What's the Point?

I haven't had much to say lately. It's not that there's been nothing of interest to write about. Just yesterday, two issues about which I have rather detailed opinions, immigration and affirmative action, appeared in the news. I thought maybe I would write about those opinions. But then I thought...What's the point? Do I really want to wade into another political mine field? The fact is that since each of these issues were introduced by the Trump administration, substitive dialogue is impossible. Anything I will say on these matters will be judged through the great distorting lens of Donald Trump. I will either be viewed as an irrational NeverTrumper, who above all else is committed to his destruction, or I will be judged as unfit for having the temerity of supporting any position taken by his administration. Call it the Trump Effect, destroyer of rational debate.

So, I will keep my opinions to myself this time around. I'll leave the playing field open to the twenty-something meme kings, the guys and girls who reduce complex public policy to pithy cartoon captions. Why waste time trudging through the 37 previous versions of immigration legistlation in this country's history to discover what the give and take and tension has all been about when it's so much easier to be made an instant expert by watching a really hilarious John Oliver bit? Why run the risk of writing an opinion about the pluses and minuses of affirmative action law when, one false move, and half of your readers will think you're a racist and the other half will think you're a hypocrite? The Trump Effect.

These are the real world consequences of polarization. When someone like Donald Trump comes along with his giant personality and his huge brand, opinions about such a man tend to harden. Those who love him, love him completely. Nothing the man can do will ever be able to separate him from their affections. Those who hate him, are repulsed by him, hate him completely. There is nothing he could do, no legistlation he could introduce which they could bring themselves to support. This is what polarization does to people and to nations, it divides us into camps, segregates us into factions, draws lines in the civic sand across which we dare not cross.

There have been many polarizing figures throughout history, Donald Trump isn't the first. It only feels worse with Trump because of our media saturated culture. If the Internet and the 24/7 news cycle had been around during Teddy Roosevelt's day, that would have been a circus too. Big mouth, big personality, combative views...yeah, Teddy would have been a mess. But, it's 2017, we elected Trump and now we must live with it. Part of living with it is understanding that wading into the middle of every argument he starts is a fool's errand.

Anticipation

This will be our view...

From this lake...

In 40 more days...

Can't. Wait.

The Unthinkable....Part II

Bblaagzzarrgghhhh..sob..Glllaaackkkkkkk!!!

This was the worst of all possibilities. Somehow, against all reason, all the remaining women of the household had awakened simultaneously, and in the dim fog of cognition, realized at precisely the identical moment that the house had no power and, in fact, yes...they were sweating. The gutteral groan/screech/ wail that they let out was amplified throughout the house in a stereophonic wave, some coming from upstairs and the rest from below like a rising tide of hot molten lava. Then the sound of thundering footsteps pounding the stairs. The men in the living room braced themselves for the onslaught.

Aunt Paula: I demand to know what idiot is responsible for this outrage! It is a thousand degrees in here. This is totally unacceptable! Someone needs to find the headquarters of this construction company and drive me there this instant!!!

Patrick had stumbled up the stairs, following the tumult and had his fully charged cellphone in hand.

Patrick: Looks like the headquarters is in Paramus, New Jersey, Aunt Paula...so that will be quite a long drive.

Aunt Pam: What about the food?? Has anyone checked the refrigerator?

Jenny: Wait...will there be no hot water?

Uncle Ron: Not only no hot water, but no coffee either.

An audible gasp shot through the room. Jenny, half dazed, began shuffling around in silence, her mouth agape, pondering the fresh hell she had woken too. After arriving at the snack table she began to weep, pitiful wails of crying ringing throughout the house...

Jenny: and the scotcheroos are melting!!

Suddenly, in a flash of fury, Pam darted across to the snack table, grabbing the tin of scotcheroos out of Jennyy's hands. Give me that, she hissed. She looked down into the sweating Tupperware container at the sad sight of melting chocolate and disfigured Rice Krispies all askew in a large clump in one end of the container. Her shoulders slumped, and she let out a long baleful sigh...

Aunt Linda: Bill, what are we going to do?? 

Uncle Bill: Listen people, this is certainly not how we all dreamed this vacation would go. Yes, no electricity will be a challenge. It will be warm in here, making dinner will require some ingenuity. But guys, we have to ask ourselves one question...what would Nanny & Papa do? What would they think of us if we all just threw up our hands and headed back to Richmond? I mean, honestly, I would have thought that this family would have been made of sterner stuff than this. Why, I can remember when we stayed in a rat-infested scrapheep of a rental house in Sandbridge with no AC. Am I right? Our forefathers wouldn't have tucked tail and scurried home just because of something as simple as losing power? Are we mice or men? Come on guys! Let's pull together and make this thing work! We've already paid the money, were all here...let's show the world how a real family comes together in a crisis! Tonight, we can all gather around here in this big room and feel the soft ocean breezes cooling us off. I'll make some popcorn and we will make some incredible memories together...and, 

Paul: That's a big negative on the popcorn. Microwave won't work without power.

Christina: ggrroocckkkkstagggargh, no popcorn?? That's it. I'm out of here...

The Unthinkable...Part I

The stories and pictures coming out of Hatteras Island are heartbreaking. There are scores of cars waiting for the ferry on Ocracoke, long, choked lines of cars crawling along the sandy two lane highway, headed for Nags Head. All because of an accidental severing of an underwater power line by a construction crew working on the repair of bridges taken out by violent storms a few months back. I read the stories and look at the pictures, all the while trying to imagine the hell that would have been unleashed if this unhappy accident had occurred just two short weeks ago, when 18 members of the greater Dunnevant family were on that beleaguered island for vacation. What follows is my imagination unleashed on that unthinkable prospect...

The thirteenth edition of the Dunnevant family Beach Week vacation is a mere two days old and all is well when 18 family members climb into bed on night two. Unfortunately, while they slept, electric power was severed from the entire island by a construction accident under a bridge thirty miles away. During the night, as our heros slept, the temperature inside the house rose from its perfect 71 climate controlled degrees to a stifling 82 by the time the first vacationer awoke. During that fateful night, two refrigerators full of meat, cheese, milk, eggs and a varied assortment of culinary delights now lay dead and reeking inside their stainless steel tombs. 

(Uncle Doug walks into the family room and sees Matt Hawkins sitting by the window doing his devotional)

Uncle Doug: It feel a little hot in here to you?

Matt: Now that you mention it, it is a bit warm.

Uncle Doug: You better turn that lamp on. It's not good for your eyes to read without good light.

Matt turns on the switch. The click seems ominously loud, and when no light is forthcoming, a feeling of dread invades the large room with the thirty foot ceiling.

Uncle Doug: Holy Crap....

Soon it becomes clear that something is dreadfully wrong. Uncle Ron and Uncle Bill enter the room with an expression of forlorn resignation.

Uncle Bill: Ok guys, we've got a problem. Pretty soon the women in this house are going to wake up and as all of you know, they are not going to be amused.

Uncle Ron: I don't want to even think about what is going to happen to Paula when she wakes up and realizes she is already sweating. I swear to you guys, I'm a dead man!

Uncle Doug: You're a dead man?? I'm married to a woman from freaking Maine!! If the thermostat ever rises above 70 at our house, she turns into a raging psychopath. 

Matt: Guys, guys!! Pull yourselves together!! Now is not the time to panic. Let's put our heads together and come up with a plan.

Uncle Doug: Yeah Matt. Great idea. A plan is what we need. Let's see...how about we have Ron here draw up some preliminary plans for building our own nuclear power plant!!

Uncle Ron: As fate would have it, I decided at the last minute not to pack my portable drafting table, so that's out.

Uncle Bill: Isn't that always the way it happens? The one thing you actually need, you never pack...

At this point, young Bennett makes an appearance, free from any worry or concern, secure in the cocoon of childhood oblivion.

Matt: Bennett, listen to Daddy. There has been an accident and there is no power, which means we have no food, there is no air conditioning, there will be no hot water, no way to charge your video games, and we will no longer be able to use the pool since the water pumps don't work...

Uncle Bill: (rolling his eyes at Doug and Ron)...Parents today...have they completely forgotten how to lie to kids??

Bennett: Uncle Doug, this is the best prank ever!!

Suddenly, Christina enters the room. This is the best of all possibilities, Christina being the only female in the house without a hair trigger temper and an instinctively violent reaction to high temperatures. Perhaps the men of the family can recruit her as an emissary to the still sleeping female contingent downstairs.

Uncle Bill: Sweetie...we have no electricity. Do you have any ideas on how we can break this news to your mother, sister and aunts without risking serious, permanent injury or death?

Christina: Dad, come on now. It won't be that bad. Sure, it's going to be a challenge, but isn't that half the fun? Just think of the stories we will be able to tell about this in our old age.

Uncle Ron: See, that's the thing that worries us...whether or not we will ever reach old age.

Christina: Oh come on now you silly gooses...

Bennett: Geese! That's silly geese. There's no such thing as gooses.

Matt: Well done, Bennett.

Christina: I'm sure the power will come back on soon. The important thing is...we will all still be together!

Uncle Doug: That's right Chrissy...we'll all be together. All 18 of us. In this ginormous house. With no air conditioning. Pretty soon it's going to smell worse than a Turkish bathhouse in here...and tonight it's our turn to make dinner!!

Uncle Ron: Don't worry about that Doug. You'll be cooking on the gas grill...

............... to be continued

Thinking About Things

It is an unfortunate fact of the human condition that so few of us can be persuaded to change our opinions. We decide what we think about something years ago for a variety of reasons involving education, training and experience. Then we have a tendency to cling to that opinion forever, despite evidence that might raise doubts about our original conclusion, even when that evidence becomes overwhelming. Basically, human beings suffer from an age old character flaw...pride, which makes it extremely difficult to admit error. This writer is no exception to this condition. But when we double down on long held ideas despite contrary evidence, we become that thing we hate when we see it in others. We become an ideologue, slaves to tribalism and dogma.

So, when many people who I respect start to call into question some of my long held views on politics, the role and nature of government, and economic theory, as a thinking person, I owe it to myself to reexamine those long held views. I do this out of what I believe to be my obligation as a citizen of a constitutional republic, but also out of the respect due to some very fine people in my life who I know, love and trust. I write this as an attempt to question myself in an organized and public way, and in doing so, I invite your responses, whether intended to encourage or correct.

First, some background. My views on government and economic theory have evolved partially out of my real world experience as a small business owner, but their foundation was built by three influential books I read 40 years ago...The Wealth of Nations, by Adam Smith, The Road to Serfdom by Freidrich Hayek, and Gulag Archipelago by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. I was a sophomore in college at the time, and these three books, all read within a stormy six months made a huge impression on me. It is from these three gentlemen that I formed my thoughts on public policy. Accordingly, I have for most of my life taken a very dim view of governmental attempts at economic planning. Stemming from that dim view grew the parallel fear and suspicion of the heavy hand of centralized power and its wretched record of totalitarianism. The fact that powerful governments corrupted both sides of political theory, Fascists and Communists, seemed to conform my fears. 

So, in 2017 some things have noticeably not changed. Unchecked centralized governments still tend to treat human beings in despicable ways. The question now seems to be, is my justifiable fear of muscular government blinding me to what its proper role in today's world could or should be? Are my fears overblown? Should I have more confidence in the ability and the motives of my government to do what is best for the people? Is my confidence in Adam Smith's Invisible Hand misplaced? Has a generation of pocket-lining plutocrats and crony capitalists poisoned the well of free enterprise and stacked the deck so overwhelmingly in their own favor as to demand a new response? These are the questions that I have been asking myself for quite some time now. Let's examine one such response that I hear frequently from people who I respect...the living wage.

Income inequality is the problem, my friends say. A very small ultra-elite at the very top of the pyramid are gobbling up far too large a share of wealth creation, often at the expense of everyone else, especially the very poor. Their preferred solution is some combination of  a surtax, or tax increase on these elites, in addition to either a big increase in the minimum wage or some sort of guaranteed income for all.

I won't get into the weeds of the specific numbers involved with the income inequality argument, but I will freely admit that it exists. The question for me becomes what, if anything, can be done about it that won't have an unintended destructive impact on the larger economy? It is my view that in any free, or even semi-free economic system, there will always and forever be an elite class of human beings who will grab an outsized share of wealth. This is due to the fact that while all men may be created equal, that equality doesn't last very long. Some of us are smarter, more disciplined, more energetic, more creative, more willing to take risk, etc.. Since those particular qualities are not evenly distributed among the population, we should not and cannot expect an equality of outcomes in a free society. But, are the rather massive concentrations of wealth seen today solely a function of these personality traits, or has what is a naturally occurring economic outcome been artificially juiced by horrible tax policy and the crippling power of oligarchs? This is a fair question, and I am increasingly thinking that something needs to be done to correct it. I have long argued that the number one source of power for crony capitalist and oligharchs alike is our ridiculously complex tax code...but that is a problem for another day.

So, if I acknowledge that income equality is a problem that demands redress, what about raising taxes, hiking the minimum wage or a guaranteed income for all as solutions? Here, I must do battle with my philosophical mentors.

Part of me can get on board with the idea of raising taxes on the rich, and for this discussion I will refer to the top 1% of taxpayers in America...those with incomes of over $470,000 a year for a married couple and $418,400 for an individual. They are currently taxed at a top federal tax rate of 39.6%. These people earn about 20% of all income earned in the United States and pay roughly 40% of all federal income taxes collected. But, taxes are collected on income earned, not wealth. And, guess what? If you jacked up the rate on these people to 70%, they would find a way to avoid the taxes by various deferral schemes, courtesy of our aforementioned ridiculously complex tax code. Contrary to your average John Oliver rant, wealthy people are not idiots, and even if they were they have enough money to hire out the brains of others to avoid taxes. But, just for a moment, let's assume that this new 70% rate was both collectible and enforceable. The problem I have with the logic behind a tax increase is the assumption it makes that what is ailing public policy in America is a lack of revenue to the Treasury. This is unarguably a false assumption. Our government is currently raking in record amounts of revenue. In fact, for the first six months of fiscal year 2017 (ending in March, 2017) we took in record amounts of both income and payroll taxes totaling $1,242,882,000,000. That's 1.24 TRILLION. However, despite this mind boggling haul, we still managed to run a deficit of $544,491,000,000. That's right, we went half a trillion MORE in debt, despite breaking all revenue records. This is the sort of unreported fact that blows the mind of an Adam Smith disciple like me. It would appear to me that our fiscal problems are not based in a lack of revenue, but too much spending.

Now, if you're still in favor of taxing the rich it would appear that you would need to admit that the payoff would not be an economic one but rather the more emotionally gratifying payoff of fairness. Fair enough.

As far as a national guaranteed income goes, I have warmed to the idea and argued as much in a previous blogpost ( http://doug-thetempest.blogspot.com/2017/03/a-plan-to-eliminate-povertyimmediately.html ). When one considers the massive amount of money this country spends on poverty-fighting programs, a national guaranteed income becomes more attractive as an alternative. It would in fact be a money saver, if, and only if, the other programs were replaced upon installation of the new plan. A brief look at the history of entitlements in this country does not bode well for that particular if.

I've listened carefully to all of the arguments for and against the $15 minimum wage. I've read the articles pro and con about the Seattle experiment. Again, my old views cause me to doubt the workability of such an immediate, mandated wage increase. But, as a tool to make it easier for entry level workers to become self sufficient as they find their way in the world, and considering the massive cash holding of some of the biggest complainers about such an increase, I am willing to lend some support for at least giving it a try.

Here's what I know. Right now, this country is as divided as I have ever seen it. No accommodation is being sought, or even desired across the political divide, by anyone, about anything! Our politicians are more interested in winning than they are governing. If this is ever going to change, it will have to start with each of us being willing to question ourselves, to be willing to examine our biases to see if we can discover common ground, common goals. Sometimes it will mean being willing to let go of a bit of dogma. Smith, Hayek, and Solzhenitsyn are still my heros, but Adam Smith died 227 years ago this month. Maybe, some things have changed these past two centuries that would allow for a few tweaks. I'm willing to tinker with all of this if it means finding workable solutions to what vexes us in 2017.

Are you?

Dunkirk

The evacuation of Dunkirk was perhaps at once the most precarious few days for western civilization, while at the same time one of her most inspiring triumphs. The world will never know just how close the Allies came to total defeat and capitulation to Adolph Hitler. The miracle at Dunkirk was a combination of inexplicable unforced errors by the German high command, the finest hour of the French army, and the indomitable spirit and will of ordinary British citizens. Last night I went to see Christopher Nolan's film adaptation of this great epic story. I was disappointed.

First of all, the film was not without merit. Nolan is very good at filming and directing intense scenes of agonizing warfare. He did a particularly outstanding job of depicting the violence and terror of a capsizing ship, the claustrophobic horror of being trapped in an oil fire on the open sea, the anguish of a man swimming toward a ship to save himself, only to see that ship destroyed by a Stuka dive bomber. But, that's about all that you get from Nolan in this film. If you know nothing about what actually happened at Dunkirk, Nolan's story amounts to a made for television minis-series in three acts. He focused, rather randomly, on three short stories, a dogged British fighter pilot, one private rescue vessel and its father and son crew, and a couple of beleaguered British soldiers trying to escape the carnage. He plops the viewer down in the middle of this maelstrom with absolutely zero explanation of how it came to be that almost the entire British Expeditionary Force, all 13 divisions of them, found themselves standing in long lines, hopelessly exposed on a French beach, the future of the world hanging in the balance.

When I complained about this bizarre lack of context, my son, who attended the show with me, asked..So, were you expecting some sort of history lesson? The tone of his question suggested very much that the term history lesson was a pejorative. Well, no...I didn't expect a history lesson, but some small attempt at staging the story might have been helpful, some explanation of the great-how did they get here-would have made for a more coherent film. My criticism of the film owes a lot to my being a history geek, I suppose. Despite its flaws, Dunkirk was worth seeing, if for no other reason than Hans Zimmer's sledgehammer score which literally never stopped in the background, pulsing and pounding away, assaulting the senses, adding brilliantly to the gut wrenching tension on screen.

I read a Twitter review this morning where some guy opined that Christopher Nolan did an outstanding job of depicting the  futility of war. I thought...what movie did this guy watch??? Futility of war? Are you kidding me? What, in God's name was futile about 300,000 British troops being rescued from an exposed beach and certain death by a flotilla of over 700 private vessels, saving Britain from having to surrender to Nazi Germany?? Horrible? Yes. Tragic? Yes. War is, after all, hell. But we don't live in heaven, just a little east of Eden. And this side of Utopia, sometimes very bad people and states have to be vanquished. To do so often requires superhuman valor, bravery and sacrifice. There's nothing futile about that.

The Visit

On a sweltering evening in the summer of 1955, my mother stood at the sink of her small kitchen in a tiny house at 414 Dick Ewell Avenue in Colonial Heights, Virginia, doing the dinner dishes. My older brother and older sister, Donnie and Linda, were involved in some sort of mischief in the cramped living room, getting on my mother's last nerve. It had been a long day, middle 90's and terribly humid with nothing but a couple of table fans to circulate the heavy air.  My Dad was struggling to make the rent payments working a series of sales jobs that required him to be on the road for long stretches. Now that school was out, she found it harder and harder to get anything done during the day with two kids under foot and newly pregnant with my sister Paula. I was still nearly three years away from entering the world, but my life was about to be dramatically changed by a faint knock on the screen door.

I have often wondered what might have happened to the Dunnevant story had what follows never happened. Suppose Mom had just stepped out to go for a walk. Suppose she had been at the grocery store. What if Nathan and Dora Radford had not bothered to go visiting that particular night?

Mom thought she heard a knock at the door but couldn't be sure because of all the racket Donnie and Linda were making, so she turned off the water and dried her hands on a dish towel and gave a closer listen. Three soft taps on the ill-fitting screen door with the hole in the bottom screen that let in every stinging fly in Chesterfield county. How many times had she asked my father to get that fixed? Mom went to the door in an ill temper, not in the mood for the Fuller Brush man or anyone else for that matter. Yes? Can I help you?

There was the cheerful woman who would become my mother's best friend, Dora Radford, with her plump face and bright eyes and a smile that exploded out from her like it had supernatural powers.  Her handsome husband Nathan just stood there looking like a movie star. She introduced herself and explained that they were in the neighborhood inviting people with kids to come to something called Vacation Bible School . . . Do you have kids, Mrs. Dunnevant?

Despite the heat and her foul mood, my mother found herself inviting the couple in to hear more. The prospect of having somewhere to take the kids every morning for a week sounded potentially heavenly. The Radford's church was in southside Richmond, nearly ten miles away. What in the world were they doing down in a poor neighborhood in Colonial Heights drumming up business? Not to worry, they could send a church van to pick up the kids. My parents didn't go to church. They had been a few times growing up in Buckingham County when they were kids, but back then...everyone did. They weren't hostile or antagonistic to church, just apathetic and exhausted by the time Sunday rolled around. But this Bible School thing sounded like just the thing to get the kids out of the house for a week during that dreadfully hot summer and maybe give my mother a break. She agreed to let them go, on the condition that she be allowed to come along the first day just to make sure that this Kingsland Baptist Church wasn't some sort of cult.

And that was it. It was as simple as that. That was the day that changed the trajectory of the Dunnevant family in ways great and small. Even though I wasn't even alive at the time, my life story was altered and consequently the lives of my children. It is a mind-numbing exercise to contemplate the vicissitudes of life. Sitting around pondering the random collision of people and events in life is a recipe for madness. Some believe in fate, others call it chance. I have come to believe in the divine appointment.

Because of a seemingly random visit that humid night 62 years ago, literally everything changed for one small, poor, insignificant family in a run-down neighborhood in Colonial Heights. My mother would wind up being captivated by what she saw that first day of Bible School. She would attend every day. Both of my parents would attend the family night service at the end of the week, their first time in church together in years. They started attending regular services, and an adult Bible study class together. Within months, both of my parents became Christians and soon couldn't get enough of the church. They went to every class that would take them. They met new people their own age who welcomed them into the fellowship of a dynamic church. They immersed themselves in the place and soaked up the words and teachings of Jesus Christ. It transformed their thinking and the direction of their lives. After several years of discipleship and personal and spiritual growth, my father (for the first and only time) heard the audible voice of God calling him into the ministry while driving his beat-up Plymouth down Jeff-Davis highway.

This calling was ridiculous on its face. Back in those days, becoming a Baptist minister required not only a college education but also a seminary degree. Needless to say, my Dad had neither, and the prospect of getting either with little money and 4 children seemed like a pipe dream. Nobody in my dad's family had ever attended college. Heck, my dad's father had been a sharecropper at one point. The whole idea seemed impossible, and many questioned his calling. You're sure it was the voice of God, Emmett? Maybe it was the fan belt!

But against all odds, my dad persevered. He enrolled at the University of Richmond, becoming a 38 year old freshman. He had to quit the best job he had ever had at Allied Chemical (confirming his madness in the eyes of some) and take a job at Reynolds Metals working the graveyard shift at night (11:00 p.m. to 6:00 a.m.) and going to school full time during the day . . . with four hungry mouths to feed. He graduated on time and with honors. Then it was time to pack up his family of six in a Chevrolet Impala station wagon for the twenty hour drive to Louisiana to attend the New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary for three years. All of us lived in a two bedroom campus apartment with a barely working window air conditioner. Within two weeks of our arrival, we were welcomed to our new city by a raging hurricane (Betsy) which flooded the place and filled the streets on campus with poisonous snakes and alligators. We weren't in Virginia anymore. 

My Dad became a Teamster, loading trucks on the docks where the Mississippi River and the Gulf of Mexico meet. Three more years of graveyard shifts in tropical heat and humidity, which made the summers in Richmond seem like the Garden of Eden by comparison. I don't remember ever seeing Dad during the week in all the time we lived in New Orleans. But again, he graduated . . . on time and with honors. Soon he would receive his first church job as senior pastor of Winns Baptist Church in Elmont, bringing the family back to Virginia.

Before the visit, the Dunnevant family was part of an uninspired demographic in America . . . poor, rural, lower class, with no education and thin prospects for advancement. Some did advance, and spectacularly so, but most didn't. But on a steamy night in 1955, everything changed for one such family. My parents went on to have four kids, nine grandkids, and four great grandkids before they passed away. In total, eleven college graduates, four with Masters degrees, all long ago having escaped poverty and the other pathologies that poverty breeds. In his 45 years as a minister of the Gospel, at least a thousand others were introduced to the redemptive power of Jesus Christ, transforming their family stories, the ripples produced by a single stone on the water seeming never to end.

All because a bright eyed couple went to the trouble of making a visit in a run-down neighborhood on a hot summer night 62 years ago.