many years that he was physically, morally and mentally incapable of telling the truth. (He was also as crazy as a loon, but that's another blog!) It took me several years to realize that he was lying and that, even on inconsequential topics, he COULDN'T tell the truth. His belief was that everyone lies, all the time, and it's no big deal to lie. He once told me that a mosquito I had just swatted wasn't a mosquito but was in fact a Equadorian flying gnat! I guess he was just practicing lying. I haven't practiced enough, evidently, 'cause even when I lie (like when I lie to set up a surprise birthday pary, for example), I can't get by with it.
Which leads me to believe that we all, having no experience with moral processes outside our own heads, believe that everyone has the same moral/immoral standards as our own. If you believe that everyone lies, then of course, it excuses your own lies. Everybody does it, right? We can't imagine someone always telling the truth, so we believe those people don't exist.
If one tells the truth, as best one can, then it is practically impossible to believe that others lie or even to tell when they are lying. And so we are gullible, believing in the good in everyone. If someone tells us that the Congress is planning death squads for the elderly, then we believe it because the person who told that big honkin' lie is a Christian and incapable of lying.
We watch the evening news and are shocked at the guy who kills his entire family and then himself. "How could anyone DO that?" we cry. How could anyone, let alone 19 anyones, fly planes into buildings and kill over 3,000 people? We struggle to understand the moral and emotional deficit of the serial killer, the killer who cannibalizes his victims, the suicide bomber, the rapist, the child molester.
The truth is, if we could understand the serial killer, the suicide bomber, the child molester, THEN WE WOULD BE THAT PERSON. If we understood this kind of depravity, then we would have the same depravity. So it's really a blessing that we DON'T understand the depravity. It means we have way higher moral standards than the person who COULD do that.
It is left to those of us who are good people to deal with the depraved amongst us because, it's a given that the depraved won't see anything wrong with it. As good, moral people, do we put those people to death? Do we lock them up and throw away the key? Do we lock them up for a time and then let them out to perhaps commit more depravity? We don't have many good options, do we?
We can't wrap our minds around the moral code of any other, so we assume that will behave just as we do. None of us understands the im/morality of any other.
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