Archive for Donald Trump

Holy Smoke (And Mirrors)!

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 15, 2017 by deborah1960

 

 

“The Devil can cite scripture for his purpose.”

William Shakespeare, The Merchant of Venice

 

Brothers and Sisters!  It is such an honor for me, The Really Reverend Reynard J. Foxworthy, to take this mighty pulpit!  It is always exciting to attend the Values Voter Summit, but never more so than this year, when, for the first time ever, we have been blessed by the presence of the President. Wasn’t his speech vowing to protect Judeo-Christian values just the most incredible thing you’ve ever heard?  We are truly blessed to have such a powerful advocate who will defend the sanctity of the family, the church, and the proper role of women!

And, speaking of blessings, did you all remember to bring your faith shower caps?  That’s right, that’s right.  Bring them on up here!  Now, all of you remembered to say the special prayer, right?  Excellent.  And the crisp twenty dollar bill, all rolled up nice and tidy and tucked in along with your prayer concerns?  No checks.  The Lord don’t accept checks.  Just cold, hard, cash. Wonderful.  That’s right.  Just bring ‘em on up. Remember what the good book says:  “There will be showers of blessings!”  Ezekiel 34:26.  Good ol’ Ezekiel.  And Acts 20:35!  “It is more blessed to give than to receive!”  Remember!  The more you give, the more blessings you receive!  Thank you, thank you!

Whew!  That sure is a powerful pile of shower caps, folks!  God bless you! I mean that, from the bottom of my heart!  I know that you are a holy people!  I can bank on that!

That sure is a bright spot!  A bright spot in these dark days.  Oh, yes, Lord, these are dark times.  There are dark murmurings.  Portents. Omens.  Unchristian malcontents muttering about our blessed, blessed president. Ho-mo-sex-u-als.  Mus-lims.  Lib-er-als.  Fem-in-ists. Sinners, all of them! But you, my brothers and sisters, you are the bright light in the dark, dark world. The light under the bushel!

Yes!  The Christian Union of Nationalist Trumpites is a veritable house of Lot in the middle of Sodom AND Gomorrah!  A pure white herd of fat, juicy sheep in the midst of wolves and scavengers! Alleluia!

Now, there are some who will tell you that our president is not a good man!  That a twice divorced man who admits on tape to committing sexual assaults, has alleged Mafia ties, bamboozles his students at his “university”, and refuses to pay his subcontractors , to name but a few transgressions, must be one of those wolves!  Well, that might be!

But let me ask you this: Who would be better at protecting a sheep than a wolf?  And not any old wolf, but a wolf who knows every trick in the sheep-fleecing book, yet has mended his ways, has seen the awful wrongness of his sins, and has crept back to the fold? I have laid these hands on Donald Trump, brothers and sisters, and I know just how real his contrition is.  I felt that he was my brother, and that, deep down, he was just like me.   I’m telling you, folks, Donald Trump is part of God’s plan!  It’s right there in the Bible!  “The wolf will live with the lamb”! Isaiah 11:6.  I sure do love that Isaiah!

Of course, there are some who think I shouldn’t be talking about our president up here from my pulpit.  Some, like those pawns of Satan at the IRS, think our blessed Christian Union should lose its tax exempt status just because I am exercising my first amendment rights by using my sermons to persuade you to vote in a certain way so as to benefit our blessed denomination.  But I had a vision, beloved friends!  I saw the very paper on which that rule was first penned eternally burning in the fiery pits of Hell! And do you know who I saw lighting the first match?  That’s right!  Our president, Donald J. Trump, Sr.!

Now, I was out in the concession stand, signing copies of my book, and I heard some of you chewing the fat over what the president did to Obamacare (or, as I like to call it, NO!-bamacare)!  You heard all the fake news about the $200 billion it will add to the federal deficit, and how millions of poor and middle class people, people just like yourselves, won’t be able to afford to pay for health insurance, especially if they have a pre-existing condition.  You might be worried that your kids could pay thousands of dollars into a health insurance plan that seems real cheap but don’t cover squat, or has eye-watering deductibles.

But don’t worry!  Remember what Jesus said about worrying!  “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”  Matthew 6:26.  Trust me, you are much, much more valuable than a sparrow!   You are precious treasure, believe me!

And even if all this fake news is true, which it isn’t, you need to ask yourself:  how does this fit in with God’s plan?

Now, you know that God’s plan isn’t always the most obvious thing in the world.  Like my old pappy, the Reverend Billy-Todd Foxworthy, used to say to me, “Reynard, God has the damnedest sense of humor sometimes.” Amen!  But if you try real hard, sometimes you can figure it out. And folks, I think I’ve cracked the code!

Remember what Jesus said:  “Blessed are the poor!” Luke 6:20.  My favorite gospel, that Luke!  Well, think about it.  If Trump makes more people poor, isn’t he actually spreading God’s blessing?  After all, if it’s “easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God,” then isn’t President Trump opening up heaven’s gates to more people? And isn’t that a miracle?  Glory!

So don’t believe what that lying Whore of Babylon Rachel Maddow says about the President.  And remember: your gifts of time, talent, and especially treasure to the Christian Union of Nationalist Trumpites help us carry out God’s mission.

Now, please turn to page 666 of the hymnal, and join me as we sing the offering hymn “Lord, Thou Lov’st the Cheerful Giver.”

©D. R. Miller 2017

 

 

 

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The Bot Who Came In From the Cold

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on September 30, 2017 by deborah1960

It was a dark and stormy night. Schumer’s phone belted out, “I’m not the world’s most passionate guy!”

Damn, he thought.  He declined the call without even looking at the phone.  He didn’t need to.  There was only one Lola, and he knew what it meant.  He pulled out his second phone, the phone to be used only in an emergency, the phone with only one number on it. She answered on the second ring, as arranged.

“You see it?” she asked.

“Yeah. I saw it.  He must be in deep shit, using the fire-the-son-of-a-bitch code.”

“No kidding.  He just flew in from Huntsville. We’re meeting him in twenty minutes.  I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“Where?  The Roosevelt Room?”

“No.  Too public.  We’re going to use Zinke’s Cone of Silence.”

“Right.  See you in ten.”

“And Schumer?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to burn the phone.”

Schumer smiled as he pulled the SIM card out and ignited it with his Zippo.  That Pelosi.  She never misses a trick.

 

Pelosi and Schumer, both wearing duck masks to befuddle Interior’s face recognition security system (he was Hewey, she was Dewey), waited wordlessly while the elevator brought them to the Secretary’s floor.  It was late—a miserable, rainy night in Washington—and Chuck found the silence of the normally busy building unnerving.  But if Pelosi were nervous, she didn’t show it.

Finally the elevator doors slid open and revealed the President pacing up and down the hallway.  He, too, was wearing a mask.  He was Donald.

“Chuck! Nancy!  Thank God you’re here!”

Barely controlling her annoyance, Pelosi motioned for him to shut the hell up.  Abashed, Trump smacked his forehead, nearly knocking his mask off.  Schumer took the President by the elbow and guided him to the Secretary’s office before Pelosi could kick Trump in the shins.

Once inside, all three sat at Zinke’s magnificent mahogany conference table.  Pelosi flicked a switch, and a huge plastic dome, with the name FOXWORTHY ENTERPRISES etched on its side, descended upon them.

“Oh, boy!  Am I glad to see you two!” the President cried as he slipped the mask off.

“We heard you use code red in Alabama.  ‘Fire the son of a bitch.’ What’s the emergency, Donald?”

“I can’t do it any more, Nancy.  I want to come in from the cold.”

Schumer felt his sphincter tighten.  Donald wanted to come in from the cold?  Their best-placed mole?  He glanced sideways at Pelosi.  If she felt any shock, she didn’t show it.  God, she was magnificent.

“Tell me about it, Donald,” was all she said.

“I just can’t handle it any more.  All the hate.  And those god awful hats!  Why do I have to wear those hats?”

“Now, Donald, you know that you have to wear the hats.  Everyone expects you to.”

“But I look like such a dork in it, Nancy.  And it’s not just the hat.  I can’t get a decent burrito any more.  I show up at Taco King and they spit in my carnitas.  And they don’t even bother hiding it!  I’ve been eating at Chipotle, for fuck’s sake.  Chipotle, Chuck!”

Pelosi patted Donald’s tiny hand, looking genuinely concerned.  “Go on, Donald.  That’s right.  Let it all out.”

“And poor Colin Kaepernick.  So brave!  So strong! Taking a stand against white supremacy! And he’s blackballed!  All those wife beaters and drunk drivers in the NFL, and they blackball that brave young man.  And what do I do?  I call him a ‘son of a bitch’! I’m the son of a bitch, Nancy!  I am!”

The President wept into his hands.  “And North Korea!  All those terrible things I said about Kim Jong Un. I know he’s sick, well, crazy really, and I have to go and call him Rocket Man! The next thing I know, he’s talking about dropping an A bomb on Sausalito.  What was I thinking?”

Pelosi nudged Schumer.  This is where you come in, was the silent message. One New York Democrat to another. She was the master strategist, but Schumer was the human touch.  It was why they were such a great team.

“Donald, Donald.  C’mon, buddy!  Pull it together! Be a mensch, for the love of Mike.”

The magic words did their trick.  The President took in a huge, shuddering breath and wiped his nose with the hankie Schumer offered him.

Schumer went on.  “Look, Donald.  I know it’s been tough for you.  It’s a rotten job, but we needed the best, and baby, that’s you.”

Donald nodded.  “I know. I know.”

“Look at all you’ve done. I mean, thanks to you, the whole world knows that a Hell’s Kitchen alley cat has more intellectual honesty and moral fortitude than Paul Ryan. And what you did to Christie!  Jesus H. Christ, that was beautiful, man.”  Schumer leaned back in his chair and chuckled in that way he has.  He had meant every word of it.  Donald was the best.

Donald laughed, too.  “Did you see the look on McConnell’s face when I told him to get back to work?”

Pelosi chimed in with her silvery giggle.  She had the most beautiful laugh.

The three laughed long and hard, then sighed deeply and looked at each other.  Good times.  Then, just as suddenly, Donald’s face darkened.

“I don’t think I can keep it up anymore, guys.  It’s just too hard.  The responsibility is bone-crushing.  Who knew that being president, even the worst-ever president, would be so hard? Everybody hates me.”

“Donald.  Donald! Listen to me.”

They both looked at her, her chin thrust forward in graceful determination.

“Donald, you have done more for the cause than any other Democrat in history.  Thanks to you, Americans are talking about racism and white supremacy more openly than ever. You’ve shown us more clearly than anyone the threat to our country that Russia poses.  And as for opening our eyes about health insurance policy, well, Donald, even Barack admits that you’re second to none.”

Donald visibly preened. But just as suddenly, he looked crestfallen.

“But I just don’t think I can last to 2020.”

Pelosi broke out into a grin that reminded Schumer of a sunny day in May.

“Donald, don’t be so silly!  Of course you don’t have to hold out to 2020.  All you have to do is hold out to the mid-terms.  Once we get the House and Senate back, I swear, we’ll impeach your ass so fast it’ll make your head spin.”  Schumer smiled.  Her mixed metaphors were so adorable.

“I know, but if you impeach me, then that’ll leave Pence in charge.  I’d rather choke on a chicken bone than let that self-righteous, hypocritical homophobe in the Oval Office.”

Schumer stepped in.  “Don’t worry about Pence.  Bobby Mueller found so many links between him and Manafort that little Mikey’s gonna be up shit’s creek—“

“—Without the paddle!” Trump chortled.

They high-fived each other.

“Just one more thing,” Trump said.  “What about the girl?”

Pelosi and Schumer looked at each other, nonplussed.  “What girl?” they asked in unison.

“Melania.  This is killing her, having to dress up all the time and put on that bullshit about cyberbullying.  All she wants to do is stay at home, read the metaphysical poets, and bake potica.”

“Don’t worry about Melania.  Of course you can bring her out with you when you come home.”

“Yeah, Donald,” Schumer added, “I’ll tell you what. Once all this is over, we’ll all meet up at the Breukelen Coffee House, you, me, Melania, and Nancy.  We’ll have a good laugh, and I’ll show you my neck of the woods.”

“Yeah, Chuck.  That’d be great.”  The President smiled, but there was something sad in his smile. Schumer felt a little sorry for the poor schmuck.

 

Pelosi pulled her Aston Martin up alongside Schumer’s townhouse.  Schumer cast around for something to say.  He just wasn’t ready to go up those marble steps alone.

“Well, that was close,” he said.

“Sure was.  But you did a great job.”

“Oh, you too.”

An awkward silence hung in the car.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Schumer asked.

“I don’t know.  Sometimes I think Donny should just shut the fuck up.  He’s out of his element.”

Schumer threw his head back and laughed.

“Schumer.”

“Pelosi?”

“I think you’d better go.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

He unbuckled his belt and turned to open the door.  As he was about to leave, he felt her elegant hand on his shoulder.

“We’re a good team, aren’t we?” she asked, a tremble of vulnerability barely audible in her husky voice.

“You bet we are.”

“Good night, Chuck.”

“Good night, Nancy.”

©2017 D. R. Miller

 

 

 

Donald in the Classroom: Could Do Better

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on September 21, 2017 by deborah1960

Dear General Kelly,

I understand that you are concerned about your ward Donald’s lack of progress in Rhetoric and Critical Thinking, especially in light of Professor McWhorter’s latest assessment, and you have requested this update as a matter of some urgency.  It distresses me to inform you that I share your concern.  I cannot recall the last time I ran across a student with so little affinity for the subject.  It is not that he lacks ability—Donald certainly exhibits native cunning—but it is almost a badge of honor for him to disregard the most basic tenets of the discipline.

Perhaps the problem has its roots in a common, if inaccurate, belief that “rhetoric” is synonymous with “insincerity.”  However, given Donald’s tendencies, I would have thought that this false equivalency would have been an attraction for him.  But rhetoric, the study and practice of writing as a means of communication and persuasion, is more than glib flourishes. The truly persuasive writer marries eloquence to clear thinking.  Both are necessary:  persuasion without substance descends to demagoguery, while logic without fluency is devoid of humanity.  Perhaps that explains Donald’s lack of interest in the course.

Or perhaps he is just a lazy bugger.  Whatever the root of the problem, it is obvious that Donald’s ability to express himself clearly, persuasively, and logically is strikingly anemic.

While his areas for development are legion, it would be utterly dispiriting (and, I should think, beyond the realm of human possibility) for Donald to attempt to correct all of them.  Therefore, I think that he should take small steps and focus on improving his register and avoiding dangerous hyperbole. His most recent speaking and listening assessment (a speech before the UN entitled “Why America is the Best and the Rest of You Suck (Except You, Vlad)”) provides a dazzlingly apt vehicle for illustrating these deficiencies in his rhetoric.

“Register” refers to the degree of formality adopted by the writer or speaker.  To appropriately gauge register, the writer needs to be aware of his audience.  Here, Donald was supposed to be addressing the General Assembly of the United Nations, for heaven’s sake—not a bunch of bros hanging out in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven.  Referring to a fellow head of state as “Rocket Man on a suicide mission” is simply not the done thing, no matter how crazy you think he is. To call it juvenile would be an insult to adolescents everywhere.  Frankly, it was excruciating just to hear it, and judging from the photo of your reaction  while listening with the other grown-ups in the auditorium, I think you agree.  No wonder the judges gave him such poor marks.

However, such cringe-worthy remarks are indicative of an even greater problem.  Maybe, as has been suggested by some members of the faculty, his audience was NOT the legions of dignitaries and ambassadors seated before him.  Perhaps his actual audience were the very yahoos and locker room fauna that made him the student body president of this erstwhile fine institution of learning in the first place. The jarring informality of his tone certainly indicated that, even though Donald was standing behind the most prestigious podium in the world, his heart was in a half-empty convention hall in Phoenix.  But if that were indeed the case, then it might indicate that Donald’s narcissism is even more full-blown than the school psychologist had previously reported.  It takes a damning degree of self-regard to twist a solemn occasion into a campaign rally—especially when the election is long over.

I also believe that his tone deaf register is inextricably linked to his use of dangerous hyperbole. Instead of using facts, expert opinions, or any of the other tools available for developing reasoned arguments, Donald relentlessly resorts to facile exaggeration to make his points.  It’s always easier to use bombast than to take the time to unravel the threads of a diplomatic tangle, and it’s tempting to lob a grenade when we lack the patience (or wherewithal) to devise new approaches to intractable problems.  But as personally satisfying such tactics can be, they frequently cloud the issue, blind the listener, and needlessly antagonize the opposition.  We need only look at how the delegates’ collective sphincter visibly tightened after Donald threatened to “totally destroy North Korea” to understand how destructive gratuitous and emotional hyperbole can be.

Finally, although you did not request information about Donald’s behavior in school, I would be remiss in my duties as his homeroom teacher if I did not express my concerns about Donald’s continued association with young Stevie Miller.  Frankly, I find Stevie’s mesmeric hold over Donald not only confusing, but pernicious.  Donald exhibits truly nasty tendencies towards Mohamed and Maria whenever he and Stevie spend recess huddled together in a corner of the playground.  I hardly need to remind you of the trauma the class experienced earlier this term when Donald ripped Barack’s prize-winning essay, “My Birth and Childhood in Hawaii,” out of his hands and force fed the pages to the class’s pet lizard, Tucker. Furthermore, I’m aware that Vice Principal Mueller will be sending you a thorough report on Donald’s unhealthy relationship with Vladimir and its possible consequences on the student body president election.  On a more positive note, I would like to point out that Donald has become far less disruptive (although perhaps more disgruntled) since we moved the Bannon lad to a different homeroom.

I hope that this information is of use to you.  If you require any further assistance, please let me know.  God knows you’ll need it.

Best regards,

 

The Critical Thinking (And Homeroom 7B) Teacher

The New York Military Academy for Troubled Scions

 

©2017 D.R. Miller

My Non-Racist Bones Will Not Suffice

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , on September 16, 2017 by deborah1960

Dear Fellow White American,

I’m afraid I have a confession, and it is this:  if I hear one more time that you don’t have a racist bone in your body, I think I might have to smack you.  It isn’t that I don’t believe you, even though we both know that this statement or something similar is frequently the preface to an outrageously racist remark.

No.  That’s not it.  I’m willing to assume the truth that your skeleton is, indeed, lacking the racist bone.  I’m even willing to go even farther in my assumptions:  not only are you entirely non-racist, you are also utterly colorblind and totally devoid of implicit biases (you know, those impulses that make you assume that the black woman in your doctor’s office is a nurse’s aide and not the new internist).  Somehow, you’ve managed to escape the pernicious effects of living in a racist society. I know you, and I honestly believe that most of you possess good faith and good will in abundance.  But even under those conditions, I’m afraid that your non-racist bones (and mine, for that matter) do not suffice.

That’s because, as innocent as you individually might be, you (and I) are still the beneficiaries of centuries of racist attitudes, actions, and policies that have placed us at the top of the heap.  The issue is not that things would change if only black people were more like us.  The issue is that things won’t change until we are less like us. And if that surprises you, then I suggest that all of us (myself included) need to stop blathering on about our non-racist bones, and instead shut up and listen.  If we did that, we might understand that nothing is going to change unless we change our attitudes, assumptions, and actions about race.

Here’s an example of what I mean.  A lot of people I know get very riled about the idea of “Black Lives Matter,” not because they are racist, but because in their idealistic, good old fashioned liberal way, they think that all lives matter[1].  People of a certain generation were raised to believe that because race doesn’t matter, we shouldn’t ever make distinctions based on race.  And when applied to things like water fountains, school buses, and public restrooms, that seems about right.  But we need to make distinctions based on race if not to do so would result in the perpetuation of an injustice.

Frankly, the reason why the movement is not called “All Lives Matter” is that our history has shown time and time again that this is simply not the case.  White American hands have torn, broken, and burned black bodies with impunity since the arrival of the first black slaves to Virginia in 1619.  You don’t have to go far back to see the violence wrought upon black bodies.  There is no reason to look at the Civil War photos of Private Gordon’s scourged back or the photos of Emmett Till’s desecrated body in his coffin to see what I mean; you can look at Trayvon Martin’s body, shot down for buying Skittles in the wrong part of town.  Perhaps they should have called the movement “Black Lives Matter, Too.”  Sigh.  For want of an adverb, a cause was lost.  And who says grammar doesn’t matter?

But easy flippancy aside, I doubt that even the inclusion of “too” would make the acceptance of “Black Lives Matter” more likely, because it flies in the face of what we white people believe about our country and ourselves.  We are raised to believe in the fundamental fairness of America, where due process and equal rights exist for all, and the American dream is attainable to anyone willing to put in the hard work necessary to achieve it. But what due process did Trayvon Martin have when George Zimmerman tried and convicted and executed him for being a young black man in a white neighborhood?  What equal protections were afforded to Sandra Bland, who was pulled over for not signaling a lane change, beaten by the cop who arrested her, and then found swinging from a sheet in her cell three days later?  And how attainable is that American Dream to a black child born into a black neighborhood that had been transformed by racist housing policies from a “nice” white neighborhood to a living diorama of urban ills?

And the list goes on:  incarceration rates sky rocket among black men and women; schools are increasingly segregated, while white schools receive more funding than black schools;  and  even though the life expectancy gap has narrowed, black life expectancy is still significantly below whiteeven in the same city.

The easy and, frankly, most popular way to explain these disconnects between white patriotic ideals and grim African American realities is, simply, to blame the victim.  To assert that there must be something wrong with them that creates these difficulties.  A nice idea, except for one tiny flaw:  it ain’t so.  These ills have their roots not in black capacities or inclinations but in the systems that allowed and then justified the subjugation of blacks.  Crap housing and dilapidated neighborhoods?  Thank the block busters who instigated white flight by terrifying white homeowners with the vision of black neighbors, while selling the resulting abandoned houses to black families at inflated prices they couldn’t afford.  Shitty schools in black neighborhoods?  Take a hard, long look at Brown v. Board of Education, which enshrined in educational law the belief that black schools were inherently inferior, thereby holding up the white school as the institution worthy of support and improvement.  Entrenched poverty?  Blame the vast difference in wealth between white families (with a median nest egg of $111,146) and black families ($7,113—not so much a “nest egg” as a “nest crumb”) on, among other factors, the lasting impact of the discriminatory housing policies in the GI Bill.  Most of our wealth takes generations to build, and the houses of our ancestors have contributed much to our present wealth.  But what if your ancestors were precluded from buying houses?  Or if they were forced to buy inferior housing stock?

See?  The typical American narrative—the plucky immigrant who came to America and worked his socks off so his children could have a better life—doesn’t apply to the African American experience.  For one thing, despite the assertions of a Texas history book to the contrary, the African Americans who found themselves on our lovely shores were not “immigrants” or “workers”; they were slaves, property, chattel, whose designation as “souls”  in their owners’ accounting books demonstrates unequivocally their absolute subjugation to the white population who regarded the black people in their midst with little more respect than what they would show a draft horse or mule.  And despite their emancipation, they were subjected to an unrelenting campaign to keep them “in their place.” To white eyes, the Civil Rights movement, Dr. King, and the election of Barack Obama are proof that the campaign is over and the battle against racism won.  However, the hate-filled faces of the white-supremacists in Charlottesville, and the support given to them by our Equivocator-in-Chief, are chilling reminders that the struggle is far from over.

And the fact is, the struggle might never be over if we white people don’t do our part.

So, what is our part?  Well, as I said above, we all need to shut up and listen.  How about inviting a black friend for dinner, and then letting him or her speak without interruption, explanation, or excuse?  Just take it on the chin, no matter how much you want to interject.  And then we need to read histories and analyses to learn what our textbooks have long hidden from us.  A great place to start would be “The First White President” by Ta-Nehisi Coates, recently published in The Atlantic. It is an eye-opening analysis of the role white supremacism played in the 2016 election of that man.  For a magisterial history of how racism and racist policies shaped our country from its foundations, you really need to read Stamped from the Beginning by Ibram X. Kendi.  The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness by Michelle Alexander is another crucial book.  But you should also check out Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead, because you can never underestimate the power of metaphor to explain the truth.  And there are lots more out there.

After that?  I don’t know.  Taking a stand?  Calling out bullshit? Writing a blog? Going on a march? Donations to Black Lives Matter or the Southern Poverty Law Center?  Any constructive ideas gratefully received.  It’ll be a start.  But not a finish.  Not by a long shot. But in the words of John Milton, “Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.”

© 2017 D.R. Miller

 

[1] I’m perfectly aware that there are many rabid racists who foam at the mouth at the thought of “Black Lives Matter,” because they really think that black lives don’t matter.  Some of them even hold the highest positions of authority in our government.  But I’m not talking to them. I’m talking to you!

How to Tell BF from BS

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 25, 2017 by deborah1960

A recent op-ed article in the New York Times raised an interesting (and eponymous) question:  has Trump stolen philosophy’s critical tools? The author, Casey Williams, argues that some of the blame for Trump’s rather casual relationship with the truth lies in some measure with the philosophers, literary critics, and social scientists who have chipped away at the notion that truth can in any way be deemed objective, universal, and unquestionable.  In a world where the one universally acknowledged truth is that the truth cannot be known, it is a short hop, skip, and a jump to proclaiming the legitimacy of “alt-truth.”  Certainly, truth is subjective.  If nothing else, neuroscience has established that the evidence of our eyes and of our memory is anything but reliable.  A quick peek at Neuroscience News reveals how researchers are learning how fragile, friable, and fantastical our memories—so critical to our understanding of “truth”–are.  Trump therefore cannot be lying, because there cannot be such a thing as the truth.  Instead of lies, Trump is merely recasting his version of the truth, or rather, is positing one of an infinite possible truths.  This situation raises the hitherto unthinkable possibility that Trump is a b.f. (bona fide—good faith) philosopher, and not a b.s. (bullus shittus) artist.

And yet this prospect doesn’t sit well with me, and I think Williams finds it a quite uncomfortable notion, too. Indeed, he ends by stating that the only way for us to determine the legitimacy (or otherwise) of Trump’s pronouncements is for us to use critical thinking skills.  After all, philosophy and truth-seeking should be supported by sound reasoning, right? So, let’s put on our Critical Thinking Caps and do it!  Let’s root out rotten reasoning!

First, intentions should matter. And something tells me that Trump’s intentions are not pure.  Someone who acknowledges the possibility of a subjective truth, and who rejects the notion of a universal truth, tends to be anti-authoritarian.  If you have a nuanced view of the world, and are willing to accept that there is, indeed, more than one way to skin a cat,[1] then you are far less likely to attempt to impose your world view upon others.  This is evident in literary criticism, which by its very nature encourages the reader to develop personal interpretations of texts.  Analyzing a canonical work such as Othello through a feminist lens, for example, enables us to view the characters of Emilia and Desdemona as far more critical (and interesting) than if we simply accept the heavy-handed traditional view that the female characters are merely stock figures whose sole purpose in the play is to move the plot along.  Similarly, adopting different ways of viewing the world might make one a bit more sensitive to the impact of history upon current events.  So, for example, one might be a tad more willing to concede the importance of asserting that “black lives matter” if one looked at the history of slavery, Jim Crow, and lynching through the eyes of African Americans.  I know that if I were African American, I would be a bit shrill in asserting my right to exist in the face of a power structure that has done everything possible to downplay the importance of black lives.[2] Absolutists, on the other hand, appear to have no difficulty with declaring that their point of view is the correct position to take. Frankly, there is nothing in Trump’s biography, rhetoric, or actions to support the idea that he is a subtle observer of the human condition.  Indeed, I think that Trump himself would scoff at the idea that he really need to see things from another person’s point of view. Atticus Finch he is not.[3] At the very least, his sweeping generalizations indicate that he is a man who sees the world in absolute terms.

But even if we assume that Trump’s intentions are as pure as Sir Galahad, and that Trump were posing an alternative truth instead of a downright lie, there should still be some relationship to the “truth” he is refuting.  Let’s look at the example Williams used:  Trump’s tweet in response to the increased heat generated by the investigation into Russian interference with the election.  Here it is, in all its glory:

 “Terrible! Just found out that Obama had my “wires tapped” in Trump Tower just before the victory. Nothing found. This is McCarthyism.”

Now, you might look high, and you might look low, but there is nothing in this statement that is in any way relevant to the question of just how far up his puppet Putin’s hands go.[4]  This lack of a logical relationship between the statement (“Putin really had his hand way, way, WAY up his puppet!”) and the refutation (“Obama bugged me!”) can be either intentional (a red herring) or inadvertent (ignoratio elenchi)[5].  But either way, as any Critical Thinking Teacher worth her salt can tell you, this disconnection is a fatal flaw to the argument Trump is making, because all it does is throw sand into the reader’s eyes.  Instead of shedding light on the matter at hand, Trump is obscuring it.  Blurts do not sound reasoning make.

Furthermore, even if “truth” doesn’t exist, “facts” sure do.  There are observable, measurable phenomena whose existence can be verified.  Temperatures can be measured, stock prices recorded, and hot mic remarks  replayed.  To date, he has not offered any evidence to back his claim about Obama bugging Trump Tower.  Nor is this an isolated lapse: Trump’s relationship with facts is notoriously lax. Politifact, an independent fact-checking website, reckons that 71% of the 394 statements by Trump that they fact-checked were mostly false (20%), false (33%), or “pants-on-fire” (16%).  And these statements include easily fact-checked falsehoods (“All pipelines that are coming into this country from now on has (sic) to be American steel”) and some just plain silly pants-igniting lies ( “Before the presidential campaign, ‘I didn’t know Steve [Bannon]’”). I think that we can all agree that a philosophical truth-seeker will, if nothing else, at least try to make his or her statements consistent with the factual record.

But mostly, Trump’s rhetoric is simply not consistent with typical philosophical discourse.  Can any among you honestly say that The Critique of Pure Reason was simply un-put-down-able?  Or that Of Grammatology was a real page turner?  Anyone?  Bueller?  Bueller?

Of course not.  And there is an excellent reason for this:  philosophical writings are intellectual, rational, and about as exciting to read as paint can labels.  That’s why most people don’t read them and instead use Sparknotes.[6]

Now, there are many things you can call Trump’s rhetoric, but “dry” and “intellectual” certainly aren’t among them.  Look at these examples to see what I mean:

“Happy New Year to all, including to my many enemies and those who have fought me and lost so badly they just don’t know what to do. Love!”

“I will build a great wall – and nobody builds walls better than me, believe me – and I’ll build them very inexpensively. I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall. Mark my words.”

“If I were running ‘The View’, I’d fire Rosie O’Donnell. I mean, I’d look at her right in that fat, ugly face of hers, I’d say ‘Rosie, you’re fired.’”

They are not identical in tone or subject.  In that first quotation, Trump’s New Year’s greeting manages to conflate love and vague threats to his “enemies” in a rather memorable –and disturbing—manner, while the repeated references to the greatness of his wall in the second quotation brings to mind the hubristic musings of an illiterate eight-year-old.  The revenge fantasy of the third quotation is marked by its viciousness.  But they share a vital quality:  they are all riddled with emotive language.

Emotive language, as its name strongly suggests, is used to create an emotional response in the reader or listener.  And that emotional response is often visceral, which literally means taking place in the gut.  Fear, love, humor, horror all have physical manifestations: sweat, increased heart rate, laughter.  Even my usual response to Trump’s language, nausea, is merely the physical manifestation of my disgust.

You might notice that in the midst of all this emotion, there is very little intellectual reaction going on.  It takes real effort to think after reading a Trumpism, because you feel emotionally drained.  A b.f. philosopher, on the other hand, leaves you exhausted because she exercised your brain.  By purposely creating an emotional reaction, Trump is using linguistic prestidigitation to distract the reader from the critical task at hand of evaluating the legitimacy of his “alt-truth.”  Far from seeking his own subjective truth, he is preventing the reader from engaging with the meaning of his words in any substantive way.

And that, dear reader, is why I feel utterly comfortable with labeling Trump as a b.s. artist, and his “alternate truths” as lies.

[1] My cat hates this expression.

[2] And in case you think I’m being ever so slightly hysterical, you might want to check out this book.

[3] I am, of course, referring to the Atticus Finch of To Kill A Mockingbird, or, as I like to call him, the real Atticus Finch.  Someday I will write a blog about the immorality of tricking an old lady with dementia into publishing a draft of a crap novel she had abandoned decades ago.  But more of that anon.

[4] My!  That’s a disturbing image!

[5] If you want to know the difference, I suggest you click here to read a really, really AMAZING blog that uses the best words to explain it!! Nice!

[6] Yes, yes, yes.  I know that there are a few among you who have, indeed, read these works in their entirety and really, really liked them.  Bully for you.  But I was talking about normal people.

 

Copyright 2017 D. R. Miller

Jason and the Argue-Nots

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on January 25, 2017 by deborah1960

Decisions, decisions.  Goodness knows how difficult it can be to make a decision—especially when the choices are set out like so many juicy cherries, their taut skin barely able to contain all of the delicious fallacies percolating beneath the surface.  But, really, some of these blogs have just been too long, so it is necessary to exercise discipline.  This is especially urgent when considering the wit and wisdom of one of the nation’s premier fallacy factories, the Honorable Jason Chaffetz.  In case you are not familiar with Representative Chaffetz, all you really need to know for the purposes of this lesson are the following three facts:

  1. He has represented Utah’s third Congressional District since 2008;
  2. He is the chair of the of the United States House Committee on Oversight and Government Reform; and
  3. He conducted the Benghazi hearings.[1]

Now, you might be wondering, after providing the platform for a witch hunt that arguably ultimately resulted in the non-election of perhaps the most qualified presidential candidate who ever walked the face of God’s green earth, however will Jason Chaffetz  fill his newly cleared calendar? Well, there are many options out there, but I’ll tell you one thing that Chaffetz won’t be doing any time soon.

He won’t be investigating any of Trump’s possible problems with the Emoluments Clause of the Constitution.[2]

Nope.  Not a one.

Why ever not? I hear you cry.  After all, isn’t the government oversight committee supposed to, well, oversee the government?  And if the president is riddled with more potential conflicts of interests than a wharf rat has fleas, shouldn’t someone at least take a sneaky peek at what’s going on?

Well, apparently not.  And why not?  Well, on the 15th of January, Chaffetz explained his “reasoning” on This Week:

I’m not just going to go on these fishing expeditions. I didn’t do that with President Obama. We didn’t go through this with President Obama. I think the world and certainly the American voters understand that Donald Trump has mass holdings. He’s worth billions of dollars. He’s been very successful in business. And I think the American voters understood that when they voted him in (http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/week-transcript-15-17-reince-priebus-sen-bernie/story?id=44778012).

         You see my dilemma, don’t you?  I mean, here I have some of the most flagrant hypocrisy uttered in political discourse in the past week,[3] but at the same time, I also have a lovely example of a strawman.  What’s a Critical Thinking Teacher to do?

Well, after weeping a bit at the thought of leaving that filet mignon of hypocrisy alone, I decided to go along with the straw man fallacy.  Hypocrisy is just too easy, and there are far too many examples (and far too little time) for us to examine every example that comes our way, no matter how glorious it might be.[4] Straw man fallacies are a bit harder to understand, and since Chaffetz has given us a nice example to work with, it seems a bit churlish to let it go by unnoticed. So, let’s start, shall we?

First of all, what is a straw man fallacy? Well, I think that the good folks at nizkor.org do an excellent job of defining a straw man fallacy:

“The Straw Man fallacy is committed when a person simply ignores a person’s actual position and substitutes a distorted, exaggerated or misrepresented version of that position (http://www.nizkor.org/features/fallacies/straw-man.html).”

When I think of a straw man, I think of those World War I movies, where dashing young soldiers practice their bayonet skills by shoving the blade into bales of hay.  It makes the whole idea of killing someone with a knife on a stick look wondrously simple.  But when you get onto the battlefield, and you have to shove that sucker through bone and sinew, then you realize how false the straw man is.  In an argument, when an opponent’s actual claim is thick with muscle, and one’s pitiful little bayonet of a refutation is too weak to penetrate it, it is very tempting to replace the target claim with a distantly related, but quite pathetic, pile of straw.  You can then jab your rhetorical bayonet in it to your heart’s content, until all you’re left with is a pile of chaff.[5]  Here’s an example:

A:  We need to control the feral cat population in our neighborhood.  This place is crawling with scrawny, scabby kittens.

B:  You beast!  You hate cats!

The straw man is B’s assertion that A hates cats.  While it is possible that A does hate cats, there is insufficient evidence to support B’s assertion at this time.  Instead, B has mischaracterized A’s desire to control feral cats as a desire to exterminate them.  But the one does not equate to the other:  there are a variety of means at hand to control feral cats that fall far short of introducing them en masse to their maker. However, the emotional appeal of the straw man is such that poor A is left to splutter out that he loves cats, wouldn’t dream of killing them, etc., etc., etc.—and in the meantime, no agreement is reached about what to do with the feline nurseries that have magically appeared throughout A’s once desirable neighborhood.  And an effective straw man diverts all attention from the issue at hand—the hallmark of a logical fallacy.

So, there are a few straw men lurking around in Jason’s speechlet, but, for the sake of brevity, I’m going to focus on only one.  And here it is:

STEPHANOPOULOS: Five days from now, [Trump] will be the president of the United States. At that point, will you be requesting this information [about possible Emoluments Clause violations].

CHAFFETZ: No, not necessarily. Look, I’m not just going to go on these fishing expeditions. I didn’t do that with President Obama. We didn’t go through this with President Obama.

Now, it seems reasonable at first blush, doesn’t it?  We didn’t go after President Obama, so why should we go after President Trump?  Well, sure, except for one little thing:  You didn’t go after President Obama because President Obama didn’t have any Emoluments clause issues, numb nuts!

And that, my dear, is a classic straw man.  Instead of giving a substantive response to Stephanopoulus’s question, Chaffetz tries to deflect him by distorting the topic of the question to make some weird equivalency between Donald Trump, the rolling scandal sideshow clown, and President Obama, whose administration, while far from non-controversial, was remarkably free from major scandals of the hands-caught-in-the-cookie-jar kind (https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/fact-checker/wp/2017/01/19/has-the-obama-white-house-been-historically-free-of-scandal/).

So, now that you’re armed with this knowledge, what should you do?  Well, straw men are tricky, because in the heat of the moment it’s easy to be thrown off course by the emotions that the straw man stirs up.  You need to be able to respond quickly and coolly to the diversionary tactic. That’s the nature of reasoned debate:  it requires a certain amount of cold-bloodedness in order to maintain logic.  But you don’t want to alienate your audience by being a Spock-like slave to your rational side.  Clothe your muscular and robust logical refutation with humor, for instance:  “Is that a straw man in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Or, right before eviscerating the idiocy that your counterpart has just uttered, openly acknowledge its emotional appeal: “Gosh, Mary, you sure know how to stir up a hornet’s nest with that last irrelevant remark!”  Do what you must, but just do it, because now, more than ever, we are confronted by an army of straw men.

Now that you’re done with this article, it would be good practice to spot and analyze the other straw men in Chaffetz’s statement.  I’ll give you a hint, too:  just about every sentence Jase utters is home to a straw man.

 

©D R Miller 2017

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] Yes, those Benghazi hearings.  You know, the ones that took two years (and 33 hearings, including 4 public hearings), cost $7 million, and produced an 800-page report that failed to prove that Secretary Clinton was responsible for the tragic deaths of four Americans (http://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/06/house-select-committee-benghazi-report). Those Benghazi hearings.

[2] “No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.” (US Const. Article I, sec. 9, clause 8).

[3] And believe me, that’s saying a lot.

[4] But before continuing on, let’s just agree that Jason Chaffetz must have a huge and brassy pair on him if he’s saying that he would never go on a fishing hunt!  As if.  Whew!  Well, that feels better.

[5] Chaff:

noun

  1. the husks of grains and grasses that are separated during threshing.
  2. straw cut up for fodder.
  3. worthless matter; refuse. (http://www.dictionary.com/browse/chaff).

No matter how you look at it, you just know that it’s a matter of linguistic destiny that Rep. Chaffetz is guilty of using this particular fallacy.

Ignoramus Rex

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , on January 15, 2017 by deborah1960

I was waiting in line at my local hardware store, chatting with my friend about the jolly japes I would have as I made my voice heard during the upcoming post-inauguration marches, when a boorish bellow invaded my pink and shell-like ear:

“Oh, why don’t you libtards get over yourselves?  Trump won the election, so sit down and shut up.”

Naturally, I whipped around and, before he could chortle too heartily at his witty bon mot, impaled him with my gimlet eye.

“You do realize that you have just committed an ignoratio elenchi fallacy, don’t you?”

“Huh?” was his penetrating response.

“An ignoratio elenchi fallacy.  Or ‘ignorance of refutation.’ Derived from the apparent fact that you don’t quite understand what a refutation is.  A refutation of a claim needs to be relevant to the claim being made.  So, when you rudely interjected your unsolicited irrelevant remark into my private conversation, you’ve committed the fallacy of ignoratio elenchi.”

“Irrelevant?”

“Unrelated. Immaterial. Beside the point,” the lady operating the cash register said.

“Ker-ching!” went the cash register.

“Yeah,” said the nice young man who had helped me decide which brand of indelible magic markers I would use to write my protest signs.  “The Critical Thinking Teacher was talking about the joys of exercising one’s First Amendments rights, and you barged in, saying that Trump won the election.  As if that had anything to do with the price of beans in Boston.”

“That’s right,” my friend piped up.  “The mere fact that Trump somehow managed to scrape together a sufficient number of Electoral College votes has absolutely no logical relationship to my friend’s observation that it would be jolly spiffing to remind the world that the majority of  Americans reject his vicious agenda. You are raising an entirely different and unconnected issue.”

“But, but, isn’t that a red herring? Aren’t they the same thing?” Irksome Inter-meddler spluttered in dismay.

“Of course a red herring isn’t the same as ignoratio elenchi, you dolt.”  An awed hush fell upon us.  It was Ben, the store cat, known throughout the neighborhood for his disdain of poorly reasoned argument.  “While they both have the effect of distracting the listener from the matter at hand, the red herring requires an intent to distract.  Ignoratio elenchi, however, is usually the result of mindless blurting.  Judging from your gormless expression, anyone with half an ounce of brain matter would easily discern that you are no more capable of forming an intent than I am capable of caring what you think.”

With that, Ben turned his back to us, curled himself into a ginger ball of fluffy cuteness, and slept the dreamless slumber of the purely contemptuous.

By this time, the rude oaf was transformed into a smoldering pile of ash, leaving me to contemplate the awesome and beautiful power of communal critical thinking. Nice!

However, after paying for the Sharpies (and while the nice young man was literally consigning the Trump supporter to the dust bin of history), I was struck by the implications of what Ben had said.  It had been quite a busy week for our Twitter-in-Chief-Elect.  First, he responded to Meryl Streep’s eloquent call-out of his general nastiness by posting a generally nasty tweet in which he called Streep “over-rated” (https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/818419002548568064). [1] Similarly, after Representative John Lewis[2] stated that he didn’t think Trump was a legitimate president,[3] Trump blasted out this charming riposte:

Congressman John Lewis should spend more time on fixing and helping his district, which is in horrible shape and falling apart (not to mention crime infested) rather than falsely complaining about the election results. All talk, talk, talk – no action or results. Sad! (https://twitter.com/realDonaldTrump/status/820255947956383744).[4]

                Aside from the utterly fact-free nature of these tweets,[5] it’s clear that these attacks are not related to the matter at hand.  Even if Streep were such a has-been that she would deign to appear on Celebrity Apprentice, it has nothing to do with the fact that Trump’s “attraction” has a great deal to do with his xenophobic, misogynist, racist, and just generally vile rhetoric.  Similarly, attacking John Lewis’s record in no way addresses the legion of issues that would give any thinking person pause before accepting the legitimacy of Trump’s occupancy of the Oval Office. Clearly, both tweets were a distraction.[6]

But were they intended as distractions, or are they merely the incontinent expressions of a chronically unsound reasoner? I have in a previous blog characterized the Streep tweet as a red herring,[7] but I’m beginning to have my doubts.  The sheer volume of his tweets makes me think that he might be sincere in his beliefs, and his inability to make a single relevant refutation to any claim makes him a veritable ignoratio elenchi factory.  On the other hand, I find it somehow more reassuring to think that he’s being deliberate.  That would, at the very least, indicate that some thought is going into his actions.[8]  At this point, I am leaning both ways—mostly because I don’t want to make that cold and lonely voyage into Trump’s mind that would be necessary to come to a definitive conclusion.  And at the end of the day, regardless of Ben the cat’s opinion, it doesn’t really matter.  What matters is that we, as warriors in the Critical Thinking Army, must be ever on the lookout for the irrelevant refutation—whether intended or not—and, when we find it, guide our readers and listeners to the real issue that it seeks to obscure.

Constant vigilance!

[1] As if.

[2] John Lewis, the hero of the Civil Rights Movement, distinguished statesman, and conscious of the Congress—that  John Lewis, not the posh British department store.

[3] And really, can you blame him?

[4] The dreadful irony of lashing out at John Lewis on the Saturday before Martin Luther King’s birthday holiday is apparently lost on Trump.  Similarly, it’s fun to note that Lewis has accomplished more for humanity with his “talk, talk, talk” than all of Trump’s actions ever would, even if you lumped them all together in one unattractive heap.

[5] Lewis didn’t have to lift a finger to defend himself from Trump—instead, an army of his admirers, supporters, and constituents happily took on that task (http://usuncut.com/politics/twitter-just-demolished-donald-trump-attacking-john-lewis/).  NBC News further pointed out Lewis’s “metropolitan Atlanta district covers predominantly black communities and historically black colleges, including Morehouse and Spelman. The FBI’s latest crime report ranks Atlanta as No. 14 for violent crime in the nation, although overall crime in the city has been down, according to city police statistics (www.nbcnews.com/politics/politics-news/dems-defend-rep-lewis-hero-after-trump-slams-civil-rights-n706921).” As far as calling Streep “over-rated”! Well!  I just want to point out that the Golden Globe award she accepted that night was for lifetime achievement—hardly what you’d expect the Hollywood Foreign Press Association to bestow on a hack.  Jackass.

[6] There were, of course, many, many other irrelevancies in this week’s outpourings from Trump’s twitter account, but I’ve been advised by my editorial board to keep these blogs short and sweet.  But if you want a handy-dandy compilation of Trump’s oeuvre, then you really gotta check out The Atlantic’s “Trump Tweet Tracker” (https://www.theatlantic.com/liveblogs/2016/12/donald-trump-twitter/511619/). It’s a hoot.

[7] https://essayettes.wordpress.com/2017/01/04/kellyanne-and-the-sea-of-red-herrings/.  It’s really good—share it with your friends!

[8] I have no problem with maintaining that Kellyanne is deliberately using red herrings.  As a professional flunky, she would be expected to have the skillset necessary to deliberately throw sand in her opponents’ eyes.

Copyright 2017 D R Miller