A Letter to Stefanie and Sawyer

I’d like to open up a dialogue, which may only result in a monologue.

We can’t change the past, but we can build the future. Consider this letter an introduction of sorts, from a man who was once your brother and who would gladly suffer in order to be again. Even if you have no interest in any form of reunion with me or anyone else, I implore you to read this missive in its entirety. The following words contain the most potent and valuable vaccine I can devise, and seeing as I have become a professional storyteller, it’s appropriate that this vital dose of medicine arrive in the form of two tales—both of which are, to my knowledge, retold as precisely and faithfully as they were told to me by people who were there.

The Well of Resentment

Our first story begins over a century ago, and when I say ‘our story,’ that is precisely what I mean.

A young German man named William crossed the Atlantic ocean alone in search of a bright future. He took odd jobs on the east coast of the United States, demonstrating his work ethic and wits as he worked his way to the Mississippi River with an eye on the vast, untamed territory called then (as now) Big Sky Country.

He accumulated some small measure of wealth working the Mississippi before crossing it, and after doing so, he sent for the woman who would become his wife. She was Norwegian, and fifteen years old if memory serves, when she answered the call, boarded a ship, and came to meet him. Marriages were different then, as villages and townships in Europe held longstanding relationships with other villages. These relationships forged deep, binding ties between communities, sometimes even between communities located in different nations. Some of these ties were economic, some were fraternal, and some were geographically convenient, but all of these intercommunity relationships were based on a level of trust and commitment that is largely lost to the modern world.

So when William sent for the woman who would become his wife, he did so in a sense as a military officer requesting support from headquarters after establishing a position in a contested frontier. His wife’s family knew the risks, but also knew that he came from a family of hardworking, intelligent and adventurous people. They knew their little girl would have a better future with him than she would if she stayed in her homeland due to the instability both before and after what was then known as the Great War, but which we now call World War I.

When she arrived on the East Coast, she made her way to meet him on the Mississippi, and together they moved west until they arrived in Montana. They acquired a large tract of land, raised horses and cattle, grew crops, mined coal, and cut lumber, all on an industrial scale. It wasn’t long before they had two hundred head of working livestock and fifty employees, which William’s brother came over to help him manage. Theirs was a thriving business, and their family blossomed with children—which included a young man named William Jr.

Then the Great Depression hit, followed by the Dust Bowl, and William Sr. lost everything he had worked so hard to build. Their business died, they had to sell their livestock, and eventually they even lost their land due to some underhandedness on the part of the lawyer William Sr. had recruited to help him acquire the property in the first place. The Great Depression had already removed the possibility of acquiring financing to help support flagging operations like his, and so William Sr. had no choice but to abandon his homestead and move west in search of water to grow crops. His dream was shattered, his family was brought to destitution, and he had no choice but to head further west in search of rain and mere survival.

They settled in a place called Winlock, where a resentful and bitter William Sr. acquired scattered parcels of land using what few funds remained to him and then borrowed money to build a house for his family. He built a little house and a barn on Tennessee Road, where his family tamed the land, and established a small farm centered on a strawberry patch in the corner field where horses now graze. They dug a deep well using shovels and concrete culvert sections, which they covered with wooden planks and surrounded with a handmade pumphouse to match the one they lived in. They used that well for drinking water and to irrigate the entire property, including the strawberries which, after consecutive bumper crops allowed the family to pay off the debt of acquiring the property and building the house.

But William Sr. was unable to move on from what happened in Montana. At some point, he learned that the land in Montana which used to be his had yielded the largest oil strike in Montana State’s history. The lawyer who had wronged him and stolen his family’s hard-earned estate (probably with foreknowledge of the land’s multi-million dollar oil field) was now the wealthiest man in town, while William Sr. was back where he started so many years earlier: with little but a bowed back, bare land and broken dreams to call his own.

So one day, he left Winlock, returned to Montana, walked into the lawyer’s office, and shot him in the chest. With the lawyer bleeding and gasping what certainly appeared to be his final breaths, William Sr. sat down in the chair opposite the man who had taken everything from him and waited for the police to arrive. They shortly did so, whereupon he told them the details of his situation and said he would accept his fate. They arrested him and sent for his eldest sons, including our grandfather, William Jr., who drove the family pickup to attend his speedy trial in Montana.

As it happened, despite his effort, William Sr. failed to kill the lawyer, who received prompt medical attention and survived. The trial was therefore held for attempted murder, and after a ludicrously brief deliberation of the available evidence (including William Sr.’s testimoney), the jury came back with a verdict of ‘Not Guilty.’ William Sr.’s lawyer rushed him out of the courtroom, where on the courthouse steps he told our grandfather to drive as fast as they could to the state border and never return since there would most certainly be a retrial, conviction, and hanging due to the lawyer’s influence.

The men returned to Winlock, WA, where William Sr. became a bitter shell of his former self. He did little to help his family, who worked the new farm as best they knew how, and spent his days brooding over things he could not change. He drank heavily and soured his relationships with his wife and children, before eventually leaving a second time. He was shortly thereafter found dead in a motel in Idaho, where the police determined his death to be a suicide. Our grandfather and his siblings disbelieved that version of events, and were convinced that he had gone back to Montana to finish the job but the lawyer had gotten to him first.

William Sr. was a deeply flawed but hyper-capable man. As a teen he strode across the Atlantic Ocean with nothing but ambition and ability, which he used to build both a thriving business and a strong family in a strange, new world before fate conspired to take the former from him. He resented the circumstances of his sudden change in fortune, and that resentment blinded him to the value of what he still had: a strong, hardworking family who needed nothing but his leadership to flourish in their new home. His resentment caused him to overlook this rarest, most precious of resources, and eventually even that was taken from him by his all-consuming darkness.

You might think our story finishes there, but we’re only half done. Resentment has not yet finished wreaking havoc on our line, as our next tale keenly demonstrates.

Jeffry Charles Wachter was the third child of William Jr. and his wife, Doris. He was strong and intelligent, with an IQ north of 150 and the strength as a sixteen-year-old to buck 60lb haybales one-handed to the top of a six-high stack in the bed of a pickup (yours truly was never able to match this feat, though I could buck 110lb bales the same height using two hands). When he was working in his twenties at Blasen & Blasen Lumber in Portland, Oregon, he would play chess in his head with his fellow workers as he moved from station to station in the small lumber mill where he learned how to operate and maintain industrial machinery. He would play six or eight games simultaneously, never losing track of his position despite having no board to refer to, and he would almost always win.

He and his elder brother, Robert, lived togethr in Portland, Oregon, which was and remains a rough town. As a pair of redheads in an urban environment, they were frequently subject to racial tensions and Jeff was not the type to let an epithet pass unmolested. Many times while they were driving through town, a group of men would shout ‘Honkey!’ ‘Hick!’ or something similar, which invariably prompted Jeff to jump out of the moving car and make his way to the group while his brother desperately looked for a place to park so that Jeff’s odds would be better than five-on-one if things turned violent (which, with Jeff involved, they frequently did). More often than not, Jeff would square off on the biggest of the bunch and end the affair with one move (usually a piledriver to the pavement, which Jeff wryly told me was his favorite combat technique since, in his words, ‘there’s no defending it’).

It was on those streets where Jeff discovered he possessed rare talent for violence, though paradoxically his appetite for it never really matched his ability. His brother helped him find a dojo where full-contact Tae Kwon Do was practiced by an ultra-competitive team right there in Portland, and here Jeff honed his skills as a heavyweight (despite being 20-40lbs smaller than his competitors) until eventually taking Third in Nationals and making the Olympic Team as an alternate.

But despite all of his ability, Jeff harbored a stain deep down, and it was the stain of resentment.

He and his brother, Robert, struck out on their own to build their own lumber business after learning all they could at Blasen & Blasen. Jeff’s raw ability and problem-solving capacity were second-to-none, but his work ethic was far from ideal. He would sometimes take days or even weeks off from work, during which time his elder brother would have to hold things together. When Jeff was there, production skyrocketed and quality improved. When he wasn’t, things deteriorated. The brothers argued about this, as brothers do, and Jeff felt like he wasn’t being fairly appreciated. He began to resent his interactions, and eventually they parted company.

Years passed, and Jeff never made anything substantial happen on his own while Robert built a thriving business with over fifty employees. During that time, Jeff worked for a few operations throughout the South and Midwest, helping them fix their mills and streamline their production, but he just couldn’t put anything together on his own. He even teamed up with his younger brother, Paul, who had also entered the lumber industry as a skilled machinist and mill supervisor, but the two quarreled constantly and parted company under similar circumstances to Jeff’s parting with his elder brother.

After lumber Jeff even became involved in a local tech company which provided internet access back in the day of BBS’s and dial-up internet, but he found no more success here than he had in lumber. He became convinced that his failures in life were external in origin, that the problem was with everyone else rather than with himself, and this caused his resentment to deepen until it darkened every facet of his life.

Just a few years ago, after living in a single-wide mobile home on the wreckage of the last lumber operation he ever tried to run, sixty-two-year-old Jeff was visiting our brother Josh in Winlock. They were chatting and kibitzing, as the two of them always got along incredibly well, when a fire truck rolled past their house and made the turn toward that little farmhouse on Tennessee Road. Jeff’s eldest sister, Leanne, now lived there alone following William Jr.’s recent death. The fire truck pulled up in front of the house where Jeff and his siblings had been born and raised, prompting Josh and Jeff to hurry over in concern for what happened.

Jeff’s sister, Leanne, had been chlorinating the property’s old well that morning by dropping tablets down the shaft as is usual for well maintenance. But she wasn’t exactly physically fit, and she stepped through the rotten boards covering that old, hand-dug well and fell forty feet down into the frigid water below. Jeff’s younger brother, Paul, had been there but he had been unable to pull Leanne out of the well—and, of equal importance, he had not called over to Josh and Jeff for help.

Jeff, being a deeply flawed but hyper-capable man in the mold of his grandfather, rushed forward to help pull his sister out of the dark, frigid well, but Paul argued with Jeff. I don’t know what was said, as I wasn’t there, but the firefighters and sheriff (who had also arrived to help) eventually took Paul’s side. In no uncertain terms they ordered Jeff, the most capable and emotionally invested person on the scene, to step back.

Jeff protested, “My sister is down that well. I’m going to help get her out!” But the crew was insistent, commanding him to step back while Paul was allowed to stay. Jeff shot a dark look at Paul and said, “If you won’t treat me like family, I won’t treat you like family. We’ll settle this later.”

Josh and Jeff left the property and returned to Josh’s house, where Josh kept a travel trailer that Jeff would sleep in when he stayed over. Jeff went to the trailer alone, closed the door, and wrote a note while the crew pulled Leanne out of the well and took her to the hospital. A few hours later, Jeff emerged from the trailer and drove back over to the house of his birth. He walked up to the barn where he had worked and played with his siblings growing up, and where Paul was standing with a neighbor who lingered following the harrowing scene at the well. Jeff then said something to Paul.

No one knows what Jeff said, not even the neighbor who was right there since the neighbor happened to be deaf. But several people saw Paul turn his back on Jeff, at which point Jeff drew a pistol and shot his brother dead. After confirming he had murdered his own brother on the site of their childhood, Jeff turned the gun around and destroyed himself.

Both Jeff and Paul had one child apiece, and those children had children. Their grandchildren are denied the chance to know their grandfathers because of what happened between these estranged brothers, just as those brothers were denied the chance to know their grandfather, William Sr.

Aside from an old farm well and the common genealogy of the characters within, these tragically true tales might not appear to have anything in common. But if you take a closer look at the stage and scenes depicted, you’ll find the hand of resentment hovering like a puppeteer’s over them both.

William Sr. was unable to let go of past wrongs and material losses, and his resentment blinded him to the vast wealth he still possessed in the form of his family. Imagine what the Wachter family might have achieved with him leading his sons and grandsons, guiding them through life and helping them avoid some of the same mistakes he’d made while turning their considerable abilities to a unified purpose? I think the fact that we’ll never know might be the greatest tragedy of William Sr.’s entire story—and, indeed, our entire family’s.

Jeff had the same fundamental problem. I loved Uncle Jeff. I consider him my Second Father, and I will forever cherish his perspective, guidance, and fraternity. Here was a man who would stop whatever he was doing to have a calm, patient, informative conversation with a complete stranger if he thought he could help them understand something he himself had once struggled with. Many times, in restaurants or grocery stores, we would overhear people talking about a subject of interest and Jeff would politely engage them on the subject. Very rarely were those engagements rejected, while more usually they were met with half-hour-long enthusiasm by these complete strangers. He had a lot to offer the world, and it’s tragic that he never found a way to consistently contribute. His bitterness overcame him, eventually causing him to kill his own brother and himself, but the sad truth is resentment had already taken his life decades before Leanne fell down the well.

I see a lot of myself in Jeff, which is why understanding his end is so important to me. ‘There, but for his example, go I,’ I’ve thought to myself literally thousands of times in my life. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been at a crossroads and asked myself two questions, ‘What would Jeff say to do here?’ followed by, ‘What would Jeff have actually done here?’ He was a profoundly wise man, but his wisdom didn’t extend far enough into his own life to keep him from drowning in despair.

Honestly, the only way I’ve been able to avoid the same all-consuming resentment which destroyed him was by recognizing when the answers to those two questions differed. This gave me confidence to turn left when he would have turned right, and to do what he said rather than what he did. I’ve since come to know that his wisdom sprang from far brighter wells than the one which eventually triggered destruction. Those bright wells were dug by men like Thomas Jefferson, Aristotle, Socrates, Zhuge Liang, Confucius, Mencius, Marcus Aurelius and a host of others. But without my uncle Jeff’s example to reference, for both good and ill, I would never have discovered the importance of those philosophers…and I’m grimly certain I would have already been fatally infected by the same strain of resentment which has already wrought so much carnage on our family tree.

You don’t owe me anything. You’ve become an adult and made your way through life without my brotherhood, so there’s no reason to expect you won’t continue doing so. But we were sundered by forces beyond our control, and torn apart by actions (and kept apart by inactions, some of them mine) the right and wrong of which have largely vanished beneath the horizon. All that remains to us now is how we act in the present and what we make of the future.

I would like us to share in that future or, at the very least, I would like to share what little wisdom I’ve accumulated during my life in the hope it might help you find your own way a little less painfully than might otherwise transpire. If you have no desire to speak with me directly, but might still wish to learn a little more about me, you can find most of my written works on Amazon under my name. To put it as simply, succinctly, and directly as I can manage in six words:

I want to be your brother.


James Paxton just sent up a mushroom cloud as a warning to the rest of the league.


One of the best bits of the post-game interview was how he immediately deferred to his teammates, talking about how he got lucky and received some great defensive plays.  Paxton & Zunino are an impressive battery, not only for their on-field contributions but also for their team leadership.  The story on Zunino, upon arriving in AA (?), was that it took him something like eight seconds to become the clubhouse leader.  Would love to hear the details on how those eight seconds played out 😉


That Paxton gets his first No-No on Canadian soil, being a resident of Canadia (mis-spelling intentional), has got to be pretty cool.  But with his nuclear stuff, it’s inevitable that he does this again.  I never thought that about Felix, for whatever reason, but Paxton’s stuff is so devastating that when he’s on, there’s nothing other teams can do against him.  It’s like Pedro or Johnson in their primes.  You tip your cap and shake off the inevitable 0-4, hoping to get into the juicier part of the rotation tomorrow.


In related news, Dee Gordon’s running (of course he is?) a very Ichiro-esque .353 batting average to go with an MLB-leading 15 SB’s, which is 5 more than the AL runner-up Tim Anderson of the ChiSox.  I love seeing my prime offseason target shining so bright in the early going, even if he is playing ‘out of position’ ::grumble-gripe-something about creative thinking-grumble::


The M’s are indeed a force to be reckoned with this year.  Bask in the glory of their latest definitive statemenet game.  Every team in the AL just got served notice that Zeus is hurling thunderbolts from the peak of Mt. Olympus.


In the words of our beloved Doc, BABVA.

Burning (or otherwise disposing of) Books

Why burn a book?  Seriously, I’m asking an honest question.  Why burn a book, or throw it in a landfill, or otherwise discard it in such a manner that it becomes extraordinarily unlikely that it will ever be read again?


I ask this not because I fail to comprehend the reasons why book burnings generally occur; I ask simply in the hope that someone, somewhere, might present a reasonable argument for destroying a record of information, however dubious its value might be.


Recently, 1948 copies of a Pippi Longstocking children’s book were disposed of by Swedish libraries.  The cited reasons include the standard ‘we just needed more shelf space’ deflections, but ultimately they provided the ideological reason in a press release, with the operative (translated) excerpt below:

“The libraries in the municipality of Botkyrka have culled editions of Astrid Lindgren’s ‘Pippi in the South Seas’ where there are obsolete expression that can be perceived as racist, but Botkyrka Library have also bought the publisher’s new edition of the book from 2015 where the obsolete expression have been replaced by more contemporary expressions.”

Kinda hard to toe the ‘we just needed more shelf space’ line after that doozy, eh?


Look, I appreciate the driving force behind this: people don’t want others to be unnecessarily offended, and flipping open a celebrated children’s book to find words that are contemporaneously offensive isn’t exactly how someone envisioned spending their precious bedtime minutes with their child.  But, as Janne Josefsson put it, ““There’s something in me that says, wait a second now, are we really going to let these things disappear? Shouldn’t they be allowed to survive so that I can tell my child that this is how they talked in those days?”


Isn’t that ultimately the point of sitting down and reading a bedtime story to a child: to help expand their understanding of the world they live in, in a relatable and entertaining fashion using memorable characters and scenes as delivery vehicles?


Human history is littered with examples of book burning, and each instance has the potential to be nothing short of catastrophic for our entire species.  That should sound insane to anyone who isn’t a hardcore Free Speech supporter, but it doesn’t take too much evidence and conjecture to paint a fairly damning picture when it comes to the destruction of information.


The Ancient Greek scholars had so many things figured out thousands of years before their European successors finally put them together.  Basic orbital mechanics, automated machinery, rudimentary chemistry, and (unfortunately) unknowable other fields had already been delved into by the great minds of the Golden Age.  Where might humanity be, today, if we had not discarded the fruits of their learning and experimentation?  Might we already have colonized the Solar System?  Perhaps.  Might we have cured devastating maladies such as cancer?  Perhaps.


The point is: we’ll never know, because we literally burned so much collected knowledge and wisdom that there is no way of knowing how far back we set ourselves by doing so.


Look, I get it.  It’s Pippi Longstocking, not William Shakespeare.  Except…how do we know which information will prove instrumental in shaping a given mind?  Maybe–just maybe!–reading those old Pippi Longstocking books, with their crass and potentially derogatory phrases from yesteryear, would spur a young, would-be reformer’s mind into changing the world.  After all, do we truly know what spurred some of history’s greatest social reformers to transform the way we think of the world and the people in it?  Even those reformers themselves could not say, with any degree of certainty, which combination of experiences led them to become who they later became.


And that’s the danger of burning books.  No matter what the motivation for doing so might be, the risk is simply too great that we might destroy a crucial link in the chain of human knowledge and experience.  Maybe the sanitized version of Pippi Longstocking is less offensive and more politically correct–and maybe, just maybe, that’s the exact opposite direction from which we should be heading.


Maybe–just maybe–we should be exposing ourselves and our children to offensive information from time to time, for the direct purpose of kindling whatever sparks might be buried so deep within our minds that even we aren’t aware of them.  Maybe–just maybe–that’s the only way that meaningful change (indeed, meaningful progress) can be made.


The real reason people burn books is because they are afraid and lazy.  They’re afraid that maybe–just maybe–the ideas to which they’ve clung for as long as they can remember are not the strongest ones out there.  These people are afraid that if their ideas are challenged, their weaknesses will be exposed and, by extension, the people who promulgated them will lose face.


And book burners are lazy because, in the end, the best way to refine ideas is by taking them into battle in the arena of ideas and smashing them against other ideas as vigorously as possible.  This process–called ‘debate’–is how we improve our collective understanding of which ideas are strong and which ideas are weak.  Books are records of such arguments, and as such we do ourselves a grave disservice by destroying such records.  In effect, we force ourselves–or our inheritors–to re-learn lessons which had already been learned by destroying information of any kind.


If an idea is harmful, demonstrate its harm using evidence and logic.  And if a book contains weak ideas, don’t burn it–make everyone you know read it, along with a book that has stronger ideas!  Not everyone will come away with the same impression of the information to which they were exposed in the process of such reading, but that’s not really the point is it?  Diversity is our greatest strength since it encourages variation in our strengths and weaknesses; Conformity does nothing more effectively than instill the same weaknesses in everyone.  And there is no greater diversity than diversity of thought.


So seriously: stop burning books.  Stop censoring books.  Stop stifling speech.  If you think that words are irksome, or an idea that someone expresses is ‘problematic’ or otherwise weak, do some research, collect some data, compose your arguments, and go compete with them in the arena of ideas.  Don’t censor their words, burn their books, or otherwise erase a portion of our collected human knowledge.  And if you don’t feel up to the challenge of personally debating someone on an issue, your research will invariably lead you to people who can wage–and already are waging!–this particular battle for similar reasons to your own.


Who knows?  You just might encounter some information that challenges your underlying assumptions during your exposure to this new information.  Or you might encounter something that galvanizes your thoughts and resolve in such a way that you feel emboldened to personally wade into battle in the arena of ideas.  Maybe you’ll win more than you lose, and maybe you’ll lose more than you win, but no matter how the score card looks you’ll end up with more information, and greater perspective, than you had going in.  Is that really such a bad thing?


Or you could just burn the books and prevent that kind of Dangerous thing from ever happening–for anyone.


We get to make the world we live in so, in the end, it’s up to you.

The Fantasy of Injurious Words

Censors and others who oppose Free Speech will often declare, straight-faced and with absolute sincerity, that speaking (certain) words is analogous to perpetrating physical violence against another human being.  While I’m sympathetic to some of the concern regarding the negative impact of abusive speech on long-term cognitive development, especially during childhood, I’m rather less inclined to support the notion that the impact of Bad Words on the life of an adult can be analogous to a physical (or sexual) assault.


Even the NYT author’s lead-in example in the first linked article above, of a threat of violence vs. the actual violence itself, is misleading: the whole reason a person would fear, and/or be ‘traumatized’ by, a threat of violence is because the violence itself is a very real possibility.  Under these circumstances, we call such words ‘intimidation,’ and they fall outside the umbrella of protection afforded by the First Amendment.


So yes, intimidation is bad.  The Supreme Court agrees that it’s bad, and consistently rejects threats of violence, or intimidation, as being covered under the Free Speech clause in the USA’s Constitution.  It’s not the words themselves that are harmful, but rather the message that the words communicate (in the case of intimidation, the threat of harm).  Just like with any other form of idea.


And fundamentally that’s what the Free Speech argument has been, is, and will always be about: the communication of ideas.  The words used to convey  ideas are merely vehicles, but they are crucially-important vehicles because, without them, humans could not meaningfully exchange information with one another.  And this leads to an age-old dichotomy: centralization vs. de-centralization.


In the wonderful world of the internet, the earliest Tech Titans cut vast swaths through the data wilderness by centralizing the processing and disbursement of information at various nexus points (Amazon, Facebook, Google, Yahoo, etc..).  These Titans understood perfectly well that we live in an Information Age, and that whoever controls the flow of information controls the economies which invariably spring up around it.  For decades now it has seemed immutable that the Big Tech companies would continue to get bigger as they metastasize and insinuate themselves into seemingly irrelevant markets, eventually consuming everything–including each other.


But now there seems hope that, instead of this singularity of centralization, the internet is about to take a hard turn toward decentralization.  Blockchain is just one mechanism which might provide for a greater decentralization of information dissemination and processing–and, as the Founding Fathers of the USA so epically demonstrated in accordance with Western Civilization’s long history of pursuing and promoting liberty, decentralization of government, markets, and pretty much every other human endeavor benefits more members of a society than any other framework available to us.


Now, naturally, the Powers That Be will not approve of such a radical decentralization.  The Powers That Be are never in favor of anything which curtails their own power and prestige, and that’s natural.  In a way, it’s even good since it forces reformers to make sure their ideas are ready for showtime before they wrest control over whatever endeavors were previously governed by the Central Authorities.


So, I said all of that to say… 😉


Each of us humans is, in essence, an information processing node.  We each encounter and digest unique buffets of experience and information, and we do our best to make use of that information in our daily lives.  None of us are perfect at this–in fact, many of us are downright terrible at it.  But when millions of us get together and collectively make decisions, using our unique experiences individually as frames of reference, we tend to do pretty great things and then build on them with even greater things.  It may sound trite, but without the decentralized nature of a free marketplace none of the advances which propelled humanity forward over the last couple centuries would have been possible.


Thomas Jefferson once said, “Whenever the people are well-informed, they can be trusted with their own government.”  He was arguing for greater dissemination of information from person-to-person, and he believed (as I believe) that the best way to disseminate information is from one person to another, not from a central apparatus.  How hard do you listen to the nightly newscast featuring a story on local crime?  And how hard do you listen to a trusted friend’s story about encountering local crime?  The difference is obvious to any reasonable person, which is why we must insist, categorically and without fail, that Freedom of Speech be upheld and defended every time it is attacked.  Words convey ideas and, in the absence of intimidation, those ideas have the potential to improve humanity’s overall enlightenment–albeit one person at a time.


Which leaves the ‘words as weapons’ trope firmly in the realm of fantasy–where it belongs:

Family vs. Duty

It often seems these two facets are rarely in synergy, and such an observation is far from without merit.  Since the human race took its first steps toward civilization, the myriad social forces which make us what we are (piety, sexuality, filial loyalty, community, etc..) are in constant conflict with one another.  Each of us possesses a unique blend of these social forces acting upon, within, and through us–I believe we are, as most cognitive neuroscientists claim, observers of these forces more than we are those forces–and as a result we each have individuated compatibility and incompatibility with the world around us.


For some people, piety is of the utmost importance.  For others, sexuality takes precedence.  For others, community, and for still others the base, animal need to compete tops the list.  Since each of us is different in this regard, fashioning ‘perfect’ or ‘utopian’ social systems is not only a doomed endeavor, it actually subverts the way we think about our fellow humans.  Studying this phenomenon, one comes across useful paradigms such as ‘nature vs. nurture,’ or even ‘authoritarianism vs. libertarianism.’  But the paradigm I wish to examine today is one of ‘family vs. duty.’


As many of my readers already know, I’m quite fond of the Chinese classic, Romance of the Three Kingdoms.  Within those pages is, I believe, the clearest and most useful primer on human psychology & sociology that has ever been put down in easy-to-digest form.  The way this novel has earned such high marks in my esteem is the way it examines human nature from multiple perspectives, across generations and through dozens of different characters.  The basic conflicts in the book, as in life itself, are far from uncommon when you break them down to their base components.  In fact, as with any successful work of fiction, it is not the conflict itself (which serves merely as a setting) which makes a story worth hearing and retelling–it’s the actions and reactions of the characters navigating the conflict which makes it resonant with our psyches.


A major player in the early chapters of Romance of the Three Kingdoms (hereafter referred to as ROTK) is the valiant, headstrong warrior, Lü Bu.  ROTK is a fantasy novel that is based, with surprising accuracy and faithfulness, on a collection of historical records often referred to as ‘Record of the Three Kingdoms,’ much of which was assembled in the immediate aftermath of the more than century long conflict.  In the novel, Lü Bu is the equivalent of a modern day mega-star athlete: everyone wants him on their team, and he lives a prestigious life as a result.  How much of this characterization is accurate of the real man is difficult to say, but one thing we know for certain is that the author of ROTK, Luo Guanzhong, took significant liberties with Lü Bu’s character–specifically regarding his marital/familial status.


In the historical records, Lü Bu had a wife and children to whom he was apparently quite faithful; in the fictional ROTK, he spends most of his page time pursuing a purely fictional character, Diaochan, who serves as a sublimely elegant vehicle for a handful of narrative plot points.  But in both the historical and fictional accounts of the story, Lü Bu–who is easily the most vaunted and feared warrior in the known world–eventually finds himself caught in a dilemma: to be a good father/husband, or to be a good military commander.  He chose the former, and soon thereafter was captured and executed by his rivals.


The differences between Eastern and Western Civilization are vast and difficult to pin down, but the ‘family vs. duty’ paradigm provides a rather clear view of some small portion of those differences–and the tale of Lü Bu choosing to stay at his family’s side in their hour of need, rather than to lead his men in battle against the enemy, is one that resonates far more clearly in the East than it does in the West.  Let’s look at a couple more situations from the novel which further serve to illustrate this paradigm.


Xu Shu was a strategist and advisor in the Three Kingdoms period.  He was something of the low-man-on-the-totem-pole in his peculiarly successful clique of fellow scholars and masterminds, but his skills still saw him direct the utter rout of Cao Ren during Xu Shu’s brief tenure at Liu Bei’s side (Liu Bei would later declare himself King, and eventually Emperor, after conquering roughly half of China at the height of his kingdom, Shu-Han’s, success).


Xu Shu helped direct Liu Bei’s forces–which had been without a truly capable ‘Director General’ until that point, and had suffered humiliating defeat after humiliating defeat as a result–to victory over one of Cao Cao’s most capable commanders, Cao Ren.  Shortly after that victory, Cao Cao–knowing perfectly well how dangerous Liu Bei would be if he retained the services of someone like Xu Shu–hatched a scheme by imprisoning Xu Shu’s mother in the Capitol City, Xuchang, and sending a forged letter (ostensibly from her) requesting Xu Shu return to Xuchang immediately to spare her further indignity and shame.  Xu Shu is torn by the event, and even knows that it’s a plot of Cao Cao’s doing, but ultimately he abandons his post as Director General to go see to his mother.


When he arrives, his mother is initially happy to see him–but when she realizes he fell for Cao Cao’s plot, she scolds him mercilessly for stepping away from his post at Liu Bei’s side.  Shortly thereafter, she commits suicide in despair (think about that for a moment…) and Xu Shu remains a prisoner of Cao Cao for the rest of his life.


Later on in the book, one of the most epic sequences in that story unfolds prior to the Battle of Chi Bi (Red Cliff, popularized most recently on film by John Woo).  That sequence involves one of Liu Bei’s bravest warriors, Zhao Yun, rescuing Liu Bei’s infant son from Cao Cao’s army.  In the 2010 TV series, Three Kingdoms, this rescue sequence takes up the better part of an entire episode, and during the fight to safety Zhao Yun constantly shields the baby from harm–going so far as to sling the child across his chest with a makeshift harness–while battling through Cao Cao’s legion.


Zhao Yun suffers numerous wounds, and ultimately fails to protect Liu Bei’s wife (who, knowing Zhao Yun would never abandon her, suicidally threw herself down a well to make possible Zhao Yun’s escape with the infant) but does manage to return to Liu Bei with the infant child safely strapped to his chest.  Exhausted, bloodied, and beaten from the fight, Zhao Yun presents the ‘young lord’ to Liu Bei on bended knee, apologizing profusely for his failure to save Liu Bei’s wife.  Liu Bei accepts the child, takes one look at it, and then does something that takes everyone by surprise.


He throws the baby onto the ground in disgust, never taking his eyes off Zhao Yun.


Zhao Yun is stunned, but Liu Bei clutches the dauntless warrior in his embrace and says in no uncertain terms that he values Zhao Yun’s life far more than ANY infant’s, and that he could not bear to have lost Zhao Yun for such a small thing as an infant child.


And for the full weight of this to sink in, you’ve got to understand: Liu Bei is the absolute, uncontested, 100% HERO of this story.  His quest is to restore the Han Dynasty while every other warlord of the land seeks to carve his own piece off for himself or, more usually, wants to become Emperor for himself.  The whole world knows of Liu Bei’s virtue, his sincerity, his piety, and his honor.


And he tossed his infant son on the ground in disgust–an act which earns him significant praise and approval from the rest of his followers.


Later on in the same story, when Liu Bei is attempting to recruit the disguised Pang Tong into his army, Liu Bei once again ignores his child in favor of pursuing a talented officer for his organization.  He’s making clear that whenever there’s a conflict between family and duty, he will choose the latter every time.  On his death bed, he even goes so far as to tell his most trusted and valued adviser (Zhuge Liang) that if his son proves incapable of providing the necessary leadership for his kingdom, Zhuge Liang is to depose him and assume the throne for himself so that the work of Shu-Han (his kingdom) can be fulfilled.


The ‘family vs. duty’ paradigm is one that intrudes into nearly all of our lives, and usually on a daily basis.  That’s why the scenes described above resonate with ROTK readers (and that resonance underpins my great respect and appreciation for the novel), and in the end scenes like Liu Bei tossing his child onto the ground are supposed to shock the audience/readership–likewise, scenes like the one where Lü Bu hesitates to lead his army due to concern for his loved ones are supposed to make the audience/readership empathize with the man.  We all understand why he did what he did, which is why his end is such a tragedy.  Even Xu Shu’s flight to Xuchang, to look after his elderly mother, is something each of us could see ourselves doing–and even defending as the Right Thing To Do(tm).


In the end, there are no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ responses to the ‘family vs. duty’ conflict.  There are only human responses, which run the gamut and include those described above.  One fascinating thing to me is how the East and the West differ so fundamentally on this point: in China, for example, social unity and harmony are more greatly valued than liberalism and freedom are, compared to the West .  Still, true solidarity in either Eastern or Western culture is far from reality, and likely can never fully be achieved in spite of the best efforts of those cultures’ leaders–leaders like William Shakespeare, Luo Guanzhong, Thomas Jefferson, or anyone else who’s put pen to paper in an effort to identify and comment fundamental human truths.


Culture definitely matters in terms of cultivating preferences in conflicts like ‘family vs. duty’, but superiority and inferiority are probably impossible to totally establish when comparing and contrasting different cultural impacts on the world.  Some cultures foster expression at the expense of productivity, while others focus on productivity to the near-exclusion of all else.  It seems apparent that a given culture will outperform another if the variables are to its advantage, whereas it might take a subtle tweak of those same variables to flip the advantage from one side to the other.  It seems to me, however, that there’s a great opportunity for each of us to learn a little more about our fellow humans by examining relatively stark cultural differences like those between the East and West on issues like Family vs. Duty.


And at the end of the day, we should all be seeking to expand our understanding of the world around us–which includes our fellow humans.

Standing Tall

I happened upon a picture of Tank Man (aka: Tank Boy, Unknown Protestor, Unknown Rebel) and got to thinking about the act of opposing tyranny.  Every election cycle it seems that Western nations are inundated with accusations of tyranny aimed at whoever happened to stroll into the land’s highest office.  But it doesn’t take much in the way of objectivity to recognize that the vast majority of these accusations are purely partisan.  That doesn’t mean they should be roundly ignored–just that they should be taken with  a pound or two of salt.


To go with that dose of skepticism, one should take a good look at how people conduct themselves while purporting to ‘stand tall’ against such abuses of power.  Too often we see people strip their clothing off in public, cut and dye their hair some uniform manner (while also, somewhat comically I might add, often claiming said cut-and-dye to represent their individuality…), or burning signs in public, somewhat shockingly demonstrating their ignorance of the very issue which they claim motivated their march. Sometimes the harder among such ‘protesters’ will actually engage in physical violence and intimidation–but too often in modern examples of such political protests these acts of violence almost exclusively target other protesters.


There’s nothing brave or heroic about squaring off with some rando in street clothes who just happens to think differently from you.  That’s antisocial behavior by any reasonable or colloquial definition of the term.


So if there was any question about what Standing Tall in the face of tyranny actually looks like, I’ll do my best to provide a definitive answer with this iconic picture.




Standing in front of a literal tank column, a day after one of the most publicized displays of tyranny in modern times, and refusing to move aside–and even going so far as to climb on top of one of the tanks!–is certainly a reckless act, and possibly a suicidal one.  But it’s also quite clearly motivated by a deep-seated opposition to tyranny.


Dying one’s hair, and hiding behind masks while intimidating your fellow citizens, doesn’t belong in the same discussion as genuine acts of political protest like the one Tank Man treated his fellow humans to on June 5, 1989.


Pang Tong & The Power of Humility

Anyone who has read my fiction knows that I have a soft spot for the literary masterpiece, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, which is counted as one of the Four Classics of Chinese literature.  For those unfamiliar with the novel, or with Chinese culture in general, it’s worth investigating (though there are no official subtitle tracks of acceptable quality for the latest television version, Three Kingdoms (2010), so you’ll have to watch it on YouTube where the Jiang Hu translation was hardsubbed into the video itself).

The clip I’ve linked within this article requires a little backstory to fully understand.  Pang Tong is a hideously ugly man with one of his era’s brightest minds, and is therefore highly sought after by all of the warlords of his day.  To avoid being imprisoned and compelled to work for one of the less high-minded warlords, he spends most of his life wandering under various aliases in search of a worthy lord and master.

His search first brought him to Sun Quan, the lord of the second most powerful kingdom of the day.  But Sun Quan was persuaded by his court (and his mother) to shun Pang Tong due to Pang’s obtuse, drunken belligerence at a state funeral for Sun Quan’s deceased Grand Commander, Zhou Yu.  Pang Tong’s belligerence and drunkenness were considered to be insults of such magnitude that he was rejected from a face-to-face meeting with Sun Quan, at which point Pang Tong sighed and left Sun Quan’s kingdom in search of a worthier lord.

He arrived in Liu Bei’s relatively small, but quickly-growing kingdom and presented himself as a potential clerk or low-level magistrate.  He barely managed to simultaneously avoid detection and also get a job as a magistrate of a small village/township on the outskirts of Liu Bei’s kingdom, and after he got the job he descended into drunkenness and belligerence yet again.  He also refused to do any administrative tasks for his first month (edit to correct: it was actually his first 100 days) on the job, drawing the ire of the feisty Zhang Fei–Liu Bei’s sworn brother–who paid Pang Tong a visit with every intention of cracking his skull for insubordination.

Pang Tong, still drunk and belligerent, dismissed Zhang Fei’s concerns.  He said that the work of a low-level magistrate was beneath him, so why should he bother to work every day when the job could be done much more efficiently?  Zhang Fei commands him to ‘put up or shut up,’ and over the course of the ensuing afternoon Pang Tong completes all of the unaddressed administrative tasks–all while drinking like a sailor–and, after completing these tasks, retires to his room for even more drunkenness.

Zhang Fei, who is far from the sharpest tack in the box, runs back to his brother Liu Bei and pleads with him to come see Pang Tong (who is still operating under an alias) for himself.  Liu Bei drops everything he is doing, rushes off to meet with Pang Tong, and patiently waits outside Pang Tong’s residence until the spud-faced genius finally emerges in a hangover–and naturally he demands someone refill his wine.

Liu Bei recognized the value of such a brilliant and eccentric person, and bent over backwards to try to recruit him.  He ignored his own sick child, he ignored the matter of his noble rank and Pang Tong’s commoner status, he even went so far as to try to give his horse, Hex Mark (which had saved his life) to Pang Tong as a parting gift.

Pang Tong pushed Liu Bei as far as he could in trying to determine whether or not Liu Bei’s ‘eye was on the prize,’ as it were.  A truly worthy leader needs to think of nothing but success for himself and the people who are with him.  Pang Tong’s point is simple: if a leader is willing to pass up the opportunity to pluck a diamond from a pile of manure simply because the act of doing so might somehow sully him, he is unworthy of the diamond.

Humility, as Liu Bei demonstrates time and time again throughout the Romance of the Three Kingdoms tale, is a potent weapon which can often prove decisive in crucial matters.

Free Speech and the dying ‘Right vs. Left’ paradigm.

The ‘Left vs. Right‘ paradigm is one that’s dying, and its pending demise is necessary if we want to build on the legitimate progress made by our forebears.  But in today’s world, those labels still have meaning and so I’ll discuss them a little before examining (in admittedly verbose and, at times, rambling fashion) their roles in the ongoing Free Speech battle in Western Civilization.

The concept of a linear, one-dimensional political spectrum which starts at the ‘Right’ end of the line and runs to the ‘Left’ is one with which most of us are familiar.  The idea is simple (which is why we all have a meaningful degree of familiarity and understanding with this paradigm): if you’re on the Right side of the spectrum, you’re a ‘Conservative‘ (meaning you err toward caution when presented with opportunities to reform a given facet of society/tradition) and if you’re on the Left side, you’re a ‘liberal’ (though this label no longer means what it ought to, so a better way to think of someone on the Left is as a Progressive).  But what does any of that even mean?  This post isn’t an attempt to answer that particular question–instead, it’s an attempt to determine why that question is one most of us find ourselves asking at one point or another.

There is also a lot of discussion about ‘horseshoe theory‘ when discussing the Left vs. Right (predominantly false) dichotomy. Most of us will hear people say ‘I’m a fiscal conservative, but a social liberal,’ or some variation on that theme, which suggests that in spite of its simplicity a lot of people are still confused by the ultra-simplified Left vs. Right paradigm.

And they should be confused, because asking someone if they are on the Left or the Right of the political is a rigged question for anyone who’s actually interested in learning the answer.  But more on that later.  As the headline suggests, this essay is primarily about the purpose and value of free speech in Western society.

To understand why Free Speech is even a thing, we need to understand our species’ history to a minimum degree.  Throughout human history, there have been people who wanted to dictate, from positions of authority, how others lived.  An accurate term used to describe these people is ‘Authoritarian‘–and the dirty little secret that we’re waking up to is that Authoritarians aren’t uniquely ‘Left,’ or ‘Right,’ or ‘Religious,’ or anything else.  Authoritarianism is hard-coded into human nature, so learning how to deal with it and keep it in check is important.

That’s where Free Speech comes into play.

Back in the 60s the Free Speech movement was most certainly ‘Leftist’ or, more pointedly, anti-Right/anti-Conservative. And they were right to rail against the excesses of state influence over speech, thought, and media. Having been born long after their rebellion’s flames had turned to smoldering embers, I can’t comment directly on the radicals’ motives–thankfully I’ve got people like Camille Paglia and Christina Hoff Sommers (aka, The Factual Feminist), both dyed-in-the-wool feminists  and free speakers from that era, to do that for me.

Back in the 60’s, it seems to me that a major (probably even primary) reason for the government stepping in as hard as it did in attempting to influence culture, thought, and speech, was deceptively simple: the global rise of communism. The government, falling into a trap as old as vested power itself, decided against battling the core *ideas* of communism in the marketplace of ideas and instead decided to apply state force to keep communism from gaining purchase. Those in power, be they in the government, media, or even the business world, opted to employ Authoritarian tactics to coerce conformity in the 1950’s rather than waging the harder, but more meaningful battle in the arena of ideas.  Their intentions might have been good, and it’s hard to argue with any chosen course that seeks to eradicate the real-world horrors of communism from the face of the planet, but you probably already know where a road paved with good intentions might lead…

Fast forward to today and the script has flipped 100% on just about every single issue. The hard ‘Left’ activists are pro-communism, and they gain immense support in the media and popular culture while people who want the country to go back to the way it was are sneered at by virtually everyone with a microphone or live camera feed. The pendulum swung too far to the Right in the 50’s and 60’s, and now it’s gone too far to the Left to lead off this century.  And the most powerful, nonlethal weapon in our arsenal which we can use to dampen the eccentricities of that pendulum’s increasingly severe movement is Free Speech.

The good news is that we’ve been through cultural upheavals like this before. We’re all still here, the skyscrapers in our metropolises are still standing, the heartland continues to be the beating heart of both our economy and identity, and all in all life keeps a-goin’. So with that in mind it becomes important to recognize that cultural revolutions are not only acceptable, they’re NECESSARY. Such revolutions are a core reason why the First Amendment got top billing over the Second Amendment. It’s better to wage a war of ideas than it is to wage a war of arms, so Free Speech got primacy over all other itemized freedoms in the USA’s founding principles. But in order for a real war of ideas to commence, all involved parties need to have the unrestricted ability to transmit, receive, and process information independently.

It’s probably obvious by now that Free Speech and Authoritarianism cannot coexist.  Free Speech was specifically designed to prevent Authoritarianism from dominating society by distributing information-processing throughout society rather than keeping information-processing (and, by extension, decision-making) sequestered within the Corridors of Power.  So naturally Authoritarians want to be able to control what is or isn’t said by the general public–because they know, just like Mr. Style Over Substance Noam Chomsky himself knows, that language plays a crucial role in shaping much of how we think.  So if an Authoritarian can control how a person speaks, he/she also gains control over how that person thinks.  None of this is rocket surgery, but I think it warrants stating anyway.

I’ve got more to say on the subject, and I expect I’ll do just that in the weeks to come, but for now I’d like to end on a conciliatory note.

We all get into discussions with people, and where those discussions take place (on the internet, around the water cooler, in the bleachers while we watch our kids perform/compete, or anywhere else) is less  important than how we conduct ourselves during them.  Authoritarianism isn’t the only hard-wired piece of social psychology each of us is born with–tribalism is another one, and it’s probably even more prominent than the desire to exert power which underpins Authoritarianism.  Free Speech and tribalism, however, are almost as incompatible as Free Speech and Authoritarianism–and if they’re not incompatible, per se, then they’re far from synergistic.

When we talk with like-minded people (meaning people who largely share our views) we often improve our understanding and perspective but, perhaps alarmingly, we also put ourselves in a position where we might fall victim to confirmation bias.  Speaking with people who disagree with us is difficult-bordering-on-impossible, but it’s only by speaking with people who don’t share our views that we can genuinely expand our horizons and determine which ideas are strong and which ones are weak.

So the next time any of us feels like rolling our eyes and dismissing a conversation partner with whom we’ve stumbled into one of the proverbial political landmines of our time, and with whom we disagree on an important issue, take a second to realize that you have an opportunity not to win an argument or debate with that person.  Instead, recognize you have a chance to lay bare each others’ ideas and supporting thoughts, evidence, and experiences in the hope that you’ll come away with a stronger understanding of the subject than you had going in.

If you can do that, you’ll recognize that precious few people are ‘Right’ or ‘Left,’ and that most of the people around you with whom you engage in vigorous, spirited, and meaningful discussions are clustered tightly around the Center–just like you.

Don’t let wedge issues divide us into a false Left vs. Right conflict.  If you can avoid that particular pitfall, the Authoritarians who hail from all extreme points of the political spectrum will be every bit as powerless as Thomas Jefferson, James Madison, George Washington, and John Adams wanted them to be.

Cultural Plurality vs. Multiculturalism

The tolerance of plurality is one of the West’s greatest achievements. And, indeed, tolerance is as much as a system of law can *possibly* hope to achieve. Anything more is up to the distinct, plural groups individually (how’s ‘groups individually’ for an oxymoron?).

Milton Friedman, a Nobel Prize-winning economist (who many consider to be the contemporary Father of Libertarianism) has a beautifully articulate speech titled ‘The Pencil,’ which I’ll link below. Key takeaway: there is not a single human being in the world who can manufacture a common pencil. The only way to make it is by cooperating with literally THOUSANDS of other people–many of whom you might despise.

One of the most profound and horribly misunderstood features of a Free Market system is that it enables people who might *hate* each other to cooperate from opposite corners of the world–so long as they all agree on the goal of prioritizing mutual gain. That fundamental agreement forms the basis of Cultural Pluralism–which, strangely enough, stands in DIRECT OPPOSITION to what *most* of us think of as contemporary Multiculturalism.

Where legitimate Cultural Pluralism and contemporary Multiculturalism differ, in my view, is simple: one advocates the TOLERANCE of divergent cultures, while the other demands EQUAL STATUS for all cultures. It’s the old ‘Equal Opportunity vs. Equal Outcome’ argument playing out in the marketplace of ideas–for that’s really all a culture is: a constellation of ideas, manifested (generally) as a set of traditional teachings, values and practices.

Tolerating ‘The Other’ is *essential* to seeking truth and achieving harmony. If one does not assume he or she Knows What Is Best on a given subject, then he or she *must* be open to new information–including the falsification of previously-held values and ideas. Once we can *tolerate* differences, we can examine them–even at arm’s length–more clearly. That process of honest, dispassionate examination is how we learn more about The Other and, more importantly, ourselves. Comparing and contrasting isn’t just something we’re supposed to do in High School English essays–it’s one of the most proven methods by which humans can learn new information: by referring an unknown item/idea to a known one.

Demanding *equal status* for The Other, however, does the exact opposite. When one demands that all cultures be TREATED equally irrespective of the apparent (and not-so-apparent) merits and flaws of each represented culture, one is circumventing the compare-and-contrast mechanism at the outset of experience with The Other. Compare-and-contrast is, fundamentally, a scientific/logical/empirical process. Disallowing its application to *anything* is anathema to the Pursuit of Truth and enlightenment generally.

Science doesn’t operate by consensus, or by ‘proving’ claims or statements. Science is a process of systematized elimination and falsification, by which statements and claims can *only* be DISproven. Which means that enduring legitimately HELPFUL criticism will *never* be a pleasant experience. But it *is* the only method by which humans have repeatedly demonstrated an ability to revise and reform traditional ideas and practices. In order to conduct such revisions, it’s necessary to remove all possible impediments from viewing angles to better ensure a clear vision of what a given thing is or is not.

After all: monkey see, monkey do.**


*The author requests your tolerance of his asterisk abuse, and wants to assure you that he holds no grudge against Roger Maris.

**This post originally appeared at drdetectovision.wordpress.com as a comment in a thread discussing a recent article by Katie Hopkins.