Out of the Blue, Into the Black

The Party's Plot to Stop Mitt

2012-01-26T16:44:00.000-08:00

During his presidential campaign 45 years ago, Michigan's Governor George Romney copped to being brainwashed. It wasn't the most politically astute remark to make during the Cold War, a few years after the release of the political thriller The Manchurian Candidate. However, the question before Americans today, and by that I mean the millions of Americans who believe in an America that's the America millions of Americans believe in, is not whether Mitt Romney was brainwashed along with his dad. The things that come out of Mitt's mouth would not come out of the mouth of anyone who had his own dirty old brain. No, my fellow Americans, and by that I mean the millions of Americans who believe in an America that's the America millions of Americans believe in, the question before us is whether Mr. Romney is trying to brainwash the America millions of Americans believe in, yes, trying to brainwash us into believing in the America he believes in, where millions of Americans believe in an America that's the America millions of Americans believe in. That's the America Mitt loves, and you better believe it. From Michigan, Massachusetts, and Manchuria... with love.

But I write to you today, my fellow Americans who believe yada yada, not to pander to your fears of a modern Manchurian Candidate, but to put your minds--your very own unwashed, God-given, dirty old brains--at ease. The Powers That Be in the Republican Party have been alert to this insidious threat to our country and our way of life for several years. The Vast, Right-Wing Conspiracy to stop Manchurian Mitt is well under way.

The signs are everywhere that the party elites, the conservative pundits, and the rank and file are timid and moderate in their support for the Massachusetts Manchurian. Recently Joe Scarborough has been talking up the possibility of a brokered convention, something that hasn't happened in my memory. And I'm not an elephant myself, but my memory, unwashed as it is, isn't too bad. I remember George Romney's brainwashing remark, as well as San Francisco Chronicle columnist Art Hoppe's lampoon of Romney complaining to the laundry service, "You shrunk it! Too much starch!" But that was then, this is now, and... uh, what's different? Once again we have a clean, starched, shrunken brain who wants to be our president.

But the publicly-aired, dirty-laundry discontent over Manchurian Mitt isn't the full story. Not even close. The fact is that the discussion wouldn't even be taking place right now if the Party Fathers (and maybe some Mothers too) hadn't spent the past three years preparing the ground for their Manchurian War. They knew the war was coming. They knew that the Massachusetts Manchurian came out of the 2008 campaign well-positioned to capture the 2012 Republican nomination. They did not sit around as the "Bain of the conservatives" raised the hundreds of millions of dollars and built the nationwide organization that even now some pundits still claim makes his nomination a foregone conclusion… as historically inevitable as the collapse of capitalism predicted by Marx. To stop Manchurian Mitt, the GOP Powers That Be, working patiently in Smoke-Filled Rooms in every state capitol, quietly engineered the biggest change in the presidential nomination system ever seen within a single, four-year cycle.

There have been many efforts in the past to reform the nomination process, and some have succeeded while producing unintended consequences, but the details of this history is the stuff of which political science courses are made. So here are some key points.

In 2000, a GOP commission to reform the nomination process declared, "It is an indisputable fact that in every nomination campaign since 1980, in both parties, the eventual party nominee was the candidate who had raised the most money by December 31 of the year before the general election." A lot of high-minded (not brainwashed) Republicans thought that it was a bad thing for the party to have the best presidential candidate money could buy, and they wanted to change it.

But the sad truth is that reform is rarely wrought for lofty, altruistic reasons. There has to be something in it for the Big Guys, and a few years ago when the Big Guys looked ahead to 2012, they saw not just an opportunity to reform, but a necessity. It was the best way to stop the Manchurian Candidate. That 2000 Republican commission pointed to the increasingly front-loaded schedule of primaries and caucuses as the main reason that presidential candidates spent several years raising ungodly sums of money. The compressed schedule meant that the well-financed candidate could crush his opponents in the kind of "shock and awe" air war that Manchurian Mitt unloaded on Newt Gingrich in Iowa. In any other campaign year it would have worked--Newt wouldn't have had time to recover. The campaign should already be over, but it's not.

And here's why not. For 2012, the Republican Powers That Be have crafted the most relaxed schedule of presidential caucuses and primaries... ever. It is a schedule that allows candidates who start out with little money to raise contributions as they go, winning a primary or caucus here and there, attracting more support over time. The key word is time. For several decades, American voters haven't had time to know who the candidates really are... until now. Out of sheer self-interest, the Republican Party has given Americans, and by that I mean the millions of Americans who believe in an America that's the America millions of Americans believe in, the long, dirty, gritty, grungy presidential campaign that can stop the clean, starched, shrunken brain who wants to be our president. It is exactly this relaxed schedule that allows Joe Scarborough to ponder the prospect of a brokered convention. This is what the Republican Party elites want, and to get it, they have pulled off the most silent and invisible revolution in history. In so doing, they have given millions of Americans, something to believe in: an alternative to the historical inevitability of a presidency bought by Manchurian Mitt's millions.

Tonga Dispatch No. 15-3, 21 August 2010: Paperball

2011-02-02T19:10:00.000-08:00

A game that Dylan developed on his own was "tag." When he thought that we wouldn't be expecting it, often when one of us was walking past him or away from him, he would bolt from a position where he was not easily observable and tag our feet, then run for cover. Meleline and I would tag him back when we could. Sometimes Dylan would employ this hit-and-run guerrilla tactic against Mousefinger.

The manufacturing and marketing of cat toys has to be one of the great scams of all time, in the same vein as the infamous pet rock. Cats don't need fancy store-bought toys; they have the imagination to create their own toys out of commonplace objects.

A sheet's been jammed in the machine
She has to work to wrest it free
She crumples and throws it to the floor
It has no use anymore

He, ever watchful for some prey
Has missed no occasion to play
He springs across the room with his all
And he strikes at Paperball

He will wrestle it to the floor
He will bite, he will kick, and even more

He's underfoot whilst she prepares
The evening's culinary fare
But just roll a paper down the hall
And he'll strike at Paperball

009 will return to face a new villain in his next adventure: You Only Live Nine Lives.

Tonga Dispatch No. 15-2, 21 August 2010: Mousefinger

2011-01-18T18:03:00.000-08:00

When he napped during the day, he was Chillin' Dylan. Then he would wake up and be Thrillin' Dylan, and Thrillin' Dylan had two nemeses. Chief of Dylan's villains was the hand that rustled under the bed covers or the couch covers.

Mousefinger
He's the hand, the hand with the rodent touch
A potent touch

Such a crouched finger
Beckons you, to pounce on his furtive moves
They're just a ruse

CHORUS:
Scratching sounds will turn around your ear
They bring alive your passions so near
With the hunts that fill dreams in your slumber
Of the prey you've killed unnumbered

Mousefinger
Stealthy cat, beware his enticing game
Your soul he'll claim

CHORUS

Mousefinger
Stealthy cat, beware his enticing game
Your soul he'll claim
He loves only games
Only games
He loves games
He loves only games
Only games
He loves games

As Dylan grew, Meleline commented on how muscular he was. This was attributable in no small part to the regular morning Mousefinger exercise. After giving Dylan his breakfast, I brought Meleline coffee in bed, and Dylan wrestled with my hand, which was under the blanket. In the afternoons, Dylan signalled that it was time for me to take a break from the computer by leaping onto the back of the couch. In the afternoon exercises, the gloves were literally off, as he pawed, bit, and kicked my unprotected hand.

Tonga Dispatch No. 15-1, 21 August 2010: The Cat Owns the Night

2011-01-05T15:49:00.000-08:00

Shortly after Meleline and I returned from Fafa Island and had dinner at home, I heard a kitten crying in the street. I opened our front door and meowed back, and without hesitation the kitten crawled through the fence, ran onto the front porch and into the house. White with patches of grey tabby markings, he established himself as the resident cat that very instant. He chose us, and we could not choose other than to honour his choice. He was tiny, probably a month old. Even so, the next morning, when Meleline opened a bottom kitchen cabinet and surprised a lizard, he scurried out of the cabinet onto the kitchen floor and into the kitten's mouth. The lizard ejected his tail as a decoy, which thrashed around with considerable ostentation, but to no avail. The tiny predator was not deceived. He ate the lizard first; not all at once to be sure, for it is the height of feline etiquette to play with one's food. It's not simply sustenance, you must understand, it's dinner and a dance. Following the main course of lizard, the cat enjoyed the side course of tail at his leisure. It was a sweet moment of revenge of the mammals. We lived under the feet of the dinosaurs for a hundred million years, but who's the apex predator now, pal? One big rock can ruin your career path, huh? Tough break.

We named the cat Dylan, in honour of the intrepid captain of the Andromeda Ascendant. 'Atolomake Helu, a.k.a. Andromeda, was of course delighted. He lived up to his name. Having demonstrated a taste for the geckos that ran around our walls and ceilings at night, I had no trouble in training Dylan to watch the dinosaurs in the sky. But, Meleline and I really didn't want him to hunt out all the lizards in the house, who sustained themselves on moths, mosquitoes, and other undesirables. In any case, they were usually inaccessible to Dylan, who, wish though he might, would never master the art of walking on walls and ceilings. For the most part, they were Dylan's evening entertainment whilst Meleline and I watched Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Fortunately, Dylan's appetites were diverse enough to also include roaches, which, previously abundant, rapidly became an endangered species in our house, to no one's regret but Dylan's. The age of chemical weapons had given way to the most fearsome bioweapon that terrestrial evolution has ever devised. Within a couple of weeks, Dylan decided that sleeping with the humans all night was kid stuff, all right for an hour or two, but first there was work to be done; he established the routine of going out on patrol through the house. The dog may have his day, but the cat owns the night.

The cat owns the night
Animals take fright
Into this house he's come
He's made himself at home
He keeps himself well fed
While humans sleep in bed
The cat owns the night

There's a lizard on the wall
The cat's hoping he will fall
He's in the killer's eyes
Destined as his prize
He was once the Lizard King
Now he can't do anything
Lizard on the wall

Somewhere there's a mouse
The cat's searching through the house
He hears a rustling on the floor
Just around the nearest door
He pounces and he plays
Wouldn't want to die that way
Somewhere there's a mouse

Roach, you've got to stay away
You better heed what I say
There are places in this land
You don't want to make your stand
If you give this cat a chance
You'll be dinner and a dance
You've got to stay away

The cat owns the night
The cat owns the night
The cat owns the night
The cat owns the night

About a week after he came into our house, it became apparent that there had been one night that Dylan had not owned, at least not entirely. His head began to stink, and on closer inspection we discovered an abscess developing between his right eye and ear. From the pattern of the puncture wounds we guessed that he had been in a fight with a much larger cat. Perhaps it had been the very night that we had heard him crying in the street. Although it was rare to see a cat during the day for all the dogs on the loose, at night it was not unusual to hear the Mean Cats voicing their opposing views. Perhaps Dylan had been a little too adventurous for his tender age, and violence had found him around an unexpected corner.

During the next couple of weeks, Meleline applied disinfectant to Dylan's wound. Her patient was an active participant in his own recovery, gradually rubbing the fur away from the abscess so that it could be kept clean. I took a lesson from Dylan's behaviour when one drizzling afternoon of the mild Tongan winter as my bicycle flew along Matei'alona Road, the interaction of the slick tarmac and worn tyres resulted in my vehicle departing controlled flight. An area of forty or fifty square centimetres on my right knee was scraped raw and bleeding, although my other points of contact with the street suffered no damage. I picked up the relatively undamaged bike and headed home, where I showered the wound clean; however, it was obvious that it would continue to bleed for quite some time. I needed a patch job. I found an adhesive bandage, but before applying it, I shaved the surrounding area, more to reduce the discomfort of pulling the bandage away to apply a fresh one than to keep the wound free of hair, but both purposes were served. It was Dylan's idea.

Skinned knees and bit faces. Raising a baby cat bears some similarities to raising a baby human, although the objectives are more limited. Yet the learning curve to achieve those limited objectives is incomparably steeper; the cat catches on very quickly. The similarities are in the unpleasant setbacks: the bodily wastes deposited in the inappropriate places. During the first couple of weeks, whilst Dylan still preferred the comfort and security of a human bed, his brain was not yet developed enough to remember his cat box in the kitchen, and he would instead select a convenient place in the bedroom for a necessary occasion. During the day, on the other hand, his record was spotless. Another unfortunate turn of events occurred one night when I used a stick to drive a lizard off the ceiling and down a wall to the point where Dylan could reach him. Dylan had just polished an ample meal as provided by Ma, and he danced around with the lizard so much that he brought it and the dinner all up on one of Da's books. Da should not take his son hunting after a heavy meal. For Ma to call him Spillin' Dylan after that episode was less than kind; however, for cats have a great deal of pride.

Tonga Dispatch No. 14, 7 August 2010: Reality Island

2010-11-21T16:17:00.000-08:00

With all its problems, still Tonga was a good place to be. Meleline and I didn't care if we never returned to the United States. I wrote, of all things, since it was my least favourite musical genre, a hip-hop song in an attempt to capture some contemporary Tongan social and political issues, yet end on a note of pride. I considered that a distinctly Tongan flavour might be achieved by weaving in stanzas of traditional songs that 'Ilaisa Helu led in the Friday evening faikavas, and 'Amanaki Fifita taught in Tuesday-Thursday afternoon classes on Tongan dance.

'Io!
Mo'oni!
'Io!
Mo'oni!
'Io!
Mo'oni!
'Io!
Mo'oni!

Who among us hasn't sinned
The church bells' constant din
Tells us day out and in
How much we need to pray
'Io!

Screaming yellow zonkers
The 4:30 bongin'
No one sleeps in Tonga
Not too late anyway
Mo'oni!

Limp home late from kava
She's pounding out the tapa
Faka faka faka!
Then nap during the day
'Io!

The barking of the dogs
The squealing of the hogs
There's no sleeping like a log
Not in Tonga anyway
Mo'oni!

[traditional song]

Hens cluck and roosters crow
Cars cruise 'cause they don't know
The house where they should go
No street signs point the way
'Io!

And so they showed up late
And so you had to wait
On the world's Line of Date
Tomorrow is yesterday
Mo'oni!

Since nothing's right in Tonga
Nothing's wrong in Tonga
That'll be five pa'anga
Malo e lelei!
'Io!

[traditional song]

We don't fear global warming
With fifty years of warning
The ferry leaves its mooring
And then we really pray
Mo'oni!

Depletion of the ozone?
Tsunami or a cyclone?
Text me on my cell phone
High ground's not far away
'Io!

Burn Nuku'alofa?
Wake me when it's over
'Ofa 'ofa 'ofa!
And let love win the day
Mo'oni!

[traditional song]

In the Land Where Time Begins
The future isn't penned
But is there a way to win?
Has our chance been pissed away?
'Ikai!

From Sydney to Salt Lake
Just looking for a break
A future we can make
Should we go or should we stay?
Ko hai 'ilo?

If I cross the Date Line
Where Time Begins is still mine
I'm at the end of all time
As Tongan as today!
'Io!

[traditional song]

I'm at the end of all time
As Tongan as today!
Mo'oni!
I'm at the end of all time
As Tongan as today!
'Io!
I'm at the end of all time
As Tongan as today!
Mo'oni!
I'm at the end of all time
As Tongan as today!
'Io!

Among other projects such as my dissertation, I continued to collect popular music about outer space, a project I had begun in early 2009 purely for the enjoyment of Meleline, myself, and whoever else might be interested. I had now accumulated nearly 70 hours of material that I considered listenable, and there was more in the reject pile. Particularly interesting to me was Soviet era and modern Russian music as a window into the culture of the other longstanding human spaceflight nation. I had organised my collection chronologically, and I had interspersed three hours of voice clips from manned missions to give the music historical context. With the 50th anniversary of manned spaceflight coming up in 2011, I wondered whether there might be a business opportunity. I asked Michael Cassutt, a long time friend who was a space historian, science fiction author, and television writer and producer, whether he had any contacts in the recording business that might be useful. His response was disappointing, but it made sense. "My guess is that a space-themed project is going to have a relatively narrow slice of the audience at that.... look at space-related books in the book world."

Based on the trends I was seeing in my music collection, I wasn't surprised. In his blog, Keith Cowing had recently asked, regarding the lack of public response to the cancelation of Constellation, "Where's the outrage?"

I described the music trends to Michael "The chart shows the hours of space music I have accumulated, by year, by three categories: USA, USSR/Russia, and the rest of the world. This is an indicator of the music component of 'space culture.' First, note the similarity between the USA trend line and NASA funding. Second, note that the rest of the world passed the US in space music production in 2002 and has left it far behind. Not only that, but for the first time ever, Russian space culture is passing the US in music production. The centre of space culture has moved outside the US, so if there is any outrage over the killing of Constellation, one must look for it outside the US. I think the US just became a second-rate space-launching nation, and it's because not enough Americans give a damn."

Mike wrote back, "Before you can ask 'where's the outrage?' you have to ask, 'who knows about Constellation in the first place?' In the past six years or so, I have never met a SINGLE person outside the space community -- that is, astronauts, contractors, commentators -- who ever HEARD of the damned thing. I spent a year trying to pitch a series about the next step in [human spaceflight], beyond the Shuttle, to some very smart folks at AMC.... and they were amazed, flabbergasted, confused and otherwise totally ignorant of the plans that existed, pre 2010. The same goes for family, business acquaintances, etc."

It was a reasonable hypothesis that the vitality of a nation's space endeavours flowed from its culture. In a nation where human spaceflight was off the public's radar screen, where else could government funding go but into oblivion? The Soviet/Russian space experience had suffered from communist mismanagement, low tech, and economic collapse, but never, it seemed, from lack of will. I suspected that what I had so far discovered of the Russian musical culture of cosmonautics was only the tip of the iceberg due to my limited facility with the language as well as the probable relative dearth of Internet sources compared to the totality of that culture's production. I wanted to explore these issues further, but I needed help. I opened my pet project to the Society and Aerospace Technology Technical Committee of the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics. Vadim Rygalov, a professor in the University of North Dakota's Department of Space Studies, was happy to join the project. Vadim had known about my project since late 2009, and we had exchanged some music. He would certainly fill in my weaknesses with regard to knowledge of Russian language and culture. Additionally, I thought that it be helpful to have a musicologist, preferably one who had some knowledge of the history of spaceflight, on the project. We needed more co-researchers. Meanwhile, I helped Meleline write a short article on the subject for the AIAA's glossy magazine Aerospace America.

One day I wore a T-shirt that I had had custom made from one of my high school pencil drawings. It was from a famous photograph of Edwin Aldrin looking at the various experiments he and Neil Armstrong had deployed at Tranquility Base, and it included the American flag and the Lunar Module Eagle in the distance. I wonder whether our visiting instructor in mathematics, Noah, was having a bad day of miscommunication, was being deliberately obtuse, or was joking, because it was hard to believe he was really that ignorant. He asked me what was on my shirt and I explained my drawing to him. "So you were there?" he asked. Well, weren't you? Weren't we all? But then Noah and Meleline chanced to have a short conversation about the paper she was writing for presentation at the AIAA's upcoming Space 2010 symposium, "The Rise of the Transnational State: Space Logistics, Sovereignty, and Diaspora off the Earth," and he remarked that it sounded like science fiction. Nothing else he could have said would have been more insulting to her.

Tonga Dispatch No. 13, 26 July 2010: Fantasy Island

2010-11-01T21:31:00.000-07:00

Now the semester was over. Except for Meleline and me, all of the palangi in the faculty had plans to travel out of Tonga during the three-week semester break, at least as far as New Zealand; Maikolo flew to Oregon. Firitia stayed put as well, but having long ago become a Tongan citizen, he hardly counted as a palangi. Meleline and I didn't have the money to travel, nor did we have the desire, having been in Tonga only four months.

Besides that, the weather was just getting better and better. Winter was closing in, and one could almost smell the Antarctic ice sheets on the southern breeze. By the middle of June, there were the occasional nights when one needed a light blanket in bed. Nevertheless, the hardy Tongan mosquitoes soldiered on through these cold snaps. Shortly after our arrival in February, I read that the Tongan media never included temperatures in their weather reportage; it was either going to be sunny or rainy, or in the case of a tropical storm, exceedingly rainy. I described it this way to Gail at the end of June, when the winter solstice had passed, expressing temperatures on that quaint Fahrenheit that we backward Americans insist on clinging to:

It's in the 80s here. It's always in the 80s here... except when it's in the 90s. But that would be summer, and it's winter now, so it's in the 80s here. But winter or summer, 80s or 90s, it's always humid. Sometimes we get a nice breeze, sometimes we get a tropical storm.

Actually, it did seem a bit drier now, and it certainly was cooler, which meant that the tropical storm action had shifted north of the equator.

Before Maikolo departed to enjoy a few weeks of Oregonian summer, he wanted to take Meleline and me on an excursion to Fafa Island. It's a tiny but upscale resort island several kilometres north of Nuku'alofa, where one can go on a day trip for a nice lunch, nice cocktails, nice walk on the beach, nice massage. He was emphatic that the weather must be perfect: no rain, not even a cloud, and on a Sunday. Several Sundays in late May and early June slipped by before nature was able to comply with Maikolo's exacting specifications. Fortunately, 13 June, the last Sunday before Maikolo boarded his flight to the USA, promised to be such a Sunday. He picked us up in the morning and drove us to the wharf. We embarked on a boat that was filled with about two dozen passengers. Maikolo fairly gushed as he confidently predicted that the passage to Fafa would take exactly 35 minutes, and he insisted that I note the departure and arrival times to confirm this. Why this was at all important to him, I have no idea. During the passage I periodically checked our compass heading, just out of curiosity, given that I had trained as a navigator in the U.S. Air Force, and my digital watch just happened to include a compass.

Upon arrival, we made our lunch reservations. The restaurant was on the northwest corner of the island, near out debarkation point. Maikolo advised that we schedule the reservations for the latest slot, 1330 hours, to give us time to walk around the island. At first we walked inland (southward) to examine the conference centre, library, and other facilities in the resort complex, all designed in the traditional Polynesian style. As we passed through this area, Maikolo verbalised in inordinate detail his fantasy of how the 'Atenisi campus would look if money were no object. As we continued southward, we passed the row of guest cottages, also done in the Polynesian style, but with the important difference that they included air conditioners; unlike us, upscale tourists came to Tonga expecting to be comfortable. In Maikolo's fantasy, these cottages would be the campus housing for 'Atenisi students. But would they be able to ring up room service?

In places the path took us through rain forest, which as far as I could tell, had gone unmodified by the human hand. Upon reaching the southwestern corner of the island, we found the shore to consist of coral formations that would not make for a pleasant walk, so we retraced our path to the restaurant and strolled eastward along the northern shore of the island, which was a pleasant beach. I have yet to see waves breaking on the beach; rather, they break on the reefs far offshore, and the beaches are as still as a swimming pool; very unlike California. We rounded the northeastern point and headed south until we reached the southeastern point, where we once again encountered hard coral. Apparently most or all of the southern shore was coral. From here, Maikolo hoped to find a trail coming out of the bush and strike inland. There were no such trails. We were on the windward side of the island, so the island's owner had built no guest cottages or anything else out here. Yes, the beach was nice, and this particular day was quite calm, but what paying tourist wanted granulated coral blown in his face when it wasn't so calm? Once again, it was necessary to reverse course. We trekked north, rounded the northeastern point once more, to find the long, northern beach stretched before us. Maikolo continued to seek a path inland, still thinking that this would be the most direct way back to the restaurant. I pointed out the restaurant in the distance; the beach was now the shortest path. "You're with a navigator," Marilyn reminded Maikolo. Cripes, my grandfather had taught me that much navigation on family camping trips in the Sierra Nevada.

We returned to the restaurant with more than half an hour to kill, having wandered the length of the 45-hectare islet. Not a hardship; we ordered drinks. I had a Campari and soda in anticipation of my upcoming lunch of chicken over pasta. With lunch itself I had a chilled glass of white wine. After the dishes were cleared away, Maikolo excused himself to retreat into the library and work on some papers he had brought with him. Meleline and I broke our laptops and spent the next couple of hours on the Internet. No one was in the mood to swim; we were pleasantly full from the meal and relaxed from our respective couple of drinks.

We re-boarded the boat at 1630 hours, returning to Nuku'alofa shortly after 1700 hours. Once again, [sigh] about 35 minutes. Meleline asked Maikolo how many times he had been to Fafa. He replied that this was his 19th trip. I remarked that I would have been surprised if he didn't know that the transit time was 35 minutes. When I got home I decided to do a simple navigation exercise, which I explained in email t Maikolo the next morning:

From satellite imagery I estimate Fafa to be 3 nautical miles from the wharf on a true course of 023 degrees. Transit time of 35 minutes makes our true speed about 5-1/4 knots. Since average magnetic heading was about 350 degrees, and magnetic declination in these waters is 12 degrees east, making the true heading about 002 degrees, the cross current correction was about 21 degrees, so I estimate that we had a westerly cross current of roughly 2-1/2 knots.

Had I noted the sustained heading on the return trip as well, I could have estimated the north-south component of the current, if any. In any case, I hoped not to hear about the passage time to Fafa or any other minor details of navigation in Tongan waters in future.

Tonga Dispatch No. 12, 21 June 2010: Coming of Age in Tonga, Part 2

2010-08-09T17:49:00.000-07:00

Next on our social agenda was a wedding. There is some perversity in human nature that makes adversity and absurdity more interesting to write, and probably also to read, and I have certainly filled many of these pages with such tales, but I would be remiss were I to allow 'Ilaisa Helu's wedding go by without comment simply because it was neither a fiasco nor a festival of the bizarre. It was, in fact, a splendid affair. Well, yes, 'Uta did indeed nod off in the church, but that is quintessentially Tongan.

After the ceremony, I got to meet my doppelganger at last. Back in February, Sisi'uno Helu had walked beside me in her father's funeral procession for several blocks, then she had done a double take and exclaimed, "I thought you were the Prime Minister!" I had been combing my white hair straight back at that time, it having been several months since my last haircut, having been in the kingdom less than two weeks, I had no idea who the Prime Minister, much less what he looked like. Now, outside the church nearest the Helu home, I was shaking Dr. Feleti Sevele's hand. After introducing myself as a doctoral student and an instructor at 'Atenisi, I said, "I'm told that people have mistaken me for you, so if in future you face going into a tough situation, I could stand in for you." Anything for a paesano. After all, perhaps his family's name was Tonganized from Savelli, the name of a Calabrese comune a few kilometres from my paternal grandfather's village. It would account for the uncanny resemblance.

As it happened, I had dressed like a Calabrese for 'Ilaisa's wedding; 'Uta and Tai expected me to be the Godfather and the look the part: a charcoal grey suit, black shirt, white tie, and of course, black wing tips. Years earlier, dressed thus, someone had asked me if I were a priest. "You could say that my work brings people closer to God." Once I had even visited a cousin in the county lockup in my "native dress." The sheriff's deputy had asked if I were his lawyer. "No, I'm a rocket scientist." I had in my wallet my current membership cards from the American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics and from the British Interplanetary Society in case the deputy cared to pursue his line of inquiry.

But I digress. It was only a few blocks from the church to the 'Atenisi campus, where a large tent had been set up, and underneath it four rows of tables and benches. Here we had a traditional Tongan feast: more chicken, pork, manioke (a.k.a. tapioca or cassava), kumara, and breadfruit than anyone could possibly eat. Up in front many mats were placed on the ground, where sat the bride and groom surrounded with their wedding presents and facing the King's niece, who sat alone and silent at a small table with a bottle of wine that remained unopened throughout the feast. Being royalty surely must have its perquisites, but at times the job must be only slightly more interesting and less interesting than being a night watchman, whilst requiring the extraordinary discipline to appear genuinely interested in one ceremony after another. Everyone around her had a fabulous time eating and drinking and talking. I hope that the young princess enjoyed the traditional Tongan singing and dancing, although perhaps not as much as Meleline and I did, for it was all a new experience to us. There were lines of dancers in traditional dress, men and women performing separately. A few people extemporised; 'Atolomake the opera diva, dressed in her grass mat tavala, boogied her way down to the little waterway that bordered the university's grassy and danced for a minute or so in ankle-deep water.

At the end of the day, a few members of the Helu dogs pack volunteered their services on the cleanup crew, deftly disposing of stray scraps of food as they policed the grounds. When I greeted Lesi with my usual enthusiasm, he curled his lip at me. It might have been that he was edgy from all the activity in his usually serene domain, or it might have been his astonishment at discovering that his best friend was the Godfather. In any case, when I saw him again the following day, he was happy to receive a breakfast cracker.

Tonga Dispatch No. 11, 14 June 2010: Coming of Age in Tonga

2010-07-19T15:01:00.000-07:00

Meleline went all out to organise my 56th birthday party. She composed a colour invitation, printed copies, and handed them out to faculty, students, and neighbours. She bought mats so that people could sit on the floor; the little furniture we had would be taken quickly. And she cooked and she cooked and she cooked.

-----

In addition to the traditional European trappings of a birthday celebration, including chocolate cake and the blowing out of candles, Meleline had invited guests to hold a faikava on the back patio. There was much singing, orchestrated by 'Ilaisa Helu, who knew all the traditional songs. Between regularly held faikavas and Sunday church services, Tongans are very well practised singers. Firitia was the first to get up and dance, and after another song or two, 'Atolomake and 'Ilaisa also performed. 'Ilaisa explained to me that the hand movements were from a martial arts discipline. Yes, watching them had already given me that vague idea. 'Ilaisa also explained that many of the songs were sea chanteys, songs about navigation.

"There are those who claim the land and call themselves nobles, but navigators are lords of the sea and the sky," I told them. "We go where we will."

"'Io!"

"Mo'oni!"

Around 2100 hours, one of the 'Atenisi students began announcing periodically, as though giving us regular status reports from Mission Out of Control, "I think I'm getting drunk. I might be getting drunk. I've gotten drunk." Eventually he leaned over a fence and graced the vegetation with a launch of consumed fluids. Roger, we have liftoff. For a time, he appeared to sober up, but during the later faikava singing and dancing, Meleline saw him crawling off the back patio with his backpack on his back. Four or five girls finally showed up in a car and dragged him away.

About the same time, another student began falling about the place, which was of no small concern to the many guests who were sitting on the mats on the patio. I observed, "Now what we have here is a failure to navigate." Not immediately, but within a few minutes, the student said something that sounded offensive. "Motafaka?" I asked. "Did you say motafaka?"

"Faka" is etymologically related to the verb "fai," to do or to make happen; these Tongan words are intriguingly similar in sound and in meaning to the Latin verb "facere," from which are derived the Italian "fare" and the French "faire," and have in certain contexts similar sexual connotations. In the present case, however, I believe that its usage was more credibly explained by the student's familiarity with American popular culture.

"Motafaka!" he slurred as he staggered forward to get in my face.

As he followed me I backed up to a wall, more amused than threatened; this punk could barely stand. "You don't want to do this," I said in a very calm and low tone. Despite the inches he had on me and one-third the years, using the wall as a backstop I would have had little trouble shoving him across the patio, where he probably would have landed on top of Andromeda. That wouldn't have been my first choice; I hardly imagined that the other men present were going to let this brewing altercation get out of hand. My confidence proved itself as 'Ilaisa, Vesai, and a couple of others gently forced him back. Meleline I went to her tool bin and got her bus tow rope with the two steel hooks on the ends. She told belligerent boy's friends and cousins that they would have to tie him up if they could not get him under control. She clinked the two steel hooks together for emphasis. "No, Meleline, we have him under control." And, sure enough, they got him to go to sleep on the living room floor mat.

Then, there was our dignitary drunk. Being the youngest adult son of one of the island's most famous deceased men cannot be an easy role. He is a person to be revered, but has no real status. In his home, his three sisters have more say-so than he does, although he is a talented and an educated thirty-something, world-traveled. He could easily be a diplomat for the Kingdom. He got massively drunk in his own quiet way, but all he seemed to want to do is listen to selections he requested from our music collections and eat, upending the leftovers from the kitchen table. It was astonishing that this slender man of average height could eat so much.

There were other navigational failures as the night progressed, and peculiar to Tongan culture, such failures can result in inanimate items losing their way. Late in the evening I saw a guest wearing a shirt with red and white checked sleeves and "CROATIA" across the front. "That's and interesting shirt," I remarked. I didn't get much of a response. It didn't occur to me at the time that the shirt was one of the presents that the Runquists had brought. Of course, I knew that Nada was from Croatia, but the idea never entered my mind that someone would open one of my presents and brazenly wear it.

As the party was winding down, the student who had passed out on our living room floor suddenly came to life from a dead sleep. We found the distinguished thirty-something standing over him with a belt, as though he had been whipping the sleeping boy. We don't know why. As the younger man arose to his feet a physical struggle erupted. Friends and retainers on both sides intervened, separated the combatants, and escorted them out of our house. Jonathan was one of those on the scene to ensure that situation didn't get out of hand. By then the night was reminding me of a Three Dog Night song, and it was my own party.

-----

The blurring of borrowing and stealing in Tongan culture and the fact that it is a consumption culture as well (eat and drink everything now because tomorrow there may be a famine) and the number of guests that we had could have been a powder keg event. 'Uta averred that it wasn't a good idea to have Tongans in our house with so much alcohol. We also received all sorts of post facto advice from palangis who had attended the party. "Oh, I would never open my house to Tongans. Even the Fijians lock everything up when they hear that the Tongans are coming." One put it this way: in terms of risky behavior, having a house full of Tongans was like having unprotected sex with a bisexual hooker on Castro Street on Halloween. Not politically correct, but it got the point across. Maikolo expressed his belief that because the food and drink had been so good and plentiful, we have now endeared ourselves to the Tongans. The following Tuesday, one of Meleline's students told her at the beginning the statistics class that he and his wife were struck by the fact that we did not act snooty at the party like many palangi (and Tongan nobles) would have. We were "just folks."

Tonga Dispatch No. 10, 6 June 2010: Mondo Cane

2010-06-27T21:34:00.000-07:00

Around the middle of May, a large, white dog began hanging around the Lolo Masi Building on the 'Atenisi campus. Sometimes I would catch him napping on the second storey, outside the office. He would follow one of the Helu humans, either Tevita or 'Atolomake or 'Ilaisa, over to campus from the nearby Helu residence. I asked Tevita Helu, the university's office manager, if he knew the dog's name. His name was Lesi, and from other sources, as well as from direct observation, I came to understand that he was the alpha dog of the Helu clan. He was the one who had stood his ground a couple of months earlier when I had loudly chastised the Helu dogs for harassing a pig. At that time I had taken his unwillingness to retreat to be an act of defiance. Now I took the opportunity to get to know Lesi. I talked to him a little bit each day whenever I saw him. He seemed to listen to me attentively, perhaps with some confusion. Why is this human talking to me? I had not observed Tongans to talk to their dogs. They were simply fixtures of the environment, like the trees and the foxbats. Early on in my attempts to establish a bond with Lesi, I moved to pet him whilst he lay on his side. It startled him; he snarled quietly, bared his teeth slightly, and made a slight motion of his head toward my outstretched hand, all just enough to communicate effectively to me. Message received and understood. Lesi had numerous scars on his face and notches in his ears. One ear was healing from a recent fight. One day there was an uproar in the street, and I stepped out of the Lolo Masi classroom to see 'Atolomake throwing coral missiles to break up a fight between Lesi and another dog. I joined Andromeda's police action by baying deeply and loudly; perhaps in a moment of distraction the combatants might wonder what larger and more dangerous was about to enter the fray... and on whose side. I had not walked much of the distance from Lolo Masi to the street when the combatants disengaged, whether due Andromeda's tactical missiles, or my projected threat of an approaching strategic response, or the combination of our peacekeeping efforts, or simply that Lesi's honour was satisfied and his territory successfully defended. In any case, I doffed my metaphorical blue helmet and returned to Lolo Masi to resume teaching my international relations class.

Meleline decided to bring breakfast crackers to campus for Lesi. We had bought these thinking that they would be the sort of slightly salty or herby or garlicky cracker that goes well with a small slice of cheese; instead they were slightly sweet. Lesi didn't mind that at all. We offered him breakfast crackers now and then in the course of the next couple of weeks, which he accepted graciously, and he came to look forward to them, greeting our arrival on campus with a wagging tail. Tongan dogs have not forgotten how to wag their tails; they simply have little occasion to do so. Meleline and I continued to talk to Lesi, and he continues to regard us with questioning eyes. One day he saw us working in the computer lab on the second storey of Lolo Masi, and we invited him to visit with us. This went against the natural order. A Tongan would no more allow a dog indoors than a pig or any other animal. Lesi crossed the open threshold. That was one small step for a dog, and one giant leap for canine kind. We fed him breakfast crackers and talked to him, and by now he was used to being stroked on the head, snout, jowls, and neck. In subsequent days Lesi returned to the computer lab to visit with us.

"When Futa Helu died, Lesi lost his best friend," Maikolo said. "They were close. If there is a dog on this island who has a high level of consciousness with regard to human beings, it's Lesi." His comment was an interesting contrast to an earlier reflection that years earlier Lesi's pack had "torn him up," and he had had to see a doctor to get stitched up.

By late May, other dogs of the Helu pack began venturing onto campus and seeking us out. Meleline named one Annabelle. One day I asked Losi Helu what name they had given Annabelle.

"Lesi."

I pointed to the alpha male. "I thought his name is Lesi."

"They're all named Lesi."

And all of the faculty in the Philosophy Department of the University of Woolloomooloo are named Bruce. I had read that Tongans were not above having the palangis on. The story from 'Aliasa Helu was that he didn't think the family had given Annabelle a name. That was probably the truth. A couple of weeks later we asked 'Atolomake for names. She said that the children had names for some of them, but when we asked her daughter about one of the dogs, she didn't give up a name.

Sometimes one or two other dogs would show up and wander around outside of Lolo Masi. None of them wanted to enter the classroom, but they would come right up to the threshold. I sat upon the cement outside the classroom so that we could enjoy each other's company for a while.

Then on 30 May 2010, Meleline and I were astonished to see Lesi appear with six members of his pack. How had this come about? Why would so many dogs, some of whom we had never seen, come to us? It seemed that Lesi had some ability to round them up and make them follow him to us, but why would he do that? Seven dogs stared at us. One of my cousins commented on the image that Meleline took with her cell phone, "So alert! Are you holding a steak?"

"One would think so! Actually, I was only holding a cracker. Maybe they're Catholic and they massed to receive communion. Church culture is big here in Tonga, bells ringing day and night. I wouldn't be surprised if the dogs have picked up some bad habits from the humans."

There was an alertness in their manner, a curiosity in their eyes, perhaps a light of hope for communication. It was as though we had set down in a starship on their lawn.

First Contact.

Are these humans different? Are they as aware as we are? Do they understand that we are a people, a collective of beings, different from them but deserving? Do they know that there was a time when the world was ice, when we realised that we could cooperate with them and that together our struggle to survive would be easier? To cooperate in the hunt was the height of being. Two species bringing down prey and sharing the kill: that was communion. Then they lost the art of the hunt and therefore so did we, so now what good are they to us and we to them? Here we are now in a place where we are dependent, useless, disrespected, and sometimes eaten. The ancient contract is broken and we have grievances. Would they throw coral at us, and would they eat us, if they understood that we would die to defend them? This was the pact: that we would fight together to survive. One team, one fight.

Meleline and I shared our breakfast crackers with the seven dogs. We celebrated communion. Receive from us these wafers as a symbol of the body of our shared kill, amen. It seemed to us that we went some way toward redeeming the pact. We await whatever may come from this.

For certain, more money spent on crackers will come of it. We don't have to kill for those crackers, nor does the proprietor of the falekaloa where we purchase them look like he's making a killing. We're all just living the quasi-good life here in quasi-civilisation.

Tonga Dispatch No. 9, 19 April 2010: Chemistry

2010-06-07T18:19:00.000-07:00

Maikolo could teach French, but he wasn't qualified to teach biology, so in his hands the course would morph into environmental studies, with more emphasis on social issues. The thing was that he didn't need anymore on his plate; he was already working some weekends on the money chase for the University. Firitia had taught chemistry in 2009, but he didn't want to do it anymore. He was happy to perform his administrative duties as assistant dean, teach one math class, and run his Internet business. I averred that I could probably teach chemistry, but I'd need a little time to ramp up. I had last studied chemistry in 1973. I was fairly certain that atoms and electrons hadn't changed much in that time, although a few neutrons might have decayed spontaneously. I remembered the periodic table, atomic numbers, atomic masses, mass defects, isotopes, electron shells, energy states, oxidation reactions, reduction reactions, chain reactions, covalent bonds, ionic bonds, multiple bonds, junk bonds, bail bonds, James Bond....

"What's your undergraduate degree in again?"

"Aerospace engineering... a shit load of math, a shit load of physics, and some chemistry. I have a semester of basic chemistry and a semester of qualitative analysis.

Firitia was far from ecstatic over the prospect of picking up Marten's chemistry class. He showed me the textbook he had taught from the previous year. I asked him how far he had gotten in the book, he showed me, and I thumbed through the table of contents for a couple of minutes. "There's no problem here," I declared. I had learned the material in high school; it certainly didn't come close to qualitative analysis, which is where I had left off at the university level. 'Atenisi was, after all, a school of humanities and social science, not one of engineering and physical science. As Maikolo drove us back to 'Atenisi for the faikava, I continued to peruse the chemistry textbook that Firitia had loaned me. "Relax. This isn't rocket science."

----------

During the uneventful week, in addition to assisting in the economics and modern global history classes, and teaching international relations, I taught chemistry. On an island full of new experiences, dusting off those neurons from--oh my god, 1973!--was just one more. But one hasn't truly lived the good life until one has had to deal with an American bank whilst residing in a Third World country. The whole world loves America. American culture is becoming global culture. Everyone is watching American movies (even if they really are shot in Canada) and listening to American music, and even local music is imitating American forms, from jazz to pop to rock to hip-hop. But what really pisses off the world is having to actually deal with America, because Americans think that everywhere else in the world is like America, more or less. That is a grossly erroneous assumption, or at best, if current trends continue for a few more decades, a rather premature one.

The present case in point is the Bank of America. On Friday, I spent two hours on the phone in a failed attempt to arrange a wire transfer. The Bank of America had set up their system so that the only way to accomplish a wire transfer was through it online interface. This wouldn't have been a problem if Internet access were high bandwidth and reliable; however, here in Tonga it takes geologic epochs for the web browser to load the Bank of America's web pages because of all the security routines running in the background. Also, it wouldn't have been a problem if the settings on my account were set properly; however, for some reason they weren't. This wouldn't have been a problem if I had dealt with a competent customer service associate on the telephone to correct the settings on my account; however, this fool kept telling me that she couldn't verify my identity because I was giving her the wrong answers to the personal information questions she was asking me. Neither she nor her supervisor had the intelligence to question whether they were looking at someone else's personal information, that I was exactly who I claimed to be and that they were screwed up. It also didn't help, that in not atypical Tongan fashion, the Internet was particularly slow and unreliable that Friday.

I began the phone call to the Bank of America in the faculty computer lab at 'Atenisi, about 40 minutes before Maikolo's modern global history class. It was wildly optimistic of me to believe that I could get the problem solved in so short a time, but despite the cynicism with which I express myself with the written word, this is who I really am deep down inside. We live in hope... and die in despair. In 40 minutes, the customer service representative and I had made no progress toward resolving the various technical issues, when Maikolo stood on the campus's grassy quad and bellowed for me to come to his class. With the cell phone at my ear, I stepped outside. "I'm trying to work a financial transaction. In my view, this has higher priority." Maikolo went quietly to his classroom, in full appreciation of the fact that 'Atenisi would receive no tuition from me until I effected this wire transfer. Soon after this interruption, I concluded that the Internet access at 'Atenisi was too slow to work the problem. I had to try an Internet café downtown. I packed up my laptop, and rather than end the phone call and then have to deal with a new customer service associate, I strapped the cell phone to my helmet and continued the conversation whilst I biked to Cafe Escape, about ten minutes away. Once there, I discovered that the Internet speed was no better; Diginet, the Internet service provider, was having a bad day. At that point, it was futile to continue the phone call; I simply had to wait for Diginet to get its act together. The Internet speed improved marginally whilst I was halfway through a leisurely Coke, so I decided to try again, and this is when the ultimate indignity occurred; I was not who I said I was, and I was told that repeatedly for about 40 minutes as I was handed off from a befuddled customer service associate to her supervisor, placed on hold for ten minutes in between, then handed off to yet another supervisor after being placed on hold for another ten minutes, during which time I was treated to the Bank of America's cheery litany about its "higher standards."

The Bank of America. The name could hardly be more appropriate.

Earlier I reflected on Tonga's half-assed nature, but the United States is every bit as half-assed in its own ways. The difference is that America is hegemonically half-assed; in other words, since the US is the global hegemon, the sole superpower, its own peculiar brand of half-assedness is legitimated as being the global standard. I don't like it, but I certainly prefer it to what I anticipate that the next generation will have to deal with: some other hegemon's half-assedness. The previous superpower in the vainglorious parade of history was the British Empire, whose unofficial motto was "Muddle through."

After a total of two hours on the phone, which had accomplished nothing other than to make me miss two classes and to work me up into a froth, I biked home. Meleline had arranged to go out on a shopping expedition with Tai, and had expected me to come along and help out. That was the last thing I wanted to do with my afternoon. Instead, Tai and Meleline dropped me off downtown at Friends Cafe, where I spent the next few hours recovering my serenity. There was a notice at the counter: "VB, buy 3 get one free." I had to ask, "Does that mean than I must buy three at once? I've seen how Aussies drink." They laughed politely... silly American.

I had once heard the expression "Aussie drunk;" that's when you puke on your own shoes. And I had seen the concept in action one night in Mackay, northern Queensland, one night in 1984. I was there on a scuba diving vacation with a brother Air Force officer. As we walked along the sidewalk from the restaurant where we had dined, a bloke staggered up and asked, most inarticulately, for directions. I think we actually knew the place he was looking for, and he staggered away at least as happy as he had been a moment before. "Man, that guy was drunk off his butt!" my fellow Air Force captain exclaimed.

We hadn't noticed that the automobile we were standing next to contained an occupant in the back seat. Apparently believing that the remark had been concerning him, he announced his presence with a convulsed "PIZZOFF!" as vomit dribbled down the side of the vehicle. We reflected on the words of Premier Pizov on a number of occasions during the remainder of our vacation, and after our return home.

Whereas I, by virtue being lulled by Polynesian music whilst consuming a couple of Victoria Bitters, was ably navigating a sea of tranquillity at Friends Café. When Meleline returned from three hours of shopping, I was just being served my third VB, which was perfect timing since that made the free one hers.

During my relaxing afternoon, glancing at what men will glance at whilst taking their ease in a public establishment, I reflected on an article that I had chanced upon earlier in the week as I searched online for commentary and opinion about Tonga that might be of interest to my students. It had been written by Moana Uluave in March 2007 whilst a student at Brigham Young University. She began by acknowledging the aesthetic pressures to which the popular media subjects everyone--be young, be thin, be desirable--but also, be white:

As a pre-teen I would let my hair down believing it looked beautiful, until one day at school my friend told me, "You're hair is so thick and frizzy. Did you brush it?" She chuckled. I never left my hair down again. Accompanying that memory are those of older Tongan women telling me, "Stay out of the sun, you'll get darker than you already are." Then I would cover my face in envy of those who possessed the "correct" qualities. At times I would sit and wish my dark skin would turn fair, my near black eyes turn hazel, and my frizzy black hair--kelo and straight. Of course this had to be beautiful. This was the accepted definition.

This was the hegemonic aesthetic, and as Uluave pointed out, it was little different than the Aryan aesthetic of Nazi Germany, except that no one was going around exterminating the untermenschen these days. However, the spirits of entire peoples were being exterminated as less fortunate races forsook their embarrassing heritage in a futile quest to look more European.

But my struggle for self-acceptance was silent. My mom would tell me, "Keep your head in the books and out of the mirror. Intelligence is beauty." So I received the accolades of academia and pushed everything else aside.

Uluave was saved by an epiphany, perhaps because she was so dark and frizzy, whereas her Caucasian contemporaries at BYU and elsewhere might continue to slave under the hegemonic aesthetic:

I, then, saw for first time the beauty in my Tonganess. I recognized beautiful Pacific Islander young women stripping themselves of their inherited ethnic characteristics and eagerly adopting the majority ideals of beauty: light skin, light hair, light eyes, thin noses, thin bodies, and straight hair. And I was disappointed in myself and others for buying into materialism, imperialism, and capitalism.

How was it that forty years after "Black is beautiful," people of colour were having to wage the same old battle? Why must every woman in the world look European to feel beautiful? A few weeks earlier, a student had come to campus with her hair down, wild and free. My first thought had been, why didn't she wear it like that more often? My second thought was that I was glad she didn't; it was too damned sexy. The same old battle is being fought--black is beautiful, brown is beautiful, you can't be too rich or too thin or too white--because the commodification of the human image has escalated in the past forty years in a war that is being waged against humanity itself.

As a young man I developed a theory of beauty. There are three parts of beauty. First, there was natural beauty. Of course, that is in the eye of the beholder; essentially it is socially constructed. The second component of my theory is even more susceptible to being hijacked by hegemonic aesthetics: contrived beauty, "God hath given you one face and you paint yourselves another," as Hamlet chided the fair Ophelia. Some women want to, and know how to, accentuate their physical attractiveness. Probably some don't care, and I don't have a problem with that. There's a hell of a lot more to life than worrying about attracting a mate. It's not like I worry about that every day, but then, I'm 55 and I have ambitions other than conquests in my bed, such as the conquest of a few distinct corners of the universe of knowledge. Finally, there is self-conceived beauty. There was a Star Trek episode called "Mudd's Women," the upshot of which was a line delivered by William Shatner: "There's only one kind of woman: you either believe in yourself or you don't." That sounds like two types to me, but far be it from me to quibble with scriptwriters for a character who kissed more women on camera than I ever hope to.

Anyway, those are the three, and I always figured that most women could manage high marks on two of the three, in which case they were beautiful. Some call it chemistry, or more accurately, biochemistry. The truth lies somewhere between DNA playing a game on itself in order to reproduce, and the human imagination's ambition to create a single, perfect moment of quantum reality for two. Even so, Uluave pointed out that beauty transcends mere sex appeal:

... [M]y definition of beauty cannot be reflected in any mirror. Beauty /'byu-te/ a noun: A woman who knows who she is and where she's going; who is conscious and selective in decision making, yet teachable; who serves others and lives life with intention and passion.

Could Gloria Steinem have said it any better? Sadly, a young woman felt the need to write this forty years later. Happily, the spirit to write this has still not been exterminated.

Tonga Dispatch No. 8, 10 April 2010: Drowned Princess, Drag Queens, and Faikava

2010-05-17T19:17:00.000-07:00

I hadn't come to Tonga for my health, although I was eating less and getting more exercise. I hadn't come for the waters either, although Tonga had water in abundance. Six months before Meleline and I had arrived here, the Waters of Tonga had proved to be decidedly unhealthy for 74 people. The Pacific Ocean has swallowed them in the night as the Princess Ashika was suddenly swamped and pulled under. This was why I had come to Tonga: to study the public reaction to the accident, write a dissertation, and earn a PhD. As the first paragraph of my dissertation introduced the research project:

The 6 August 2009 sinking of the MV Princess Ashika is one of the most controversial events in the Kingdom of Tonga in recent years. A millennia-old island culture scarcely can be a stranger to maritime tragedies, yet the circumstances surrounding the loss of the ferry have provoked considerable public outrage. In the face of 74 lives lost, have Tongans forgiven--or will they forgive--parties involved in bringing on the disaster? On one hand, there is the lenient Polynesian attitude of forgiving faults and mistakes; however, on the other, there has been sharp criticism of the ruling class for two decades. Also, do Tongans accept the findings of the Royal Commission of Inquiry into the Sinking of the MV Princess Ashika in Tonga with regard to its determination of the parties to be principally at fault? Given the rising resentment against the Tongan elite, if the Commission's finger of guilt points too low in the hierarchy, it is possible that its findings may have limited credibility among the people. Another question is the role that the media have played in informing the public and in shaping opinion with regard to the sinking.

The Royal Commission of Inquiry's work was now completed. It had submitted its official findings to His Majesty, George Tupou V, on 31 March 2010. The pubic release of the Commission's findings was expected the following week. Over Easter weekend, people were wondering whether the King would ask for the Prime Minister's resignation; some even speculated that he might sack the entire cabinet.

Although not strictly necessary to the subject of my dissertation, nevertheless, I would have liked to have observed a day or two of the Commission's proceedings. Unfortunately, the demands that I already had on my time on campus had made it infeasible. But, there was more drama to come; central figures in the disaster had already been indicted, so perhaps I could sit in on a few days of the trials. I wondered whether the Tongan lawyers dressed up in black robes and white wigs as they did in Britain.

At Cafe Escape, an effeminate man occasionally waited on Meleline and me. In fact, Meleline had assumed that he was a woman. All the employees dressed alike in tropical shirts and tupenus (wrap skirts), so that was no clue. "No, that's a man," I said. "Look at the flat chest and the narrow hips. Look at how he walks. Look at the bone structure of his face, the straightness of his arms when they're extended." I've learned a thing or two living in the San Francisco Bay Area most of my life.

In the course of conversation with 'Uta and others, Meleline and I came to learn that it was not uncommon for families having too many boys to raise one as a girl so that there would be a young member of the family to help with the housework. Whether these fakaleti ("make a lady" is my guess at translation) become homosexual or simply remain transvestite, who can say, and frankly, no one seems to care. It is an accepted part of Tongan culture. When Tai and 'Uta took Meleline to a hairstyling shop on Vuna Road, sure enough, the two hairstylists were fakaleti. Even in the social sciences, some things appear to be more or less universal constants. It is said that heterosexual women enjoy associating with fakaleti because it's like having a male acquaintance and a girlfriend in one package. They tend to be very witty; I can understand how they might view other facets of human society with a unique sense of irony. 'Uta used to carouse with fakaleti in her youth. There's an annual drag queen contest called "Miss Galaxy" held at a downtown establishment, and Futa Helu often served as one of the judges. If it was radical, Futa jumped on it with both feet. Yet another reason why local church leaders called him "demonic."

Some said that the fakaleti were a recent phenomenon, having their advent in the 1980s or thereabouts. Meleline suspected that the fakaleti had a deeper root in Tonga culture, and that it was merely their open association with each other, their sense of community, that had developed as they learned of LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered) communities in other countries. Meleline pitched the idea of studying this phenomenon to one of her students. It was the sort of study that only a Tongan could do well, and it would be cutting edge. Her student had concerns about being taken for a fakaleti if the research project were to become widely known, so he wanted a certain level of information security. It would be a classified project. He also came up with a method of operational security, anticipating that he might be able to rely on a female friend on some occasions. I labelled the study "Project F." Unfortunately, the student bailed out of the project a week later. He wasn't ready to be on the bleeding edge of science.

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Meleline was adamant about not attending that evening's faikava, in part because she was tired and in part due to the irritation of having this sprung on her at the last minute. "I haven't researched kava to find out what the effects are." Some sources say that it's a mild hallucinogen. Maikolo claimed that the Australian Northern Territory had outlawed it. I had seen some students show up for class somewhat the worse for wear in the aftermath of a faikava, which could last until 0300 hours. Meleline would make the excuse for our absence that we had a conflicting engagement; this became a retroactive truth when 'Uta invited herself to dinner. At about 1920 hours, as Meleline prepared dinner, Maikolo phoned from the faikava to remind me that my bike was still at Lolo Masi Hall... unsecured. Well, I had to go get it or it might not be there the next morning. Meleline admonished me not to get dragged into staying for the faikava but to come straight home. I set off on foot in the darkness just as 'Uta and Mata arrived from next door.

The faikava is a traditional male social event; the men sit around and drink kava, sing, and tell stories until nearly dawn whilst being served by a few women. Yet another thing that Futa Helu did to infuriate traditionalists was to invite women to participate as equals, although the servers remained exclusively female, I believe. As I arrived to find the faculty represented by Maikolo, Firitia, and Virginia Helu, and then myself. 'Elaisa Helu was also there. Students included Feleti, the two 'Ofas, Tevita, Muna, and Paia. All the men sat at the large table at the front of the classroom, whilst the women sat at other tables. That night I supposed that this arrangement was in deference to Tonga taboo against unmarried men and women sitting together, but at future faikavas I saw men and women sit together.

Maikolo insisted that I sit on his left at the table. It didn't take but a moment for the male 'Ofa to ask me whether I would like some kava. I was sitting next to the dean, and it was in my contract. A cup was ladled full from a huge bowl, and I was immediately reminded of the initiation ceremony in the 62nd Tactical Fighter Squadron in which we newbies had won our flying scarves. As the cup was passed to me, Maikolo informed me that I was expected to drink the entire cup in one gulp, exactly like in the 62nd TFS. "Roger, I know the drill." I drained the cup and then placed it upside down on my head. Tevita then told me that that was not allowed, and that I had incurred a five drink penalty. OK, so their customs were a little different from the 62nd TFS. "Can I negotiate a reduced sentence on account of this is my first infraction?" I turned to Maikolo, "Do I know how to plea bargain or what?"

He nodded in agreement. I didn't see Maikolo drink any kava, although he claimed to have had twelve before I arrived. "It tastes like Tide detergent, doesn't it?"

"More like Axion, with just a hint of Comet." That and it looked like miso soup.

As I was given my second cup, I noticed that my mouth was going a bit numb. "That's about all you're going to feel," Maikolo said. "This is pretty tame stuff." As a student at Brandeis in the mid 1960s, he had done about all that there was to do. "Na'aku 'osi 'i ai, na'aku 'osi fai 'a e me'a koia. Been there, done that."

"Sono stato la, ho fatto quello. I'm sure not seeing any bright colours exploding in my head."

"And you won't."

"Well, that's a bummer!"

A conversation ensued regarding 'Atenisi's heyday, when Greek and Latin were part of the curriculum. Maikolo sounded out the students about reviving theses studies, but the response was muted. "I don't know any Greek, but I know a bit of Latin. Italus sum, ergo, Romanus sum." I am an Italian, therefore I am a Roman.

To which Firitia responded with something every schoolboy knows, "Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres."

What gall! No one quotes Gaius Julius Caesar to me with impunity. "Alea iacta est. The die is cast." I treated him to a couple of my original epigrams. "Dei omnes laudamus si existunt." Let us praise all gods if they exist. I think that one might have amused Futa Helu. "Quod ad Pompeium incidet ad Pompeium se tenet." What happens in Pompeii stays in Pompeii.

"What happened in Pompeii?"

"Oh, that was a rockin' little town in its day, and whatever you did there, you didn't tell anyone about it when you got home. You know, like Las Vegas? The phrase has a double meaning now. What happened in Pompeii is still in Pompeii."

One of the effects of prolonged, heavy use was reported to by dry, scaly skin. 'Ofa and Tevita had mentioned this one day while explaining why 'Ofa was wearing sunglasses in the classroom; heightened sensitivity to light was another side effect. "Are you turning into a lizard?" I had asked 'Ofa then. So now I asked him, "At what point do I turn into a lizard?"

"Do you want to turn into a lizard?"

I turned to Maikolo, "I seem to recall I already did that once."

"You probably did," he nodded.

"Sort of the Franz Kafka trip, but not the praying mantis."

As the evening progressed, the more experienced participants instructed me in the finer points of faikava etiquette. One grasps the cup by the edge with the thumb and a couple of fingers, rather than holding it from underneath. Once drained, one gives the empty cup a quick flick over the shoulder, then flicks the cup across the table in a spinning motion back to the grog bowl. This I did repeatedly and with considerable accuracy.

Around my eighth or tenth cup of kava 'Elaisa broke into song, and the other Tongan men joined him in perfect four-part harmony. It was very impressive. It immediately brought to mind the reference to barber shop raga in This Is Spinal Tap. Not that I ever intend to belittle or trivialize something so beautiful as this traditional Polynesian musical form; rather, it's a shorthand description, however inept. Maikolo stepped outside briefly to take a call on his cell phone whilst the men sang, and when the song was over, he told me, "That was Marilyn. She just ordered you home."

As I mounted my bike, I left the faikava with one final Latin phrase, "Gubernaturi te salutant. Those who are about to drive salute you." It was a fitting farewell. Although I wasn't feeling much of an effect from the kava, and so there was no danger due to being impaired, the back streets of Tufuenga and Longolongo were poorly maintained and even more poorly lit. I was about two-thirds of the way home when I rode straight into the deepest crater on the route. The bike shuddered to a halt as the front wheel collided with the upside of the crater, whereas I still had my full measure of 1/2 mv2, so there was no question that the bike and I were now on distinctly separate trajectories. I rolled right to disengage from the vehicle, and as near as I can reconstruct the sequence from my superficial injuries, I executed a six-point roll, coming down first on my right foot and both hands, then on my right knee and right elbow, and finally on my right flank. Couldn't have done any better than that right out of parachute training. I hadn't rolled off a bike in 15 years, but if it weren't for the satisfaction of learning that I could still do it, I would have just as soon skipped the whole thing. I picked up my bike, ascertained that the vehicle was still operable, and I was home about a minute later, washing the gravel out of my abraded knee and elbow. I suppose that sympathy for my road rash saved me from a tongue lashing from Meleline, but as to which of these fates would be the more painful, it is not my purpose to speculate.

Tonga Dispatch No. 7, 31 March 2010: The Waters of March

2010-04-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

On the afternoon of Friday, 19 March, the rain returned. "This is now the rainy season in Tonga," Maikolo explained. Funny, when Maikolo picked us up at the airport in early February, it was raining. Since then, we had weathered two cyclones, and in six weeks I had seen more rain in Tonga than I had seen during my entire time as a student at the University of Southern California. But now we were just getting into the rainy season. Was there really a dry season, that is, one that would be recognisable as such to a Californian?

‘Uta comes over to chat, and without any intention of giving offence, much less having any inkling that she is doing so, and right in my own living room calls my hometown "Frisco." I need your help, Herb Caen! Explain, with your tact and disarming wit, why that grates so much. I'm not quite sure why. After all, Angelenos themselves call Los Angeles "L.A." My father was born in L.A. It didn't discomfort me to say that. I went to college in L.A. See? That didn't hurt a bit. But I was born in San Francisco, so was my mother, so were both of her parents, and so was my mother's mother's mother. We say "San Francisco," and no one better say anything else. Well, I suppose "S.F." would be acceptable.

After explaining this lineage, I like to tell people that my son was born "back east," by which I mean Oakland. It is, after all, on the East Coast of San Francisco Bay.

Genealogy is very important in Tonga. I'd swear that everyone on Tongatapu knows the genealogy of the entire island. Certainly ‘Uta knows it. Just give her a name: "Oh, yes, he is...." or "Oh, yes, she is...." Meleline listens to all of this with her anthropologist hat on. Anyway, there are some hereditary lines of authority that run through the male line and some that run through the female line, which makes for a nice balance. But of course, primogeniture is still the rule. For instance, the position of ‘ulumotu'a, or head of the clan, is inherited through the eldest male line. Now, that got me to thinking. I'm an only child. My father was the elder son. My grandfather was the elder son. My great-grandfather was the eldest of four sons. And so it goes, as far as I have been able to trace, back to my fourth great-grandfather. As far as I know, I'm the capo of the Gangale from Cotronei, Caccuri, and Castelsilano. I can't think of a better argument than that against hereditary claims of authority.

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From ‘Uta, Meleline and I have learned a little about the politics of xenophobia in Tonga. We have heard that most palangi are American, followed by Australians and New Zealanders, and I've often heard French spoken at Café Escape. The Tongans don't seem to be concerned so much with us white folks as they are with the Chinese. Before we came to Tonga, Meleline and I read about the various ill-conceived revenue-generating schemes of the previous king, George Tupou IV. One such scheme was to sell Tongan passports to Hong Kong subjects of the United Kingdom who didn't relish the prospect of becoming citizens of the People's Republic of China. That scheme made some money for the Tongan government, I suppose, but at the expense of the indigenous population's growing disquiet about there being so many Chinese in their midst. Actually, I haven't seen that many Chinese--I've seen far more round-eyes--but where one does find the Chinese is behind some counter, doing business. A lot of the falekaloa, the tiny cinderblock stands that dot the neighbourhoods--the Tongan analogue of the 7-Eleven--have Chinese proprietors. I needn't dwell on their legendary penchant for entrepreneurship. Rob Beck, a Peace Corps worker who is teaching economics at ‘Atenisi, remarked to me that he was worried that the concept of optimising the outcome of a transaction wasn't sinking in with his students. "It could be that the Tongans still consider transactions, even those involving money, as exchanges of gifts, and it would be ungracious to try to optimise an exchange of gifts," I ventured to theorize, based on what I had read of Tongan culture. Such a culture would be at a severe competitive disadvantage compared to a culture that retained its ancient understanding of commerce despite several decades of brutal Maoist attempts to eradicate it. From ‘Uta, we understand that a lot of Chinese businesses were burned out during the November 2006 riot, and a lot of Chinese subsequently left Tonga, which explains why there are few to be seen in Tonga today despite George Tupou IV's scheme. I wondered why Narattam, an enterprising Indian, had such a voluminous store, essentially in a warehouse, located in the boonies of the light industries area several kilometres east of downtown Nuku'alofa; his store used to be downtown, but it was burned out in the riot. In a few months, he planned to be back downtown; saffron is another of those colours that doesn't run.

It's a tired old story; when the tinderbox of discontent is sparked, take revenge on the disciplined and enterprising Other in one's midst. When white cops get away with beating an African-American motorist, burn out the Korean shops. When Arabs fly airliners into skyscrapers, shoot a South Asian in a convenience store. In May 1998, Indonesians rampaged against their Chinese minority and murdered thousands. Every night is Kristallnacht somewhere on this planet. Get with the pogrom.

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In biking nearly every day for five weeks between home and campus, and sometimes downtown, my legs had become considerably stronger. I had stated out taking about five minutes to get to and from campus; now, if I kicked it into full AB (afterburner), I could get to or from campus in 2.5 minutes. Despite this, I was still unsteady on stairs, needing to grasp a handrail. The knees were just shot to hell, and the gout was no help. La vecchiaia... che farai? Old age... what are you gonna do? I had sort of expected to be dead by this age, having been given to doing more than a few dangerous things in my youth, as most youths do, so the gout and the worn out knees were the rewards of unexpected survival.

As it happened, Meleline and I didn't need to buy a clothes washing machine, no more than we needed to buy an automobile. ‘Uta volunteered herself and Mata to do our laundry, once again demonstrating the primacy of the social network in Tongan culture. Equipment such as washing machines and cars might be privately owned, but their owners made them available to family and to friends, along with their time and labour to operated them.

The concept of time itself was communal in Tonga; I don't know that they had an idea of "personal time." For this reason, Meleline and I had to adjust to the fact that ‘Uta would occasionally come to the door while we were watching a movie, and stay to chat for the rest of the evening. This was a bit irritating at first, but on further reflection, how were we inconvenienced? It wasn't as though the program was coming in on the airwaves and then was gone; we could resume at another time. Indeed, had we been absorbed instead in quaint and curious volumes of forgotten lore, we should not have objected to a tapping at our chamber door. The one immutable priority was that I had to have sufficient time for schoolwork, and nothing could encroach on that.

I had developed something of a taste for Tongan cuisine. In addition to tapioca root and breadfruit, which I had come to think of as South Pacific potatoes, ‘Uta occasionally brought us lu, roasted pork or chicken wrapped in talo leaves. Sometimes the local fauna found their way into Meleline's culinary triumphs. One morning I bit into something crunchy in the soup. It had a strange taste as well as an unusual texture. I decided to remove whatever it was from my mouth with my spoon and to inspect it. It was a cockroach, about 3 centimetres in length. It wasn't on the menu, it was the catch of the day. I took it as a good omen that nothing worse would happen to me that day, which turned out to be so.

Wasps had been a continuing problem on the ‘Atenisi campus. They had built a nest in the ceiling of the first story classroom in Lolo Masi Hall. Disposition of the nest had to be agendised for and discussed in a Faculty Senate meeting before action was decided upon. Marten Runquist, the biochemist, was tasked with removing the nest. There was some delay in accomplishing this, during which time he and his two children, Felix and Ines were stung. Marten removed the nest from the ceiling with not much further delay, but the wasp attack hadn't occurred in Lolo Masi Hall. The larger problem was that the wasps lived all over the campus, perhaps in the mangrove in particular. There were times when I shut all the windows in the computer lab on the second story of Lolo Masi Hall, despite the oppressive heat, to keep out the wasps and to work undisturbed. One day I was compelled to interrupt Rob Beck during his economics lecture and to alert him to the danger. "Be advised I have three targets, eleven, twelve, one o'clock high." I had managed to avoid being stung until the unavoidable happened. As I sped along the road onto the campus, I felt a sudden sting on my left temple, a couple of centimetres from my eye. I had taken a wasp strike. Compared to what a kilogram of highly kinetic flesh and feathers could do a cockpit canopy or a jet engine, I counted myself lucky. Nothing worse happened to me that day.

On 23 March, Tai returned from the New Zealand Immigration Office in tears. She had applied for a visitor's visa so that she could attend her daughter's high school graduation ceremony in Wellington, where she lived with her father. The clerk at the immigration office had harassed her with a lot of intimidating assertions and personal questions, on the one hand accusing Tai of attempting to enter New Zealand on a ruse with the intention of staying in the country permanently, whilst at other times questioning whether Tai were still married to her husband, given that neither had visited the other for several years. Being a Tongan herself, the clerk had to know that there was nothing unusual about this, given that more Tongan subjects lived outside the kingdom than within it. Meleline and I were outraged over this "insolence of office," as Hamlet termed it, and that evening Meleline addressed a stern letter of complaint to the clerk's supervisor. The next morning, armed with Meleline's letter, Tai and ‘Uta descended upon the New Zealand Immigration Office. They issued Tai her visa, and she was in the air that evening. Her daughter's graduation ceremony was the following day.

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An issue that has come up regarding my international relations course was the amount of reading I was assigning; 60 pages per week was not a large increase over what my predecessor had assigned, and it was well below the 100 pages per week that I counted up in a Stateside syllabus, but at the same time it was well above what other instructors at ‘Atenisi assigned. Which led to a discussion between Maikolo and myself. My bottom line was, that if this university desired to be internationally respected, it must teach to an internationally respected standard. There was just no way around that. On the other hand, there was no K-12 public education in Tonga, and the private schools (nearly all, if not all, religious, I understood) didn't do the best job of preparing their students for a rigourous academic environment. Well, big deal; from what I had seen, neither did American K-12 these days. True, there was also a language barrier to deal with here; but roughly half of San Francisco State University's international relations students had been foreign, so I wasn't buying that argument, either. Now, throughout my life I had known that I was a slow reader, and after leaving SFSU I finally got around to having myself tested for learning disabilities at the College of Marin. My reading speed is 38th percentile. In other words, nearly two out of three American adults, regardless of education level, could read faster than I could. So, if I could read the readings that I assigned to the students (and most of the time they were new readings to me), they bloody well could, too! Especially since I had told them the secret to student survival: cooperate and graduate; form study groups, distribute the workload. After some discussion, Maikolo decided to sit back and watch my teaching experiment; if I got good results, other instructors might begin ramping up their courses as well. As I saw it, academic excellence was an indispensable leg in ‘Atenisi's strategic triad, along with independent governance and international funding. ‘Atenisi's star was on the rise. Student enrollment was up nearly fivefold from two years earlier, and funding was coming in from New Zealand, Australia, France, and Canada. Meanwhile, the only other university in the kingdom was crashing and burning; because of the odium of Fiji's military regime, overseas income streams were drying up for the University of the South Pacific, and its satellite campus on Tongatapu, which The World of Learning had downgraded to a college, was now reduced to offering only "distance learning" courses. ‘Atenisi was the only game in town, and we must carpe diem.

My student ‘Ana asked about career paths for international relations. I didn't discuss an academic career with her, given the horror stories I had heard, and sometimes seen. In his thesis and methods class at SFSU at the beginning of the Spring 2005 semester, Sanjoy Banerjee had asked his students what they were planning to do after earning their master's degrees. I stated that I might pursue a doctorate. He laughed, "You'll never work again!" That's how America deals with its intelligentsia. I did advise ‘Ana about possible careers in government and in nongovernmental organisations. Also, a knowledge of international political economy (IPE) certainly would serve well operating in the business sector in the South Pacific, given all of the small nations and their economic relationships with Australia, New Zealand, the United States, Japan, China, and the "Asian tiger" economies of Thailand, Singapore, Taiwan, and South Korea. Not to mention the fact that I had used my knowledge of IPE to nearly double the value of my investment portfolio in the previous 12 months. Not that it was a particularly large portfolio; nevertheless, the fact was that I was sitting on the beach, earning 97 percent. Yippee ki yay. A damned good thing considering that according to Sanjoy I'd never work again.

Sometimes I sat in the rain, of course. On Wednesday we had light rain, on Thursday we had heavy rain. It rained all through Easter weekend, often torrentially. It really was the rainy season; I only thought it had been raining before. Sometimes it rained so hard that I just had to step outside and watch... and listen... in awe. It was so loud that it drowned out the church bells. The pigs, dogs, and roosters took cover under trees and houses and were silent. Roaches of all sizes silently invaded the house in force in the hope of escaping watery death and instead met their end on a chemical battlefield.

Tonga Dispatch No. 6, 19 March 2010: Half-Assed

2010-04-18T19:32:00.000-07:00

When I encounter such phenomena as the lack of street signs, the poorly marked street maps, the rubbish that went two weeks without pickup, the customs run-around, the lumber bumble, and the frequent Internet dropouts that can last for a day or more, it’s difficult not to form the harsh assessment that Tonga is half-assed. Sooner or later, things get done in a way that more or less suffices. Just don’t insist on conformance to exact specifications, or on compliance with a strict schedule. Things don’t seem to work that way here.

Half-assedness comes to Tonga as imports as well. China has a reputation for exporting the shoddiest manufactured goods. The palangi know it, the Tongans know it. ‘Uta told us that the Chinese computers break down in six months. Before we left the United States, Maikolo advised us to ship our American-made bicycles; the Chinese bicycles sold in Tonga fall apart in six months. That was hard for me to believe. How can one screw up something as simple as a bicycle? Nevertheless, we shipped our bicycles. Then we got to Tonga and saw the Chinese idea of a corkscrew. Yes, they screwed up something as simple as a corkscrew. One design was so bad that nearly all of Narattam’s stock was broken in its original packaging. But their “Freedom” plates don’t break; the Chinese break freedom in their own country before exporting the plates. Perhaps Chinese companies figure that they can sell half-assed products here in Tonga, and, as with Hamlet’s madness in England, ‘twill not be noticed.

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It really irritates me when I hear a pig squealing and I look around to find that dogs are harassing it for their idle sport. This happened on campus one day, right outside the classroom, while Melelini was in the middle of teaching a class. I stepped to the threshold and issued one short but very loud bark; a half-dozen dogs froze in their tracks and stared at me. What the hell is this human saying to us? Other humans don’t talk to us in our language! I then bayed at them like a huge hound, and all but one of them turned and fled. The one standing his ground continued to stare at me, and I stared back. “Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you!” I said, pointing my finger at him. I took him to be the sentinel of the pack. After a few seconds, he turned and walked away in an unhurried gait, thereby demonstrating to any of his fellows who might be looking on that he was unafraid of me.

Meanwhile, my international relations class kept expanding; now ‘Ana wanted to add the class. A grand total of four students wouldn’t appear to be a challenge to teach, but I needed to ponder how to handle teaching three levels of students--100, 300, and 400--In the same classroom; ‘Atenisi functions rather like the old one-room schoolhouse. Actually, we have three rooms, but you get the idea. Two more students joined the class. One was ‘Ofa the grad student, not to be confused with ‘Ofa the undergrad who had been the first to add my class. Rather than asking to join my class, as all of the others had, ‘Ofa the grad student just showed up one day and announced that he was in my class. That was news to me. Muna, on the other hand, asked my permission, which I gave gladly; she was an obviously Westernized, smartly-dressed young woman, sporting painted fingernails and lots of rings, who claimed that her email address was , although I kept getting a bounce from it.

As I had more of an opportunity to look over the course material that I had inherited from Marcus, the previous international relations instructor, two things struck me. To begin with, the first assigned reading, a 1998 Foreign Policy article by Stephen Walt, presented a remarkably detailed overview of the world of IR theory, naming dozens of other authors in the field, with many of whom I was familiar; however, the other readings in the course reflected the work of very few of these authors. Also, the course as it was currently structured spent a lot of time on Kant, Hobbes, Machiavelli, and cripes, all the way back to Thucydides; excellent historical background in the field of international relations, to be sure, but the planet has taken a few laps around the sun since these guys. I wanted to get some of the latest stuff by some of the best-known theorists into my students’ hands. The problem was that I didn’t have the resources for doing this that would be available to any run of the mill university instructor; I didn’t have access to a four-story library that subscribed to all of the important journals, or that subscribed to the online journal article repositories such as JSTOR, EBSCO, and Ingenta. I explained my situation to Sanjoy Banerjee at San Francisco State University, under whom I had studied international relations theory at both the undergraduate and graduate level, and within a couple of hours he began emailing me the latest journal articles that he was using in his IR theory classes. When I informed my class on Tuesday that the download was in progress, they fairly cheered. As ‘Ofa the undergrad explained to me after class, the students didn’t want to dwell on Thucydides and Machiavelli and Hobbes and Kant and Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points; they wanted to read the latest stuff, they wanted to understand what was going on in the world today.

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One morning I rose from bed and walked into the living room to find a roach moving across the floor at an unusually slow pace. On the other hand, its speed was quite remarkable considering that it was on its back… and quite dead. Its pallbearers were a contingent of myrmidons. This was one time that I wasn’t going to spray them with window cleaner; I was quite happy to see them performing this service for the roach… and for me. They carried the roach out the front door, at which point I lost track of them. I suppose that they had to chop-shop the roach to take it inside their colony.

I might also mention, while commenting on the wildlife in our domicile, that the lizards emit a loud chirping sound, usually a rapid sequence of five to seven. We assumed at first that we were hearing birds; then we triangulated on the chirps, which seemed to come from inside the house. We had long become used to the sight of lizards on the walls and on the ceilings, but it took some time to associate the lizards with the chirping. It’s fascinating to hear birdlike sounds coming from lizards, but then, both have a dinosaur in the woodpile; a taste of Jurassic Park in the comfort of our own home. I imagine that the lizards feast on life-forms that Melelini and I would prefer not to have in the house, such as the myrmidons; thus, both for their utilitarian and for their aesthetic values, they are welcome in our house.

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The weather was not the best that week of 14 March, and perhaps that explains the absence of the dogs. Cyclone Tomas (I love that name) had organised about a thousand kilometres north of Tongatapu, initially headed west, then turned southwest to hit Fiji’s main island dead on. Tomas then turned south, passing to the west of Tongatapu, and veered gradually southeast, describing an arc around us, all the while sending us blustery weather as well as occasional heavy downpours. (By now we were on the Australian High Commission's email list, so we got regular warnings of impending natural disasters, complete with images.) Even the edges of a cyclone were enough to bring down the Internet for brief periods, and also the electrical power. Not to complain, however, for at last it was blessedly cool. By Thursday, it was calm again, the rain was gone, there were patches of blue sky, and still the temperature was pleasant, although warmer. Summer was coming to and end. Maikolo had warned us that because there was nothing between us and Antarctica, we could expect winter in Tonga to get quite cold, all the way down to the 50s Fahrenheit; in other words, like summers in San Francisco. I should prepare myself for that god-awful 19th Avenue weather that San Francisco State students and faculty must endure.

Whenever the Internet on campus is cranky, or when Melelini and I just want to enjoy a good meal in air conditioning, we hang out at the Café Escape downtown on Taufa’ahau Road. We haven’t gone through the entire menu yet, but so far we’ve been quite happy. The bagel and lox is outstanding, as is the smoked salmon and cream cheese toasted sandwich. The hamburger sandwich is at least a large as an American would expect. (In my brief travels along the Australian east coast in 1984, there was not a hamburger to be seen; the meat pie was the fast food.) The samosa is not authentically Indian, being more of a spicier than normal mini meat pie, but enjoyable nonetheless. (I imagine that the nearest authentic samosa might be found in Fiji, where Hindustani has become one of the official languages.)

The milk shake, however, is nothing that an American would recognise as such. I have only two data points, Café Escape in Nuku’alofa and some place in Sydney 26 years ago, so it would be risky to extrapolate from these and to state that there is such a thing as a South Pacific milk shake that is distinct from the American one; nevertheless, I’ll refer to the South Pacific milk shake as a general concept, both for the ease of narrative and so as to avoid affixing blame for this atrocity on any one national culture. To state the problem plainly, the South Pacific milk shake seems to be genuinely a milk shake, i.e. shaken milk. Apparently, one mixes some flavouring into the milk, froths it up in a blender, and there you have it: a milk shake. What could be more straightforward, more self-evident? But the American asks, “Where’s the ice cream? It has to be thick enough that trying to suck it through a straw is a painful exercise in futility.” Well, you didn’t call for a bloody ice cream shake, did you mate! So, based on what I encountered in Sydney, I wasn’t entirely surprised at what Café Escape offered up; on the other hand, Café Escape’s clientele are mostly palangi, and most of the palangi are Americans, so why doesn’t the place make American shakes? They have ice cream on the menu! If you ask me, what passes in the South Pacific is no great shakes. It may be whole milk, but it’s half-assed.

As I write this, we have just had our first Tongan earthquake. Nothing to write home to California about, but I’m doing so anyway. That scene in Steve Martin’s L.A. Story in which the locals continue to calmly order their decaf non-fat double mochas while the planet shakes apart isn’t much of a stretch; Californians are jaded when it comes to earthquakes, as we are about many other things. In October 1987, I sat in my office at Los Angeles Air Force Base (actually in El Segundo), and I looked up to observe the dust shaking down from the acoustic tile ceiling. Another captain opened the door with an air of urgency, stuck his head inside the office, and yelled for everyone to get out of the building. I continued to lean back in my chair. “Five point nine, maybe six,” I replied. That was the Whittier Narrows quake. Tonga stands on a ridge, and just east of that ridge is a trench where the Australian tectonic plate is moving north against the Pacific Plate. Today’s tremor in Tonga was perhaps a 4.5, if the epicentre were fairly nearby… no great shakes. But, if the epicentre were hundreds of kilometres away, that would mean that it had been a stronger quake, and a tsunami would be a concern. I turned on the radio, listened for a half-hour, but heard nothing remarkable.

About the quake, that is. Several times, the announcer attempted to build up audience excitement about a traffic report for Nuku’alofa in the Australian/New Zealander format coming up in a few minutes. Being a veteran of several thousand combat missions on the thoroughfares of the Los Angeles Basin and the San Francisco Bay Area, I could barely contain my anticipation. I only gave the traffic report a half-listen, not least because Tai came to the door just before it started, but I did hear the remote reporter with the crackling voice, I don’t know, pretending to be in a helicopter, for I can’t imagine that a local radio station could afford the expense of a real helicopter. I suppose it was an attempt at radio theatre in a news format, like an invasion from Mars. In a Kiwi accent, the reporter described the traffic snarls at the major intersections, which are all roundabouts (there isn’t single a traffic light in the Kingdom), so naturally there are traffic snarls getting into downtown Nuku’alofa in the mornings. A few dozen vehicles are enough to jam them up. The Kiwi did a passably professional job, until he blurted, “… whatever the real name of that street is supposed to be.” In my judgment, the traffic report was more in the New Zealander than in the Australian style, and not simply due to the reporter’s accent; an Aussie would have referred to “that bloody street.”

Half-assed.

Tonga Dispatch No. 5, 5 March 2010: The High Ground

2010-04-07T15:42:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, 27 February I took a bike ride around town, taking care of a few light errands we hadn’t accomplished the day before. A vehicle from an intersecting street made a right turn in front of me and came to a dead stop on the other side of the intersection. Once it became clear that he wasn’t going to move on, I pedalled around him. “Sorry, mate!” the Tongan called out.

“No worries!” I replied.

The Tongans have learned their English from the Aussies and Kiwis, which is a bit amusing to the American ear. But back to the left-hand traffic pattern, it’s a bit unnerving. All my life-long conditioned responses are wrong, so I look at all directions of at an intersection… maybe two or three times. On day when riding to campus, Melelini departed a couple of minutes ahead of me, knowing that I would soon catch up with her. I found her riding down the right side of the street. “Gyet on tha lyeft, yeh bloody Yank!”

Around dinnertime Tai came to the door and asked us for something to eat. Out of the blue. Our reading on Tongan culture had prepared us for this. No one in Tonga goes hungry; no one has to humiliate himself by holding a cardboard sign at a major intersection. Tai had just missed the potato salad as the first course. When she says she’s hungry, she means she needs to eat right now. I suspect that she’s borderline diabetic; obesity and diabetes are rampant among Tongans. So we apportioned the remainder of our dinner three ways instead of two. Joy, ‘Uta, and Mata came by as we were halfway through the main course. Mata stayed to watch a few episodes of Fawlty Towers with Melelini and me when the others left. We were, I believe, more hospitable than Basil.

At 0330 hours on Sunday morning, ‘Uta knocked on our door and chanted in a conversational tone, “Melele. Melele. Melele. Melele. Melele. Melele.” We had read that Tongans are apt to do this at any time of day or night, although I didn’t believe that ‘Uta would interrupt our slumber for light and transient reasons. Far from it. ‘Uta had come to warn us that a magnitude 8.8 earthquake had struck Chile; a tsunami was travelling across the South Pacific and was scheduled to hit Tonga at 0738 hours. ‘Uta suggested that we avoid the rush to high ground. Tai, Joy, Tapuaki, Tai’s son Siosifa, and Mata were waiting in Tai’s van in front of our house. Melelini and I got as much up off the floor and onto shelves or furniture as we could manage in a couple of minutes, packed up our laptops, knee boots, and a few pillows, and headed for Tai’s van. There were a few clouds, but otherwise the sky was full of stars. Our house faced to the south, so when I looked up, I saw the Southern Cross for the first time. I thought of the dozen or so Chilean Gangale whom I had befriended on Facebook and with whom I corresponded occasionally. Had the earthquake claimed some of them?

Tai drove us to Mataki'eua, near the King’s estate, about 20 km west of Nuku’alofa. As we approached, vehicular and foot traffic choked a narrow dirt road. I was reminded of the usual traffic snarl getting into the parking area for a Grateful Dead concert at Shoreline Amphitheatre, not far from NASA’s Ames Research Centre. Whilst I knew full well that no one would appreciate the humour, still I couldn’t resist sticking an upheld finger out the window of the van. “Need a ticket! I’ll be your best friend!”

If what passed for high ground on Tongatapu was more than ten metres above mean sea level, I should be surprised, but that was what we had the work with. Once Tai found a place to park that satisfied her, there was nothing to do but wait. Most of us slept at one time or another. At one point Melelini roused enough to realise that either Tapuaki or Mata was picking through her hair for lice. There was something instinctually comforting in that 10 million year old hominid ritual, and Melelini drifted off to sleep again. Several hours later, in the full light of morning, I realised that there was not a single dog in sight. I later saw one, but his unhurried stroll in the midst of the chaos of humanity marked him as a resident of one of the nearby houses. The evacuees had left their thousands of dogs to the whims of the Fates. The people in the car parked next to Tai’s van gave us four bread rolls, which we apportioned among the eight of us. In so many ways, from the sharing of food and the transportation from danger to the grooming for lice, these people seemed somehow more human. The one exception was the place of the dog in their culture, and that wasn’t much of a place at all. In the course of the ancient island-hopping that had brought their ancestors to Tonga, the dog had lost its rank and station, or perhaps the dog was a stranger to Tonga until transported there by Europeans. In any case, in Tonga they were partners in neither the herding of sheep nor in the hunting of game, nor were they companions; at most they warded off intruders, which was precious little responsibility and stimulation. They had been reduced to welfare bums, living off scraps they had not earned nor were given with affection. The children of neglect, they were listless and incurious. They had not been carefully taught. I am also told that some Tongans eat dogs. But, take this distinct culture of a hundred thousand people for all in all, for one is not apt to see its like again once it is swept from the face of the Earth, as Tevita foresees, by the 21st century tsunami of strangers.

Maikolo phoned about the time the tsunami was scheduled to hit. He wanted to find me in the flood of humanity and talk about the methodology for my dissertation while we were marking time, waiting for the “all clear”. I couldn’t believe it. It was like trying to find a guy wearing a tie-dye T-shirt at a Grateful Dead concert. I told him that I had no idea where we were (I figured it out later as I noted the route that Tai took home, and checked it against a map). Maikolo said he had a Tongan soldier with him, and he wanted me to hand the phone to a Tongan speaker so the two of them could compare coordinates. I handed the phone to ‘Uta. After the phone call, ‘Uta explained that she had described the colour of Tai’s van and had given the license plate number. I went back to sleep, supremely confident that Maikolo would fail to find us. After an hour, he phoned to inform me that he was giving up the project. “What, you couldn’t find me? I was the guy wearing the tropical shirt!”

By then, the radio station had reported a 20-centimetre surge in New Zealand, and the Cook Islands had seen no wave at all. Maikolo advised that he was heading back to his house in Ma’ufanga, a few blocks from the waterfront. One by one, vehicles departed. There had been no official announcement that the danger had passed, and Tai was reluctant to abandon the high ground, but everyone else was in favour of returning home, so we did. ‘Uta assured her that she would keep the radio on throughout the day and that we could always return to high ground if a new threat arose, perhaps as a result of an aftershock. The tsunami warning was finally cancelled at 1230 hours.

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On Friday, economics class got more interesting as we started delving into game theory. Also, the miracle of the Internet came to ‘Atenisi, and I stayed on campus for more than an hour after my last class to take advantage of this unexpected boon. But all good things must end; Tai pulled up in her van along with ‘Uta and Melelini. Melelini want me to go with them the Pacific Timber and Hardware on Taufa’ahau Road while she bought timber and hardware to put up shelves in our house. Why my presence was required, I have no idea; however, it furnished an occasion to observe how things get done in Tonga. In the U.S., we could have walked into a hardware store, chances are that pre-cut shelving lumber would have been available in stock, and we would have been wheeling our purchase across the parking lot in a few minutes. At worst, we would have had to stand by for five minutes or so while an employee cut the lumber to order on a circular saw table using a guide fence. Not in Tonga. Instead, one man wielded a hand-held circular saw while two men held the opposite ends of a 6 x 8-foot sheet of plywood parked on top of a crate. The results were spectacular. Three men, working for half an hour, managed to craft the most ragged exposition of shelving material that I have ever seen in this or any other hemisphere. According to accepted economic theory, one mixes labour and skill with raw material and capital to create a value-added product; in this case, however, I have to seriously consider whether these men, labouring none too skilfully, and, it must be conceded, without the benefit of adequate capital investment in equipment, didn’t actually subtract value from the plywood sheet.

I have described some things that I hope convey the sense that the traditional Tonga culture is still very much in evidence; yet, under the influences of Australian, New Zealander, and American culture, Tonga is drifting into the 21st century. This is not entirely due to the work of palangi educators, for we are very few. Other palangi have come here to make their living in various other ways, and although they are not here to change the world, their entrepreneurship and standard of living provide an example of life beyond pigs and chickens. Aid trickles into Tonga from the ANZUS countries and from the European Union, and generosity often comes with a few strings attached. On the whole, the major influence for change is probably the Tonga diaspora; the many thousands who have emigrated to the ANZUS nations to seek their fortunes, have become enculturated there, and whose remittances back the family back in the old country account for about half of Tonga’s economy. As happens with so many immigrants, their children have lost their ancestral tongue, and those who come here to visit extended family are often foreigners in their parents’ land. Indeed, I am told that a number of ‘Atenisi University’s students hold foreign passports. A nation of little more than a hundred thousand people doesn’t possess the means to stand against the social, cultural, economic, and political forces of globalisation; it is only a few, difficult to find dots in the vast ocean of water, of time, of humanity. Where can Tongan culture run to find high ground?

Tonga Dispatch No. 4, 26 February 2010: International Relations

2010-04-01T21:06:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, 20 February, I pumped up the tyres on one of the bicycles that we had unloaded from the crate and took a ride across town in the middle of the day to pick up a half-kilo of white snapper at the office of Maikolo’s favourite fishmonger, which was in the light industries area. I didn’t feel any hotter for the exertion, creating as I did my own airflow as I rode. “It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity.” I was especially cautious at roundabouts, being unused to the left-hand traffic pattern. I was amazed at how many people waved and said hello as I passed by. This is not America.

In the afternoon, Melelini washed clothes by hand and I did most of the wringing as she pinned them on the line. It was labour-intensive. I once heard that the average American household had appliances that performed the equivalent labour of a hundred slaves. One view of international political economy holds that the average American household is supported by the starvation-wage labour of the Third World, and thus our appliances are the captured and converted value of the labour of our Third World slaves. Some call this “free trade,” others regard it as a raw deal. Now, Melelini and I felt keenly the absence of the slaves we had left behind in America. Our domestic chores had been thrown off rhythm, before we had had the chance to establish a rhythm really, by the funeral, the cyclone, and the fiddling about regarding the delivery of our crate, so we ended up doing a lot of laundry in one day. Maybe it wouldn’t seem so bad the next time, but I did remark to Melelini that we might want to consider buying a washing machine in future. Whether we get our own Internet hook-up will depend on how good the wi-fi is on campus and whether that will satisfy our needs.

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My legs were a bit sore in the evening, which was not unexpected since I had taken a rather long ride for a first day out on the bike. The timing was unfortunate, as these normal aches and pains masked the development of a damned good bout of gout in my right foot. If I don’t recognise the symptoms of gout in the first hours and take medication, I suffer and hobble around for a few days. Of course, compared to having no medication at all, that’s a piece of cake; I used to be on crutches for weeks at a time before I was diagnosed and treated. But hobbling I was on Sunday morning, and I anticipated that I would be hobbling around campus the following day, providing a painful symmetry to my academic career, for at the San Francisco State University graduation ceremony for my master’s degree, I had been on crutches with what I would later realise had been my first attack of gout. A 15-minute walk to the ‘Atenisi campus would become an ordeal of perhaps as much as an hour; however, I didn’t see that the gout would impede my riding a bike to campus, which I calculated I could do in five minutes. I couldn’t help but wonder whether in the coming months there would be times, and how often they might come, when I would question whether this south seas adventure was better suited to a younger, healthier man. Perhaps so, but the proof of that would be a long and hard experience. On the other hand, in time I might become accustomed to the exertions and inconveniences that Tongans take in stride, to the point where I might ride my bike the four kilometres to the Reef Café simply in the hope of a chance encounter with a colourful character who had just sailed into port from another world.

Dogs occupy a very different place in Tongan culture. I don't see that they are treated as pets, not in the Western way, anyway. Nor are they used as workers, such as shepherds or hunters. I haven't seen people interact with them much at all. They hang around the neighbourhood in considerable numbers (as I wrote earlier, they are left to breed out of control), not doing much of anything, entirely ignored. They must think that humans are retarded and boring, only loosely part of their society, if at all, and then only because humans are food providers. Their big thrill is to strike up a chorus with the roosters several times a day... or night... and then the neighbourhood rings with more voices than the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. We have a solo performer right across the street, whose breathing control is so remarkable that I am inclined to believe that he studied at the ‘Atenisi Performing Arts School, for he can belt out a phrase on one exhale for about half a minute. We call him Elvis. Thank you… thank you very much.

In addition to the ambient sounds of dogs and roosters, and church bells that boom rather than ring or peal, well before dawn and at various times throughout the day, is a constant drumming. Tap tap tap tap. My first thought was that some construction or home maintenance was occurring a block or two away; however, the sounds come from no specific direction, they’re all around us as are the dogs and roosters. Tap tap tap tap. I believe that it is the sound of women pounding the inner bark of the paper mulberry tree into tapa, a cloth that is used for everyday clothes, wedding clothes, dancing costumes, blankets, home decorations, and gifts at weddings and funerals.

There seem to be a lot of funerals in Tonga. Melelini and I attended one the first week that we were here. Moreover, ‘Uta and Tai are always wearing black, and every few days they tell us of yet another funeral they have attended or are about to attend. It’s possible that they know most of the families in Nuku’alofa and go to most of the funerals in the city. They have been known to return from a wake as late as 0345 hours. Death is an important part of life in Tonga.

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Tuesday afternoon was taken up with a reception at the Helu house, adjacent to the campus, for Marcel Monet, the French ambassador to Fiji. As usual in Tonga, the plans for this event changed right up to the last minute, and, as usual anywhere, there was the ten percent who didn’t get the word on whatever plan was current at the time they should have received it. As instructed by Maikolo, Melelini and I had come to campus wearing black, and in fact I was in Tongan dress, as I had been for Futa’s funeral. Unfortunately, Nada and Morton showed up on campus dressed in bright colours rather than in black, but Melelini and I could fix that. The Runquists had a car, so we hightailed it back to our house, and outfitted them in black as best we could. For Marten, this turned out to be the tupenu that ‘Uta had lent Melelini, and a black T-shirt silk-screened with an intricate Celtic design that I had bought at one of the Scottish Games held annually in the San Francisco Bay Area. Now, picture, if you can, a tall Swede (naturalised French) in a Tongan wrap skirt and a Celtic T-shirt, not looking the least bit ridiculous; that’s the kind of place Tonga is.

Problem solved, we returned to campus, and awaited the pleasure of the gods. First, the faculty was to have walked with the Helu family and the ambassador to Futa’s gravesite, but the plan got changed. “Don’t believe anything you hear….” We cooled our heels while the family escorted the ambassador to the gravesite, using the time for an impromptu faculty meeting. When the ambassador arrived, we shook hands in a sort of reception line on the campus quad. We were politely surprised to discover that he was some flavour of Southeast Asian, perhaps from formerly French Indochina, whereas we had naturally expected to greet a European. Nada later remarked that this was an example of the openness of the French system. At the Helu house, there were plenty of chairs, yet everyone remained standing. My gout was killing me, but there was nothing for it but to play through the pain… and perhaps drink a bit more New Zealander chardonnay than the others. ‘Atolomake Helu, daughter of Futa, and ‘Atenisi’s instructor in music theory and Spanish, introduced herself to me. In the Tongan observance of her father’s passing, she had cut her hair short. “My father Europeanised my name as Andromeda, the Trojan princess.”

I explained, “I received my bachelor’s degree at the University of Southern California, and we are the Trojans, so you are my princess.”

Melelini and I engaged Ambassador Monet in a discussion of international affairs. I began by telling him that Thomas Jefferson said, "Every man has his own country and France." I explained that I was teaching international relations at ‘Atenisi University, and the ambassador mentioned that he had also taught international relations, but preferred serving in the diplomatic service, that he liked being a politician. “Where the rubber meets the road, as we say in America,” I said. I asked him for a personal message that he would like me to deliver for him to my class.

“Tell the truth.”

Interestingly, we learned from the ambassador that the Russians are seeking to gain more influence among the Pacific island nations. The bear is on the prowl again. It doesn’t matter in the United Nations General Assembly that these nations are tiny, for each casts one vote.

Ambassador Monet remarked on our American accents; he could tell that we were not New Zealanders or Australians. “Oi ken sayownd loik en Ostrahlyen if yeh loik,” I responded.

The ambassador cringed as though the sharp sounds offended his delicate French Indochinese ears, smiled, and replied, “Thank you, that will not be necessary.”

“Well, then, the next time you come to Tonga, I will speak to you in French. I regret that I cannot do so today, but I am studying French this semester.”

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After my Friday classes, Tai and ‘Uta picked up Melelini and I at school to run errands together. Our top priority was to go to the Immigration Office and check on their progress in processing our work visas. But first, I poked my head into Paola’s barber shack for a quick hello and a handshake, and I didn’t notice that disagreeable smell from a week earlier. Then, to the Immigration Office next door; they had given the Runquists an awful run around, but we got lucky; we walked away a few minutes later with work visas valid until May 2012. Finally, we were street-legal.

Tonga Dispatch No. 3, 19 February 2010: The Eye of René

2010-03-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

On Sunday evening, 14 February, as the wind unsteadily gained strength with repeated gusts, we heard neighbours boarding up their windows. ‘Uta phoned and asked whether she and her 13-year-old daughter Mata could weather the cyclone in our house, which is only a couple of years old and appears to be quite sturdy. So, we had a sleep-over. ‘Uta informed us of the storm’s name: René. I stayed awake until 0230, listening to the storm’s increasing force. Even at that late hour, I heard no rain; however, when I awoke around 0830, there was plenty of rain. ‘Uta and Melelini were already awake, but soon ‘Uta went back to sleep. She seems adept at falling asleep anytime, anywhere. Outside, the hammering of boards over windows continued.

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Having been up late the night before, I took a nap between 1400 and 1700. By then, conditions were noticeably worse. Also, Melelini and I had acquired three more house guests: ‘Uta’s sister Tai, and Tai’s daughters, Tapuaki age 13, and Joy Lily, age 8. The extended family was becoming more immediate. Like ‘Uta’s husband, Tai’s husband was out of the country (there are more Tongan subjects living overseas than in the Kingdom). Melelini said that the five other women were frightened by the storm, and that I needed to stay in the main part of the house to reassure them. I was The Man.

Melelini, ‘Uta, and Tai prepared dinner, and since “everything is in the crate,” and we did not have chairs for everyone, we sat on a fala (a pandanus mat) on the floor in traditional Tongan style around 1800 hours. Of no particular relevance to our situation, I noted with irony the Orwellian plates off which we ate: in China, what more could “Freedom” mean than the brand name of an export product? As far as we knew, the eye was passing us and the worst was over. Then Maikolo sent another text message at 1830 to update us on the situation. René had slowed and turned. The new projection was for the passage of the eye 50 kilometres to the west around 2100 hours. Expected winds were 125 knots, or 220 kilometres per hour. Some enchanted evening. Around 1900 hours pieces of ‘Uta’s metal awning to her porch broke away, and it seemed that the failure of metal roofs was imminent. It sounded like Bill Kreutzmann and Mickey Hart were jamming on our roof. Tai knelt on the fala and lead us in prayer in the candlelight. I ventured outside to fill a pail of water so that we could keep flushing the toilet. No power meant no water pump, and therefore no water pressure. Our yard was almost entirely under water, as much as 20 centimetres in some places. I thought of New Orleans during Katrina, as I had seen it on a wide-screen TV in a hotel lounge in Long Beach, California while attending an aerospace conference. Suddenly, it was my turn. The escalating wind sounded more threatening given that René was bearing down on an island that was small enough to slip in his pocket and walk out the front door without tripping a security alarm.

Around 1930 the storm began to taper off, and by 1950 it was dead calm. We were in the eye of the cyclone. ‘Uta said, “Maybe the storm is over.” No, this wasn’t the end. This wasn’t even the beginning of the end, but it was the end of the beginning.

I spent most of the next hour standing on the front porch, absorbing the contrast between the peace of the present and the violence of the past 24 hours. I had heard that in the centre of an eye the sky is clear and that one can see blue sky in the daytime or the stars at night. We didn’t appear to be in the exact centre; the sky was still cloudy, although no rain was falling. I moved my head slowly from side to side while focusing on the sky, as I had learned to do as an Air Force back-seater, and the stars were there, although very dim. Joy Lily offered me a mango. They were all over the place, shaken out of the trees. Around 2110 the wind began to pick up again. That seemed an hour early by my calculations, for if the eye passage really had been at 2100 hours, and given that we had had more than an hour of calm before that, it seemed to me that we should have had more than an our of calm after eye passage. That the wind came up an hour ahead of schedule I took to mean that eye passage had actually occurred about 2030. I also expected that as the wind came up, conditions would deteriorate as rapidly as they had improved, but by 2215 there was still only a steady wind with occasional gusts, but nothing very threatening, and no rain. The trailing half of the cyclone appeared to be much less violent than the leading half. Of course, René had been predicted to weaken to a Category 2 cyclone as it continued south into cooler waters. As I drifted to sleep, the wind in the trees sounded like the gentle surf of Monterey Bay.

I awakened Tuesday morning to the trailing wake of René: light breezes and steady rain that one associates with a warm front in temperate climates. Melelini, ‘Uta, and Tai prepared a morning meal for all of us, and again we sat on the fala. I will note here what, as far as I know, is fairly standard Tongan flooring. Forget about carpeting; in this steamy climate it would only provide an environment to be colonized by God knows what. And, with all the rain, one needs flooring that will stand up to constant moisture. The solution is a simple one: cement. The material covering the cement floor is equally utilitarian; it is plastic sheeting that is available in a half-dozen or more decorative designs.

After breakfast, ‘Uta resumed a task that had busied her for part of the previous evening by candlelight, meticulously picking through her daughter’s hair. I hadn’t taken much interest in this, only wondering in passing whether this was what it appeared to be, as the weather conditions were more than enough to satisfy my curiosity. In the calm of morning and the light of day, however, I gave a bit more scrutiny, and saw that occasionally ‘Uta was pinching her thumb and forefinger, drawing them along the length of a few isolated strands of Mata’s hair, then bringing her pinched fingers to her lips. As I observed this ten million year old hominid ritual, there was the 21st century sound of a chainsaw in the distance cutting away trees felled by the cyclone.

Melelini wanted to know from Maikolo whether there would be classes today. Being more experienced at text messaging, I handled communications. Maikolo said that roads were impassable and students couldn’t get to campus. He asked whether we had water. We had potable water, but water for flushing the toilet would become a problem because the bucket outside the house was no longer filling up quickly enough to keep up with the demands of seven people.

I offered to do a damage assessment recon mission to the campus, and Maikolo, who lived about six kilometres from ‘Atenisi, took me up on it. Our house was no more than a kilometre from campus.

Nothing could shout louder that we were in the Third World than the dilapidated condition of the ‘Atenisi University campus, yet it also communicated something else. Somehow it had the feeling of a Mediterranean archaeological site, of a place that had been built to be much more than it was now, although the buildings were largely intact, and fresh coats of paint all around would have considerably improved appearances. One could walk around and easily imagine what the campus must have been like in its heyday 30 to 40 years earlier. It was also a place where still another historical period could be sensed; Futa Helu had built this campus largely with his funds, with his own intellect as an architect, and even with his own hands to some extent, as a temple of the classical philosophers, in the belief that philosophy and mathematics were the foundation all other learning. Against one building leaned several columns ingeniously fabricated from aluminium sheeting, scoured in regular interval with parallel lines to suggest fluting, and turned into tapered columns. Also, the loose-fitting clothes of the Tongans suggested Greco-Roman tunics. It was a tableau out of an H. Rider Haggard adventure, a lost civilization in the jungle. Here in the tropical steaminess stood a tarnished treasure, still standing, not in the aftermath of barbarian rampage, but against the merciless and unrelenting onslaughts of time and poverty. Here one saw Futa’s struggle to ignite a spark of learning and to keep it alive on an impossibly small budget, a struggle that Maikolo had inherited.

The physical state of the campus was also a monument to the neglect of the modern age, of a world that is forgetting the value of classical learning, that is training workers rather than educating students. We had seen no barbarians here, but we had seen their work in America. The “corporate model” was inexorably wresting the reins of academia from the soft and enervated hands of benevolent government. Under the guise of keeping learning alive, they were busy bending the educational system to their own immediate purpose, to create an advanced race of widget producers and consumers without the critical thinking skills to question the direction in which the elites might be taking civilization.

Fortunately, in the aftermath of René, there was no obvious damage to any buildings except to the science building, which Maikolo wanted to tear down anyway. The science classroom itself was usable, and Firitia started teaching classes in it two days later on Thursday. The “laboratory,” as it was called, had pools of standing water and very poor exterior lighting, which was the only light to be had during the power o’Utage. A lone wasp did his best to ignore my intrusion. In the dimness stood a telescope; all of the optics were missing except for its four-inch mirror, and that was either dirty or was losing its reflective coating. There were several microscopes on the shelves, the skull of a large mammal, and row upon dusty row of bottles labelled with ominous sounding chemicals. It is strange how things long disused silently cry out to the imagination of how they were once handled, of how they themselves were participants in processes of discovery by eager young minds. “We remember when….” One can look up at an unflown Saturn V launch vehicle on museum display in Huntsville or in Houston and hear her say, “My older sisters took men to the Moon; and I was ready to take them to Mars.” In this dank laboratory on an obscure island in the South Pacific, neglected instruments and bottles gave their own mute testimony to dusty dreams of discovery.

----------

The scene at the shipping company, east of downtown Nuku’alofa in the light industries area, was something akin to Gilbert and Sullivan, Monty Python, and Douglas Adams. None of the customs officials seemed to know how to do his or her job. Nearly a week earlier, we had come to an agreement with Peter Nash, the head of customs for the entire Kingdom, but rather than put it in writing, he had simply given us his card and had told us to phone him if the customs agents at the shipping company gave us a problem. They did. No one wanted to stick his neck out and take our word for what the boss had said. So, phone calls were made, then everyone had to go to lunch, and after lunch several hours were wasted entering numbers into computers and printed out on forms that Mr. Nash ignored when we brought them to him, because his people had entered the wrong codes. I hate to say it, but there are times when Tonga appears to be the B Ark, but I daresay that the reasons for this are complex, having to do with, inter alia, cultural differences and language barriers. At least this time, Mr. Nash annotated the form to note the fees that we were to pay, but there was yet more bungling when we returned to the shipping company. When we finally did get our crate home, we emptied it in probably not much more than an hour, so eager were we for its contents.

----------

On Friday morning, Tai, ‘Uta, Melelini, and I went off on yet another shopping trip. First stop was the duty free shop at the International Dateline Hotel to pick up a bottle each of gin, vodka, and bourbon; the credit card reader wasn’t working, so we had to go draw cash out of the bank before we could complete that transaction. On this shopping trip I decided it was time for a haircut; this climate was definitely made for short hair. The hairdresser at the hotel had the price of 20 pa’anga posted, but Tai had a better idea. She dropped off ‘Uta and Melelini at the Maketa Talamahu, a fruit and vegetable market on Salote Road, and then she took me to a barber next to the Immigration Office, which was about a block from the market. I had overlooked this business establishment when Melelini and I were working out visa issues two days earlier; the barber carried out his trade in a tiny shack made of corrugated metal and plywood which looked to have been constructed back in the days when my paternal grandfather had made his living as a barber. The shack stank as though something had been trapped underneath and had drowned during the flooding from René, and was now rotting in a stagnant pool. Even Tai commented on the smell later. I was glad that the only lighting was from the daylight outside, as I preferred to see as little as possible. However, the elderly Paola, whose command of English was perhaps slightly better than my knowledge of Tongan, did a first rate job for five pa’anga. In Tonga one learns to appreciate people for who they are, not for what they have. At Paola’s age, my grandfather was dying of heart disease, but owned a barber shop on San Francisco’s Mission Street that employed several other barbers, including my uncle. I reflected on the fortunes of families across generations and national economies. I, the grandson of an illiterate Calabrian barber, was in Tonga to earn my doctorate. Where were Paola’s grandchildren heading?

Tonga Dispatch No. 2, 15 February 2010: The Departed

2010-03-11T13:26:00.000-08:00

The island of Tongatapu is a triangular coral atoll with a central lagoon that opens to the sea through a channel on the north side of the island, east of the capital city of Nuku’alofa. There are trees everywhere, especially palms, of course. This is one of the poorest places on Earth, and the outer neighbourhoods can be terribly squalid; however, here and there one sees new and well-maintained homes. Some are veritable palaces by comparison, although they would be unremarkable in an American middle-class neighbourhood. The streets are in very good shape, better than in Pothole-uma for the most part. The word is that the roads are the beneficiaries of an infusion of Japanese money; they probably figured they could sell more cars if people didn’t have to ride on shitty roads. There are no sidewalks except downtown, and these can be rather narrow. There is quite a bit of ongoing construction downtown; a riot here in November 2006 destroyed about half of downtown. So, humidity, poverty, political instability… this could pass for a lot places in Latin America, except for the language, which I would understand better. The climate and the state of economic development, together with ubiquity of metal roofs, suggests the eventual rise of a Tongan Tennessee Williams, although I have yet to see even one cat on this island.

----------

When Melelini and I returned to the house, the evening sky was clear enough for me to identify the constellation of Orion. Off to the right, almost in line with Orion's belt, was a bright white object, which I first took to be Jupiter. But when I looked to the left of Orion, Sirius was not there. Immediately I realized that I was looking at Orion upside down, and that Sirius was on the right, not the left. Thus I was able to confirm by observation that we are indeed in the southern hemisphere.

----------

When Melelini and I returned to the house, the evening sky was clear enough for me to identify the constellation of Orion. Off to the right, almost in line with Orion's belt, was a bright white object, which I first took to be Jupiter. But when I looked to the left of Orion, Sirius was not there. Immediately I realized that I was looking at Orion upside down, and that Sirius was on the right, not the left. Thus I was able to confirm by observation that we are indeed in the southern hemisphere.

----------

On early Thursday afternoon we took a taxi to the Customs Office on the wharf, only to find that it was closed for lunch. No staggered lunches, everyone leaves at the same time, and everything shuts down. So we went to a nearby place on business that would not be shut down for lunch, but rather would be serving lunch, the Reef Café on Vuna Road; it had three or four tables inside and as many outside. Serendipitously, the cafe had a wi-fi router, and it was from there that I sent Tonga Dispatch #1. Melelini and I ordered a couple of drinks. We happened to overhear a palangi at the counter explain that he was in the Kingdom to give testimony at the Royal Commission of Inquiry into the Sinking of the MV Princess Ashika in Tonga. As he passed, I explained him that I was a doctoral student at 'Atenisi, and that I was studying the cultural response to the accident. He offered me some advice about Tonga, "Don't believe anything that you hear, and only half of what you see."

Meleini and I had already seen how the arrangements for Futa Helu's funeral had changed several times a day. "It’s interesting that you say that. We've only been in Tonga a week, and I said to Marilyn the other day, 'Don't believe anything you hear until it actually happens, and then check with someone else who was there to make sure it really happened the way you think it did.'"

"You learn very quickly."

"That's why I'm a doctoral student."

Another gentleman sitting at what was probably the cafe's computer, resembling Mister Allnut in The African Queen in dress and demeanour, right down to the same uncouth, toothy grin, decided to join us at our table just as Meleini and I had packed up our computers and were about to leave for the Customs Office. But he was an engaging character, so we spent 20 minutes or so with him; that just seems to be life in the South Pacific. Hans-Dieter offered to buy a round of Victoria Bitter, but we declined, explaining that we had to get to the Customs Office. He told us of how he had been a transport skipper on boats out of Jakarta for 40 years, and that he had just come in from the Seychelles. He pointed out his boat. Across the Indian Ocean in... that? I was duly impressed. "If Ernst Hemingvay ver alive today, he vould kiss my ahss!" Because you live the sort of life that he only wrote about. "Exactly!"

We squared matters with the Customs Office regarding our crate that had arrived by ship from Oakland. Melelini and I were hoping to get our crate delivered to the house on Friday afternoon, after Futa's funeral, but a series of miscommunications foiled that, so now it will be Monday at the earliest. Taimi Tonga. On Saturday, Melelini and I took ‘Uta to the Tu’imatamoana Market near the wharf (the one with suspicious American goods). We had planned an Internet stop at the nearby Reef Café, and maybe run into Hans-Dieter again, but ‘Uta advised that we get downtown before stores closed, as some will close early on Saturday. So, no Internet stop on account of our lack of familiarity with the pattern of the trade winds. Maybe Tuesday. There are times that I feel that I'm on the bridge of NCC-1701-B: "It'll be here on Tuesday."

----------

All the walking we do between taxi rides is killing my knees. I’m hoping I’ll acclimate over time, but I need anti-inflammatory meds in the afternoon and evenings. I stay away from the vicodin, but that means I don’t sleep well. Losing weight will make walking easier, of course. My knees just have to grunt and grind under the strain until then. A radical departure from the American consumer culture, every place of business is closed on Sunday, which means a forced respite from walking all over hell and gone.

I should write something about Futa Helu’s funeral; there is little that I can say about the man himself, as I wasn’t fortunate enough to know him. There was much singing of hymns in Tongan, and it was very beautiful. There were a number of eulogies, some in Tongan, some in English. The King’s sister, Princess Pilolevu, attended both the Thursday evening and Friday morning services; King George Tupou V himself was out of the country. Melelini and I were in traditional Tongan mourning dress, graciously provided by ‘Uta: black shirt, black tupenu (wrap skirt), and ta’ovala (a waist wrap woven from the leaf of the pandanus). The Police Band led the Friday morning procession from the Centenary Chapel to the cemetery on Albert Street. Now, it seems odd to me that a reputed atheist would have a church funeral (different churches for the evening and morning services) and be buried in hallowed ground. When I read of his Wesleyan roots and his cultural sensitivity, I find it impossible to believe that he was an “in your face atheist;” indeed, in the privacy of his own thoughts, he may have contemplated the nature of the gods, while publicly showing no devotion to any particular religious tradition, thereby perhaps endeavouring to appear unbiased to all, possibly appearing secular to many, and apparently being mistaken for an atheist by some. I am reminded of an epigram by the philosopher-emperor Marcus Aurelius, with which, as a scholar of the classics, Futa Helu was undoubtedly familiar:

Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.

The evidence available to my eyes is that Futa lived according to this wisdom.

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Someone is always burning their rubbish somewhere in our neighbourhood of Longolongo. Rubbish pickup was supposed to be on Wednesday, but it didn’t happen… just another day on the event horizon, which is what the International Date Line may really be. So, the rubbish gets burned. No one is concerned about the air quality, because it’s excellent. It does smell like dope smoke sometimes, however. Good thing I downloaded a couple of hundred Grateful Dead concerts last month before we left the States. But so far, in the afternoons, as we’re unwinding for the day and having dinner, I’ve been playing selections from “Atomic Platters,” a collection of songs from the first two decades of the Cold War about the threat of godless communism and nuclear war, and I realize that for the first time in my life, I’m living somewhere that was never on a target list. If a nuclear war happened, Melelini and I would be the last to know; we have neither a television nor a radio receiver. If I saw a US submarine come into the port, I’d start worrying about the rubbish that got burned in the northern hemisphere falling out through our atmosphere.

Melelini seethed throughout the weekend about the FUBAR with our crate not getting delivered on Friday. There are many items in it that we could use and it’s an inconvenience to be without them, but Melelini really, really wanted our printer for reproducing syllabi for her classes on Tuesday. It may turn out to be a blessing that we didn’t get the crate delivered. About 1700 on Sunday, 14 February, Maikolo stopped by with the pleasing intelligence of a Category 4 cyclone bearing down on us. The weather map that Maikolo brought on his flash drive was a few hours old, and showed a nearly direct hit around sunset the following evening. No tropical experience would have been complete without a cyclonic storm, and it looks like we’re getting the four-star package. Maikolo told us to expect the campus to be flooded, but on his recommendation we had bought knee boots before leaving the States. The crate is better off at the shipping company’s warehouse than sitting outside our house. Meanwhile, many topics of discussion end with the phrase, “It’s in the box.”

We can expect the power and the cell phone services to be down for a week, give or take. The major concern will be the roof blowing off, but if the roof holds, we’re pretty set. The stove runs on propane tanks, which we filled a week ago. The first thing we’ll cook and eat is the two kilos of swordfish we bought on Saturday, then the chicken, then the lamb. Then we have some canned goods, as well as an ample supply of rice, pasta, and dried beans, the hydrating of which will be no great feat… just put a bucket out in the driving rain.

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As I write, the wind is picking up and darkness is descending. We’re drinking martinis until the dry vermouth runs out, which is more than can be said for guests at the International Dateline Hotel.

Tonga Dispatch No. 1, 11 February 2010: The Palangi

2010-03-03T20:57:00.000-08:00

Marilyn and I almost didn't make it out of the United States on 2 February. After we had checked our bags at SFO and were inside the security area, Marilyn's cell phone rang and it was a message from Maikolo, the dean of 'Atenisi University. There was a last-minute hitch. Since we had one-way tickets to Tonga, we needed laissez passer letters before Air New Zealand would let us board at Los Angeles. Fortunately, we had several hours' layover at LAX in which to work the problem, which involved tracking down the university's associate dean on his cell phone and giving him a fax number for Air New Zealand at LAX. Marilyn worked the problem in about a half hour. "Do you know how important these are?" she asked me when she had them in hand. "These are our letters of transit!" Fortunately we didn't even have to shoot a German officer or to bribe a corrupt French policeman to get them. Otherwise we would have had to wait in Los Angeles... and wait... and wait....

It is a very different life style here in Tonga. Marilyn's first impression was to liken it to rural Florida in the 1950s. I would describe it as living one day in the future (on the west side of the International Date Line) but a half-century in the past. In fact, due to the kinks in the International Date Line around this and that national boundary, Tonga is on the west side of the IDL but east of the 180th meridian, with the result that it is the only place on Earth that is 13 hours ahead of Universal Time Coordinated. The planet's day begins here, and any time of day occurs here before it does anywhere else. As a pubescent sci-fi addict and later as an aerospace engineer, I always wanted to live in the future; I got my wish finally, and I’m living even farther into the future than Max Headroom… he was living only 20 minutes into the future.

---------------

Singing is a big part of the culture. We live nearby a church and a school, so we hear singing day and night. Also church bells, which have a low pitch to them. Bong-bong-bong-bong. The churches have early services at 0430. Bong-bong-bong-bong. Are you of the body, friend?

We also hear roosters, chickens, and dogs all day long, but we were used to hearing them in Petaluma, along with horses and sheep. Pigs roam freely here, and nearly every female dog is heavy with milk. No Department of Animal Control.

People say hello as we walk by, and they even wave at us from their passing autos. Everywhere one can see people laughing, and sometimes singing. I can see why the English called these the Friendly Islands. If Americans acted like this I'd think they were on drugs.

We white folks are called palangi. One version of the story of that name that I heard is that it means "skyscrapers," for when Captain Cook arrived here in the 1770s, the Tongans were appalled that anyone would be so rude to the sky gods as to build ships so tall. It's a good story, but I'm not sure that it's accurate. Another version is that palangi means "to appear from the sky," because Cook's tall ships could be seen far away on the horizon.

---------------

As Marilyn and I were en route here, the founder of 'Atenisi University, Dr. Futa Helu (a very short version of his name) passed away. We wanted very much to meet him. His funeral is going to be a very big deal, with the royal family in attendance. Scholars are flying in from all over the world. Futa is a national hero, having founded the only non-government, non-religious university in the Pacific. At the same time, however, his democratic ideas made him a thorn in the side of the royal government, and his atheism made him a pariah to the various religious communities here (Wesleyans and Mormons being the larger denominations in a Kingdom that is very religious), so both the government and the churches worked to undermine the university (shall we call it what it is, persecution?). Methinks they come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. Inevitably, this will be a time of change for the university. We have lost our great standard-bearer, but we may be able to open opportunities for the university that remained closed in his lifetime.

Maikolo has run the university in the day to day for years as Futa aged into being the figurehead, and he has a lot of balls in the air. He's very happy that we're here, for aside from the eternal problem of fundraising, he has a hard time retaining faculty. A lot of people coming in from overseas can't handle the culture shock, apparently. Maikolo says that this place is like the US would have been if the 1960s hippie movement had succeeded. I'm OK with that, dude. I downloaded over 200 Grateful Dead concerts during our last few weeks in the US.

---------------
Marilyn is hot to ship her car over here, which would be very expensive, but I would like to defer this decision until we better understand how things work here. Again, do more with less. We can do most of our shopping on foot, and our bikes will be here in a few days. My big concern is refilling the propane tanks to the stove and water heaters. They're too heavy to transport by foot or bike, and the filling station is kilometres away. However, ‘Uta offered to have her husband take the tanks by car. Things may operate in a communal way here, so the independence of having one's own car may be an unnecessary extravagance. The key to everyday life may be the interdependence of plugging into a social network. Quando in Roma, fa come i romani fanno. In any case, cars can be rented, and there are taxis. If we can get by without our own car, we'll be living much as I did in Biloxi, Mississippi in 1974 as a one-striper in the Air Force, getting around mostly by bike... another anomalous temporal phenomenon: living at the age of 55 as I did when I was 20. But I'm not 20, and we don't have our bikes yet, so it was nice that on our way downtown Monday afternoon, we found a taxi service about four blocks from our house.

Money is an imported concept. Although items in stores are marked with prices, a transaction on the street is more in the realm of an exchange of gifts. For instance, when I asked the taxi driver the price of the fare, he said, "That's up to you." We encountered the same response later when buying shell necklaces from a street vendor. Apparently, there is no wrong answer; the money is considered a gift. Polynesians have a different concept of personal possessions, which accounts for what Westerners would consider property crimes, but also for striking generosity. After reading a little about Tongan culture, I looked up from my book and asked Marilyn in a Russian accent, "So, comrade, do you think that the Tongans have achieved true communism?" Her response was that they probably achieved true communism thousands of years ago and had been just tinkering with it ever since. Of course, that's not exactly correct, since there is a hereditary distinction between the royals, the nobles, and the commoners, and only the royals and the nobles (or the state, which is controlled by them) own the means of production, i.e., the land. Still, had Karl Marx been able to travel here, it surely would have informed his speculation on the evolution of capitalism in industrial societies toward socialism and ultimately communism, to see communistic customs operating in an unindustrialized society. The traditions of giving and sharing mitigate the class distinctions, and probably make them less of a rip-off of the working class than was European feudalism, and is the capitalism that has supplanted it. So, here in Tonga we see a fascinating and intricate mixture of cultural feudalism (commoners were emancipated in 1875, but elements of the social order remain) and traditional communism interacting with European-imported capitalism.

---------------

Given that it is the height of summer, and that we are in the tropics, the weather has been better than expected. We shower several times a day to keep from feeling too grubby. We had light rain throughout Thursday, and it remained overcast and humid on Friday. Saturday was our first glimpse of blue sky, with broken cloud cover, mild temperatures, and lower humidity. But, we had intermittently heavy downpours on Saturday evening. On Monday there was nearly clear sky, and thus it was warmer. On Tuesday morning there were torrential downpours before dawn. About the only thing that happens quickly around here is the change in weather.

Well, the change in weather... and the change in arrangements for Futa's funeral, which keeps Maikolo in a state of agitation. Don't believe anything until it actually happens, and then check with someone else who was there to verify that it really happened the way you think it did.

American Flags and Sovereignty on the Moon

2009-11-25T10:30:00.000-08:00

Q:
I am listening to the podcast of your interview on The Space Show on 5 Oct 09 and have a question that has always bugged me about the Moon Landing. We see pictures of American flags on the Moon planted by the astronauts at the Apollo landing sites. Because the American flag is used to denote American sovereignty over a US embassy or a ship on the high seas (remember when we re-flagged oil tankers during the Iran-Iraq war in the late 1980s?) doesn't the planting of the American flag at the Apollo sites convey an intent for the US Government to claim (or perceive to have claimed) American sovereignty over those sites, in conflict with the Outer Space Treaty?

A:
It's a good question. There are several things to consider.

First of all, there are a lot of nationally-owned and operated bases in Antarctica, and a lot of national flags flying over them. These are merely symbolic, as claims of national sovereignty over territory are counter to the Antarctic Treaty of 1959.

When the Soviet Union's Luna 2 spacecraft became the first spacecraft to reach the Moon in 1959, It carried a number of medallions depicting the Soviet Union's Coat of Arms, which was analogous to the Great Seal of the United States of America. The international law of outer space being very underdeveloped at the time, there was nothing to prevent the Soviet Union from claiming the Moon on that basis, yet it chose not to make any such claim. It would have been a very weak claim at best. Read the Wikipedia article of the 1932 Island of Palmas case:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Island_of_Palmas_Case

It is not enough to see a place, or land there for a time, claim it, and move on. The claim is inchoate. If someone else comes along later, continuously occupies, and makes productive use of the resources of that place, that later person develops the better claim.

According to Article 2 of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, national appropriation is prohibited, whether by claim of sovereignty, use and occupation, or by any other means. The United States never intended to use its flag to denote a claim of sovereignty for national sovereignty on the Moon. At best, the American flags at the Apollo sites are symbols of the functional sovereignty that the United States exercised in the immediate area of the sites for the periods that those sites were occupied. By functional sovereignty, I mean that the United States had jurisdiction over its astronauts and was responsible for their activities, and the United States was entitled to be free of interference during the operation of the Apollo missions, which might imply a right to an undefined area of exclusion, but only for the duration of the surface operations at each site. The United States and Russia (the Soviet Union's primary successor state) own the equipment left on the Moon, but they have no claim to the territories on which they are located. The Antarctic bases have similar status.

Technoeconomy vs. Technocracy dichotomies is the nugget in Gangale's Book

2009-11-03T16:17:00.000-08:00

Saturday, October 31, 2009

From: Spaceports

BOOK REVIEW: Thomas Gangale's recent 2009 book entitled The Development of Outer Space: Sovereignty and Property Rights in International Space Law is a unique niche interest work worth the read for those who are fascinated by the prospects of multiple nations settling human outposts on celestial bodies' off-Earth.

Gangale provides critical yet constructive analysis of other international legal commentators on property rights in space. The primary thesis is focused on the premise that technology development is the barrier to outer space development, not the current state of international space law and treaties.

The book writer reviews the Moon Treaty at length discussing various aspects of property rights and the theory of "the common heritage of mankind." He takes a critical look of the writings of others in this legal niche and enables the reader to consider an alternative view to other commentators. Gangale is specifically critical of The Space Settlement Prize which seeks to propose American federal legislation requiring the recognition of extraterrestrial real property claims as flawed.

Gangale advocates inclusion of China in international space regimes so as to further embed the nation into current space operational legal regimes. He advocates an interplanetary political economy based upon market forces and advocates the adoption of the so-called Regency of United Societies in Space. The author notes that "we have yet to become a true spacefaring civilization; we are merely a space-capable civilization."

There is an acceptance of the technocratic model for initial development of outer space. He notes the need for balance between the "technoeconomy-technocracy" dichotomies associated with a push-pull relationship of space development that this reader found an extremely interesting insight on the rapidly growing national space program efforts around the world and within the American civil and commercial space sectors.

While this book is not for everyone, it certainly is worth the read for anyone having a strong interest in space law and the economic development regimes of the nascent space economy coming rapidly in the 21st Century. To those with the niche interest, I say buy this book. It will make you think.

Posted by JackKennedy at 12:12 PM

Dinerman

2009-10-10T07:44:00.001-07:00

Forty days and forty nights have passed, and still The Space Review refuses to publish my rebuttal to Taylor Dinerman's witless rant against my most recent book. Although patience is a virtue, perhaps not all things come to he who waits....

One afternoon during my current sojourn through the American Southwest, I was at a truck stop on Route 66 in the middle of New Mexico, and I became aware of a trickster playing a flute. There was also the spirit of someone who had rolled down that same road long ago. "If you can't join them, Beat them." A North Beach coffee house came to mind, but also drifting in was a four-chord Velvet voice from the Village.

Diner-man. Diner-man.
I don't know, some say that's not his real name
Diner-man, Diner-man
As a nom de plume just seems kind of lame
Diner-man, Diner-man
Maybe he was a low rent food critic
Diner-man, Diner-man
On a mission from Wantaugh to Bushwick
Diner-man, Diner-man
To write reviews of every greasy spoon
Diner-man, Diner-man
Knew every blue plate from there to the moon

Which decided him to reach for the sky
And give the far right Space Review a try

Diner-man, Diner-man
Tries to write like a libertarian
Diner-man, Diner-man
Comes off like a baby barbarian
Diner-man, Diner-man
Quick to criticize what he doesn't know
Diner-man, Diner-man
His ravings, not his reason, boldly go
Diner-man, Diner-man
English literature is not his thing
Diner-man, Diner-man
He doesn't know Coleridge from Kipling

The White Man's Burden is still on his back
Thinks knocking it is a racial attack

Diner-man, Diner-man
Though he fancies himself a journalist
Diner-man, Diner-man
You won't see him on the New York Times list
Diner-man, Diner-man
No, all he's got is a beef and a blog
Diner-man, Diner-man
But it isn't like falling off a log
Diner-man, Diner-man
It's a real tough job, yeah, and he's the man
Diner-man, Diner-man
He writes two words together when he can

Go back to the blue plate meals you once bought
Where your words might have been some food for thought

National Sovereignty Over the Geostationary Orbit

2009-09-23T16:58:00.000-07:00

A recent comment on my article, "Who Owns the Geostationary Orbit?" in the Annals of Air and Space Law, Vol. XXXI:

This is an excellent article and a very convincing argument – I’m definitely going to cite it in my upcoming works. I guess what’s particularly interesting to me is something you also point out in the article – although the reasoning behind the Bogota Declaration is clearly spurious (as your article shows so well) it seems to me that there is, however, something peculiar about the geostationary orbit. The GSO seems unlike other orbits to me in the sense that it seems to be much more of a kind of ‘fixed territory’ in the sense that there’s a limited amount of “space” (forgive the pun) there. Countries who’ve placed payloads into that orbit, it seems to me, “occupy” it in a de facto sense. I haven’t done any historical research into this whatsoever, but I imagine the Bogota Declaration was probably a poorly reasoned way of developing nations to stake a future “claim” on space in that orbit, despite the fact that they were/remain unable to utilize it. I imagine the equatorial states worry that by the time their countries have the economic means to deploy their own payloads into GSO, there will be no room left (I’ve read that GSO ‘slots’ will probably fill up in the next few decades). I think you’re right in pointing out that the closest land analogy to the orbit is Antarctica, but there’s a key difference: Antarctica isn’t going to be ‘filled up’ anytime in the foreseeable future, has little commercial potential, and has little military value. The GSO has all. This is certainly not a criticism of your article – I’m trying to get at a different question than the one you’ve raised. I’m interested in trying to think about the GSO as a kind of “territory” in precisely the way your article seems to suggest we should think about it.

Let's address some technical concerns first. A small equatorial state such as Ecuador could just as easily be served by a geostationary satellite positioned above a point in the Pacific Ocean a degree or two to the west of its territory: just point the ground antennas a few degrees to the west. The interests of Ecuador wouldn't be harmed or diminished in any substantive way. On the other hand, a large equatorial state such as Brazil has so large an arc of the GSO above its territory that it ought to be fairly easy to share that arc with other users. Of course, given more users, GSO slots will tend to fill up, all other things being equal. However, all other things are not equal. Using 1960s technology, the GSO slots would have filled up many years ago, but as satellite communications systems have become more capable, more utility has been extracted from each GSO slot.

Now to the legal issues. The "fixed territory" character of the geostationary orbit is an illusion, and therefore so is any claim over a segment of the GSO based on national territory. Imagine two automobiles traveling along a road side by side in adjacent lanes at the same speed. From the point of view of one, the other is stationary, yet neither one is stationary. One car has no claim over the space in the adjacent lane. The other auto has the right to pass through that adjacent space, or to remain in that space for some unspecified time.

The geostationary orbit is a consequence of the Earth's rotation; if the Earth did not rotate, there would be no GSO. Suppose there were a nation on the Moon centered at zero degrees latitude, zero degrees longitude, and extending for several degrees from this point north, south, east and west. There would be an object constantly occupying the arc of selenostationary orbit directly above this lunar state's national territory, and according to the reasoning of the Bogota Declaration, the object permanently occupying this selenostationary slot would be the national territory of this lunar state. That object is Earth.

The right to overfly national territory is absolute, regardless of the transit time. This right of overflight became instant customary international law with the launching of Sputnik 1 and the absence of objection by any overflown state. According to Article 2 of the Outer Space treaty, no part of space, including any segment of the GSO, is "subject to national appropriation by claim of sovereignty, by means of use or occupation, or by any other means." Certainly, a satellite positioned in the GSO uses and occupies that position, but Article 2 prohibits neither use nor occupation, it only prohibits either of these as a means of national appropriation. The use and occupation of GSO slots is is clearly not national appropriation, since these slots are licensed by an international organization, the International Telecommunications Union.

I am not unsympathetic with the concerns of equatorial states, that they may become launching states in the future, and find that their national interests conflict with the interests of those of other entities who have satellites in the GSO above their national territory. These interests will need to find an equitable balance, which suggests that the rules of the ITU may need some adjustment in the future to accommodate new users of the GSO.

By the way, an unintended consequence, not considered by those who disparage the Article 2 principle and who would like to see successfully asserted claims to territory on the Moon, is that any such successfully asserted claim would jolt the life-force into the Bogota Declaration, setting loose a Frankenstein monster upon the international law regime of outer space.

Response to "Habitat Hermit's" Comment

2009-09-21T21:29:00.000-07:00

I thank you for your comment.

I submitted my rebuttal to The Space Review three weeks ago, and so far it has failed to publish my rebuttal. One ought to question why The Space Review would publish a piece that monstrously misrepresents an author's work, while not allowing the author the equal opportunity to correct the record. What is this publication's agenda?

Both the Outer Space Treaty and the Moon Agreement are international law; they are both deposited with the United Nations, they are both open for signature, and they are both binding on the states that have ratified them. The distinction is that the Moon Agreement has few states parties.

While I take appreciative note of your apology for the third paragraph of your post in The Space Review as "scathing" and "entirely misdirected," let me nevertheless address some of the issues you raise.

When you state that my book "seems to base itself on an ultra-extreme statist interpretation of the OST that neither the former Soviet communists, nor the US, nor Russia, nor China, nor the EU, nor Japan would subscribe to," frankly, that doesn't even make any sense to me. And if any of that were true, is it credible that my work would have been approved by a committee that included a professor who teaches international law as well as a career US Foreign Service officer of ambassadorial rank who was on the negotiating team of strategic arms treaties, or that Aerospace Corporation analysts would have briefed my work to senior NASA managers?

Nor is my alleged "ultra-extreme statist interpretation" why "the author of the book thinks the Moon Treaty is a good idea." I think it is a good idea because I reach conclusions that are opposite to yours. You state that "in reality the OST and the Moon Treaty are in deep conflict because the Moon Treaty contradicts the OST on the issue of Earth-government authority over non-Earth assets; the OST argues against such authority while the Moon Treaty takes such authority for granted." Given your premise of "the inherent contradiction between the Outer Space Treaty on one side and the Moon Treaty/Moon Agreement on the other," how can you explain the fact that the same states that ratified the Outer Space Treaty between 1967 and 1979 apparently reversed themselves so completely in negotiating the Moon Agreement between 1972 and 1979? Nowhere in the scholarly literature have I seen anyone else make this assertion; rather, the weight of scholarly opinion is that the Moon Agreement adds specificity to the principles declared in the Outer Space Treaty. Cite chapter and verse if you think otherwise. Exactly where does the Outer Space Treaty argue against such authority? Meanwhile, the Moon Agreement does not take such authority for granted; it merely commits states parties to "undertake to establish an international regime, including appropriate procedures, to govern the exploitation of the natural resources of the moon as such exploitation is about to become feasible." Now, in international law, the word "regime" has special meaning. It does not mean "regime" in the sense of a sovereign government, complete with coercive mechanisms such as police and/or other armed forces. Rather, it means "a set of rules" established to govern specific activities. For instance, the General Agreement of Tariffs and Trade was a regime (a set of rules) without an organization for four decades before the Uruguay Round of GATT established the World Trade Organization. It seems obvious that when the exploitation of the Moon and other celestial bodies is about to become feasible, there will need to be a set of rules to ensure that commercial operations do not interfere with each other, or are not interfered with by other entities. Indeed, a regime of legal certainty is conducive to a favorable investment environment. In my view, this provision of the Moon Agreement was meant to address this need.

Whether or not you agree with my positions on points of international law pertaining to outer space, I hope you will at least recognize that in the long run we want the same thing: the efflorescence of the human species into the cosmos. I believe in international law as a means to this end, and not a barrier to it.

Claim of Ownership of an Extrasolar Planet and Its Star

2009-09-18T08:35:00.000-07:00

I, Thomas Gangale, on the basis of established precedents cited on 30 June 2009, hereby assert the following claim of ownership of, the right to convey real property on, the right to convey mineral rights on, and ownership of all forms of life on, together with ownership of the central star of, CoRoT-7 c.

Claim of Ownership of an Extrasolar Planet and Its Star

2009-09-15T14:02:00.000-07:00

Claim of Ownership of an Extrasolar Planet and Its Star

2009-09-11T18:06:00.000-07:00

Convenient Untruths From a Space Priest

2009-09-02T10:47:00.001-07:00

Taylor Dinerman's review of The Development of Outer Space: Sovereignty and Property Rights in International Space Law is full of misperceptions and distortions of my work.

"Thomas Gangale makes the case that it is now settled international law that there can be no private property on the Moon or on other bodies, at least as private property is understood here on Earth." Quite the contrary, I make the case that there can be a form of private property on the Moon and other celestial bodies under existing international law that ought to satisfy commercial interests.

"He makes the case that some sort of internationally recognized body, probably under UN control, will have to legitimate any commercial activity." This is untrue. No UN body is required to "legitimate" commercial activity. Obviously, disputes over conflicting interests may arise, and an international legal structure might be a preferred mechanism for resolving such disputes. Such a structure might develop organically along the lines that Declan O'Donnell envisions, rather than be imposed by new treaty law.

"He believes that there may be a way for private companies to harvest lunar resources without contravening the provisions of the OST, but he cannot clearly define how this would work." When the US and USSR returned samples from the Moon and their ownership of those samples went undisputed, it became instant customary law that extraterrestrial materials, once removed from their natural state, become property. Clearly defined, that is how it works. Furthermore, the Lockean principle of mixing soil and labor to create a property right was codified in the Moon Agreement.

"Gangale believes that the day of the nation-state is almost over...." This is untrue. I make the fairly obvious observation that the Westphalian nation-state system had a beginning only 360 years ago and is likely to have an end... someday. The weather forecast for tomorrow: the sky is not falling.

"He quotes former ultra-leftist German Foreign Minister Joschka Fischer...." To use Dinerman's own intellectually penetrating question, "So what?" I quote a hundred people, including ultra-rightists who never held any position of trust in any country.

"Since there is no authoritative interpretation of the [Moon] treaty, or of the OST for that matter, he chooses to use the Law of Treaties to push for an interpretation depending on such things as 'preparatory work' and 'negotiating history'." Having repeatedly demonstrated his contempt for truth, here Dinerman exposes his contempt for international law. I point out a fact that opponents have conveniently ignored for thirty years, that the transmittal document that accompanied the Moon Agreement contained the authoritative interpretation of provisions of the agreement that were points of contention. As for the Law of Treaties, I choose nothing, push nothing. It is a fact that the US has had the long-standing practice of abiding by the Law of Treaties despite its failure to ratify the convention, which is quite typical of US behavior in international law. Thus the US “chooses" to be "pushed" by the convention's provisions, among which is a formula for the interpretation of treaties.

"If the US had signed the Moon Treaty it would indeed have been negotiating 'under the gun'." This is preposterous; which nation has the most guns?

"If and when a private organization begins operations on the Moon, the [Outer Space] Treaty will face either ruin or major revision." An interesting assertion, but where is the supporting legal argument? The Outer Space Treaty is a declaration of principles; specifically, which principles would come into conflict when a private organization begins operations on the Moon?

"A good case can be made that since space operations are an essential enabling technology for all modern military forces, the peaceful uses clause of the treaty has already been rendered, in effect, null and void." In that case, Dinerman should present his good case; I suspect that he cannot. The use of military communications satellites, surveillance satellites, geodetic satellites, and other enabling technologies for military forces preceded the Outer Space Treaty, and the treaty was never intended to prohibit such uses.

A lot of what Dinerman dredges up is relevant rhetoric about his dislike of the European Union, arms control, the Land Mine Treaty, climate control, et cetera. His review is more about his own world-view than about my work: "The truth is that international law has been losing its legitimacy for decades." From this premise, it is clear that Dinerman has no object other than to cast doubt on the legitimacy of any work on the subject of international law that does not conform to his opinion.

There is no "racial put-down" in my book, and Dinerman's misrepresentation is nothing other than a pathetic attempt at character assassination by playing a “race card,” for it is scarcely conceivable that he could have failed to recognize the allusion to Rudyard Kipling's infamous "white man's burden" justification for subjugating and exploiting non-Europeans. Dinerman's purpose is further revealed by his likening my views to those of "slaveowners of the Old South." This is despicable.

The most open-minded statements in Dinerman's review are "Gangale may have the law on his side" and "He may be right." Perhaps this is what frightens him. But I may also be wrong; one cannot embark on any worthwhile intellectual journey without assuming that risk. Most frightening of all must be the fact that I am an apostate; I put my blind faith in thirty years of propaganda against the Moon Agreement… until I made a thorough study of the agreement and its associated documents. I found these, and the arguments in favor, to be overwhelmingly persuasive, while the arguments against ranged from manifest misinterpretations to monstrous distortions. I did not set out to vindicate the agreement, but that is where the data led me.

I invite any serious student of international space law to make his or her own voyage of discovery, and to engage in thoughtful discourse. I wonder when the citizen pro-space community will undergo a Reformation and challenge the orthodoxy of the self-anointed priestly class that presumes to hand down Truth from on high. It is the province of every person who prizes free intellectual inquiry to ask, "What is Truth?" For me, it is a journey, and certainly not a predetermined destination.

Claim of Ownership of 20 Extrasolar Planets and Their Stars

2009-08-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

I, Thomas Gangale, on the basis of established precedents cited on 30 June 2009, hereby assert the following claims of ownership of, the right to convey real property on, the right to convey mineral rights on, and ownership of all forms of life on, together with ownership of the central stars of the following planets:

11 Ursae Minoris b
GJ 436 b
HD 147018 b
HD 147018 c
HD 148427 b
HD 179079 b
HD 196885 b
HD 204313 b
HD 30562 b
HD 32518 b
HD 73534 b
HD 86264 b
HD 87883 b
HD 89307 b
TrES-1
TrES-2
TrES-4
WASP-2 b
WASP-5 b
XO-1 b

American Manned Spaceflight: Quo Vadis?

2009-08-13T14:11:00.000-07:00

Five years ago, the George W. Bush administration concluded that not only was the Space Shuttle too expensive to operate, it also wasn't safe enough to continue operating. Actually, these are two things that all administrations since Ronald Reagan's should have acknowledged. Perhaps they did, but the alternative of ponying up the money to develop a replacement system was even more unpalatable. So, at least Bush announcing the obvious was a step in the right direction, albeit long overdue.

However, Bush's solution was problematic. It approved the development of a system that not only would replace the Space Shuttle's role in low Earth orbit transportation, but would also encompass elements that would be designed as part of an manned interplanetary system. The last time the US developed a manned space system that was designed to do a whole lot of different things, it wound up with the Space Shuttle. So, in a sense, Bush's decision to replace the Space Shuttle was itself a prisoner of the Space Shuttle paradigm: we must develop a new system that can do whatever we might later decide to do in space. A design for anything is optimized for nothing, but that is what we get in the absence of a strong national space policy commitment to do something specific.

Even worse, Bush's solution for replacing the Space Shuttle created a planned four-year gap, during which American astronauts would be forced to hitchhike on some other national human spaceflight system to the International Space Station. Consider the history of transitioning from one manned system to another. There was no planned gap between Mercury and Gemini, yet there turned out to be nearly a two-year gap. There was no planned gap between Gemini and Apollo, yet again there turned out to be nearly a two-year gap. Disregarding the Apollo Soyuz Test Project, because it was a deliberate "gap filler," the planned gap between Skylab and the Space Shuttle was four and half years; however, that gap ultimately grew to seven and a half years, as the Space Shuttle turned out to be more expensive to develop than anticipated, and Congress appropriated less funding than anticipated. So, it is little surprise that the initially planned four-year gap between the Space Shuttle and the Constellation system is beginning to look more like seven to twelve years as Constellation becomes more expensive and the funding environment becomes more stingy.

Problem: Ares I development costs are mushrooming and it has performance problems, the most reported of which is severe vibration.
Alternative: Upgrade existing, proven launch systems to assume Ares I missions.
Options: Atlas V, Delta IV, and/or Ariane 5, all commercially operated.

Problem: Orion is being designed to unoptimally operate in low Earth orbit, translunar space, and interplanetary space.
Alternative: Design an optimized manned system for low Earth orbit, and another optimized system for beyond.
Options: Manned upgrade of the Dragon and/or Automated Transfer Vehicle cargo systems.

Supported policy goals: Constrained budget, maintenance of American manned access to low Earth orbit, eventual development of American manned access to translunar and interplanetary space, and development of commercial manned LEO services.

Canceling the Ares I launch vehicle would liberate funds that could be applied to upgrading Dragon and/or ATV to an optimized manned low Earth orbit system, and to later upgrading Atlas V, Delta IV and/or Ariane 5 as launch vehicles for Orion, with possible competitive fly-offs in either case. With Dragon and/or ATV as LEO solutions, Orion can be deferred until it is needed to support Altair/Ares V lunar missions, resulting in additional near-term cost savings that can be invested elsewhere. Meanwhile, Orion can be optimized for manned translunar and interplanetary missions.

Additionally, this scenario gets NASA out of the manned LEO transportation business, a role it has filled for 50 years. Vacating this role would finally free NASA to reach beyond LEO, and would create opportunities for commercial ventures to compete for manned LEO services. As a matter of national space policy, I believe it is time for NASA to move on, to focus on sending humans into deep space, and to leave near Earth space to free enterprise. I certainly don't have access to the technical and budgetary information to make the calls regarding cost, schedule and performance issues of this scenario. This is just my back-of-the-envelope look at where we stand and where we can go from here.

The Space Review: The Limits of Space Law

2009-08-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

A Teamster leader once told a friend of mine, "You know you're having an impact when they write your name on the shit house wall."

The following book review is a case in point:
http://www.thespacereview.com/article/14

Claim of Ownership of Two Extrasolar Planets and Their Stars

2009-08-11T10:02:00.000-07:00

Claim of Ownership of Two Extrasolar Planets and Their Stars

2009-08-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

Claim of Ownership of Four Extrasolar Planets and Their Stars

2009-08-01T09:31:00.000-07:00

Do You Think Thomas Gangale Has Ever Had Phone Sex?

2009-07-07T12:04:00.000-07:00

Sonia J. Lee posed this question on Facebook yesterday, even going so far as to create a poll: "Do you think Thomas Gangale has ever had phone sex?" Like anyone should care! Anyway, my response was:

I've done far worse than that. I've had politics over the phone, and not only the receiver but the lines were slimy for days afterward. From now on, I'm wearing latex gloves.

I note with some interest that Sonia and I have a number of Facebook friends in common, some of them prominent members of the California Democratic Party. Here is a non-exclusive list, with whom I may or may not have had a phone conversation:

Alberto Torrico
Alex Gallardo-Rooker
Bill Lackemacher
Candi Easter
Christine Pelosi
Darrell Steinberg
David Greenwald
Dean Florez
Eric Bradley
Fiona Ma
George Miller
John Garamendi
John Vigna
Kamala D. Harris
Karen Bass
Mark Ridley-Thomas
Reginald Byron Jones-Sawyer
Steve Westly
Tom Ammiano
Tom Torlakson
Zak Ford

Whether phone numbers for some of these people may be found in public necessaries, I have not researched.

Claim of Ownership of 353 Extrasolar Planets and Their Stars

2009-06-30T08:21:00.001-07:00

In observance of the occasion of the publication of my book, The Development of Outer Space: Sovereignty and Property Rights in International Law, I, Thomas Gangale, hereby assert the following claims of property rights on the basis of established precedents:

1) On the basis of the precedent established by Dennis Hope and the Lunar Embassy in claiming ownership of and the right to convey real property on the Moon and other celestial bodies of the Solar System, I assert ownership of and the right to convey real property on the planets specified infra.

2) On the basis of the precedent established by Joseph Resnick, Timothy R. O'Neill, and Guy Cramer in claiming ownership of and the right to convey mineral rights on the Moon and Mars, I assert ownership of and the right to convey mineral rights on the planets specified infra.

3) On the basis of the precedent established by Virgiliu Pop in claiming ownership of the Sun, I assert ownership of the central stars of the planets specified infra.

4) On the basis of numerous terrestrial precedents, I assert ownership of all forms of life on the planets specified infra.

The planets hereby claimed, together with their stars, are as follows:

CT Chamaeleontis b
OGLE235-MOA53 b
AB Pictoris b
2M1207 b
GQ Lupi b
SCR 1845 b
MOA-2007-BLG-400-L b
MOA-2007-BLG-192-L b
UScoCTIO 108 b
CoRoT-7 b
WASP-12 b
OGLE-TR-56 b
TrES-3
HD 41004 B b
WASP-4 b
OGLE-TR-113 b
CoRoT-1 b
WASP-5 b
OGLE-TR-132 b
CoRoT-2 b
SWEEPS-11
WASP-3 b
Gliese 876 d
Gliese 876 c
Gliese 876 b
WASP-9 b
HD 86081 b
WASP-2 b
HAT-P-7 b
HD 189733 b
WASP-14 b
HD 212301 b
TrES-2
OGLE2-TR-L9 b
WASP-1 b
HD 73256 b
XO-2 b
GJ 436 b
HAT-P-5 b
55 Cancri e
55 Cancri b
55 Cancri c
55 Cancri f
55 Cancri d
HD 63454 b
HD 149026 b
HAT-P-3 b
HD 83443 b
HD 46375 b
TrES-1
HAT-P-4 b
HAT-P-8 b
HD 179949 b
WASP-10 b
HD 187123 b
HD 187123 c
OGLE-TR-10 b
Gl 581 e
Gl 581 b
Gl 581 c
Gl 581 d
XO-3 b
HAT-P-12 b
tau Bootis b
WASP-6 b
HD 330075 b
HD 88133 b
HD 2638 b
BD-10 3166 b
HD 75289 b
HD 209458 b
TrES-4
OGLE-TR-211 b
WASP-11/HAT-P-10 b
WASP-15 b
HD 219828 b
HAT-P-6 b
Lupus-TR-3 b
HAT-P-9 b
XO-1 b
HD 76700 b
OGLE-TR-182 b
OGLE-TR-111 b
CoRoT-5 b
HD 149143 b
HD 47186 b
HD 47186 c
HD 102195 b
XO-4 b
XO-5 b
SWEEPS-04
51 Pegasi b
CoRoT-3 b
HD 40307 b
HD 40307 c
HD 40307 d
WASP-13 b
HAT-P-1 b
upsilon Andromedae b
upsilon Andromedae c
upsilon Andromedae d
GJ 674 b
HAT-P-11 b
HD 49674 b
WASP-7 b
HD 109749 b
HD 7924 b
HAT-P-2 b
HD 118203 b
HD 68988 b
HD 168746 b
HIP 14810 b
HIP 14810 c
HIP 14810 d
HD 185269 b
HD 217107 b
HD 217107 c
WASP-8 b
HD 162020 b
HD 69830 b
HD 69830 c
HD 69830 d
HD 285968 b
CoRoT-6 b
CoRoT-4 b
HD 181433 b
HD 181433 c
HD 181433 d
HD 160691 c
HD 160691 d
HD 160691 b
HD 160691 e
HD 130322 b
HD 108147 b
HD 38529 b
HD 38529 c
HD 4308 b
Gl 86 b
HD 99492 b
HD 190360 c
HD 190360 b
HD 16417 b
HD 27894 b
HD 33283 b
HD 195019 b
HD 102117 b
HD 17156 b
HD 6434 b
HD 192263 b
PSR 1257+12 b
PSR 1257+12 c
PSR 1257+12 d
HD 224693 b
HD 43691 b
HD 11964 b
HD 11964 c
rho Coronae Borealis b
HD 45652 b
HD 107148 b
HD 74156 b
HD 74156 d
HD 74156 c
HD 117618 b
HD 37605 b
HD 168443 b
HD 168443 c
HD 3651 b
HD 121504 b
HD 101930 b
HD 178911 B b
HD 16141 b
HD 114762 b
HD 145377 b
HD 80606 b
70 Virginis b
HD 216770 b
HD 52265 b
HD 208487 b
HD 102272 b
HD 102272 c
GJ 3021 b
psi Aquilae b
HD 231701 b
HD 93083 b
HD 37124 b
HD 37124 d
HD 37124 c
HD 154672 b
HD 11506 c
HD 11506 b
HD 219449 b
HD 81688 b
14 Andromedae b
HD 73526 b
HD 73526 c
HD 155358 b
HD 155358 c
HD 104985 b
HD 60532 b
HD 60532 c
HD 75898 b
HD 82943 c
HD 82943 b
HD 169830 b
HD 169830 c
HD 45364 b
HD 45364 c
HD 8574 b
HD 202206 b
HD 202206 c
HD 89744 b
HD 134987 b
HD 12661 b
HD 12661 c
HD 150706 b
HD 40979 b
BD14 4559 b
4 Ursae Majoris b
VB 10 b
HD 205739 b
HD 175541 b
HD 59686 b
HR 810 b
HD 173416 b
HD 142 b
HD 210702 b
HD 122430 b
HD 192699 b
HD 156846 b
HD 17092 b
HD 92788 b
BD20 2457 b
BD20 2457 c
HD 20868 b
HD 28185 b
HD 100777 b
HD 142415 b
HD 33564 b
HD 177830 b
HD 108874 b
HD 108874 c
HD 4203 b
HD 154857 b
HD 167042 b
HD 27442 b
HD 47536 b
HD 47536 c
HD 99109 b
HD 210277 b
HD 128311 b
HD 128311 c
HD 19994 b
HD 221287 b
HD 188015 b
HD 13189 b
42 Draconis b
HD 96167 b
HD 153950 b
HD 20367 b
HD 114783 b
HD 240210 b
HD 125612 b
HIP 75458 b
HD 4113 b
HD 171028 b
HD 147513 b
HD 222582 b
HD 62509 b
HD 20782 b
epsilon Tauri b
HD 65216 b
HD 183263 b
HD 183263 c
HD 141937 b
HD 41004 A b
BD-17 63 b
HD 5319 b
NGC 4349 No 127 b
GJ 317 b
HD 48265 b
HD 11977 b
NGC 2423 3 b
HD 23079 b
16 Cyg B b
HD 4208 b
HD 70573 b
HD 114386 b
HD 45350 b
6 Lyncis b
gamma Cephei b
HD 213240 b
81 Ceti b
HD 132406 b
HD 187085 b
HD 159868 b
HD 16175 b
18 Delphini b
HD 81040 b
HD 190647 b
HD 10647 b
HD 143361 b
HD 10697 b
47 Ursae Majoris b
47 Ursae Majoris c
HD 139357 b
HD 190228 b
HD 114729 b
HD 111232 b
HD 170469 b
HD 164922 b
V391 Pegasi b
kappa Coronae Borealis b
HD 2039 b
HD 136118 b
HD 23127 b
HD 73267 b
HD 50554 b
HD 196050 b
HD 216437 b
HD 196885 b
HD 216435 b
HD 106252 b
HD 23596 b
ChaHa8 b
14 Herculis b
OGLE-06-109L b
OGLE-06-109L c
Gj 849 b
HD 142022 A b
HD 131664 b
HD 66428 b
HD 39091 b
HD 70642 b
HD 43848 b
epsilon Eridani b
HD 50499 b
HD 117207 b
HD 30177 b
HD 89307 b
HD 72659 b
OGLE-05-169L b
HW Virginis b
HW Virginis c
HD 154345 b
GJ 832 b
OGLE-05-390L b
OGLE-05-071L b
beta Pictoris b
HR 8799 d
HR 8799 c
HR 8799 b
PSR B1620-26 b
Fomalhaut b

Signed: Thomas Gangale
Published on 30 June 2009

Fear and Loathing in Afghanistan

2009-03-09T01:07:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale

For months now, the American public has heard the drumbeat of war: we need to ramp up our military presence in Afghanistan before the Taliban takes over the entire country... again. We've been riding around the countryside for seven years, it's been a long ride, and the kids are asking, "Have we lost yet? Have we lost yet? Have we lost yet?"

We have only one Army division at a time in Afghanistan, rotating in and out of country like attention-deficient tourists, waving from their humvees. Lately it's been the 101st Airborne Division, and they seem to think that they have the situation well in hand. The countryside was quiet enough that they had to create an insurgency right inside their Joint Operations Compound--their "jock"--just to keep life interesting. Must keep the occupiers occupied. So the division's senior staff decided to indulge in an orgy of cigars, sex discrimination, harassment, intimidation, and death threats, featuring a 500-pound stripper and presided over by a Serbian Orthodox priest.

The Reverend Doctor came to Bagram last summer as the team leader and senior social scientist of something called the Human Terrain System (HTS) program. They call it that because their primary function is to walk all over people working in it and grind them into the terrain. One of the Reverend Doctor’s first accomplishments upon arrival was to plagiarize the work of a lower level HTS unit and present it to the Hundred and Worst as his own. Of course, all of the other lower level HTS teams stopped sending reports.

Did this mean that the Reverend Doctor now had to do some work of his own? Not at all. Instead, he kept the senior staff of the Hundred and Worst plied with fancy cigars. In accordance with General Order One, there are no officers' clubs, no alcohol, on US military bases in Islamic countries. Thus tobacco has become the only legal drug of choice, and on Bagram the Reverend Doctor was enterprising enough to become, in accordance with General Order One, Drug Pusher One. The colonels didn't care that he wasn't producing any actionable information for them as long as he gave them their stogy fixes. Hey, it won’t hurt you, and the first one is free.

You know the sorts of things that can be done with cigars... just ask Monica Lewinsky. So here were these 20 or 30 lonely colonels, far away from home, each chomping down on the Reverend Doctor’s cigar....

...which probably gets boring after a while. It wasn’t long before this Fun Bunch of Brass Hats was jonesing for a new thrill. So the Human Terrain Team imported a 500-pound stripper. That really got the party rolling. Rolling, rolling, rolling....

Sources say that the Hundred and Worst actually requisitioned a 125-pound stripper, but somehow the requisition ended up as a line item in the stimulus bill, got loaded up with pork, and the result added to the bloated federal budget. Those profligate Democrats! Not to be outdone, however, Senate Republicans attached a rider to the bill, thus the 500-pound stripper was delivered to Bagram Air Base complete with a partially nude man riding on her back. When he dismounted, the colonels climbed on, usually one at a time, but sometimes not, as might be the momentary whim. Stimulus package, indeed.

But even a 500-pound stripper can only entertain the troops for so long before she wears out. Fortunately, to keep the party lively, there were a number of female members of the HTS at hand, middle-aged and not exactly Barbie dolls, to provide fresh diversions for the Senior Officer Corps. Reverend Doctor and the Colonels hung cowbells around their necks and mooed at them, with the social scientist on the team honored with the role of the alpha cow… summa cum loudly.

A Puerto Rican National Guard first lieutenant, usually indistinguishable from a feral teenager, got into an uncharacteristically intellectual frame of mind and launched himself on a quest to pen deathless prose, beginning his literary career on a dry erase board: "Mata la vaca." "Kill the cow."

At that point, a member of Congress got wind of this indecorous military ball and stopped the music. She pulled the chief cow out of Afghanistan and back to the safety of Stateside. That didn't save La Vaca's job, however. The Hundred and Worst has yet to respond to the congressional inquiry, yet the Human Terrain System program office terminated her contract for "inadequate performance." Maybe she should have jangled her cowbell louder?

So that's how the American Empire does it these days in Afghanistan, historically the graveyard of empires. If God is indeed on the side of the just, just whose side might that be? The symbol of Islam is the crescent moon, but the crescent is the sunlit side of the moon. We have met the Dark Side... and it is U.S.

Death Threat Tarnishes US Army Human Terrain System

2009-02-26T19:00:00.000-08:00

[See my 30 May 2008 article on Dr. Marilyn Dudley-Flores, written as she started training for the Human Terrain Ststem Program. --TG]

Death Threat Tarnishes US Army Human Terrain System
Mata La Vaca: Kill the Cow

by John Stanton
http://cryptome.info/0001/hts-tarnish.htm

26 February 2009

Sources indicate that Congresswoman Lynn Woolsey of (D-California) awaits the results of an investigative report by the US Army 101st Airborne Command, stationed at Bagram AB in Afghanistan, into allegations of a death threat made against Dr. Dudley-Flores -- a former senior female Human Terrain Team (HTT) member deployed to Bagram -- by an active duty lieutenant in colusion with the HTT leader. The death threat was written on a white board and was included in a "to do" list. It read, according to sources, "Mata La Vaca" which translates into "Kill The Cow." Immediately after that incident, other female members of the HTT began to arm themselves apparently because they feared that male members of the HTT, along with a few in the 101st Airborne, were out to get them.

The death threat was the culmination of an effort, say sources, to malign Dudley-Flores credibility with fellow HTT members and the 101st Airborne, and put the women in their place. Sources allege that through the months of November and December 2008, Flores-Dudley and other HTT female members were deliberately put in harm's way by Milan Sturgis -- a former HTT leader -- who sent Flores-Dudley and female HTT members in known hot areas, like Qarabagh) where the Taliban was active, and, in one instance, knowingly had them wait for seven hours on a remote airstrip for a airlift back to Bagram, AB. Sturgis was nearly terminated for, copying wholesale, and changing the facts in a report authored by another HTS member. And, according to sources, Sturgis had mental health issues.

Further, the active duty lieutenant charged with protecting Dudley-Flores and female teammates acted with discredit by fleeing and not covering Dudley-Flores when she was fired upon (fire incident) and; in another incident, leaving his sidearm and other arms in a Humvee while a female HTT member was inside a structure interviewing Afghans who, it was later found out, were Taliban seeking intelligence.

Rat Fucking Campaign

Sturgis and the first lieutenant sought to falsify the after action report (AAR) on the fire incident and, it is alleged -- according to sources -- that Sturgis and the first lieutenant instructed Dudley-Flores to meet them alone in an isolated part of a building, apparently, to convince her to change her mind about what the AAR should look like. According to sources, fearing for her safety, Dudley-Flores went up the chain of command at Bagram in an attempt to avoid the meeting. It was at this point in late December 2008 that the females -- some on the advice of spouses and partners -- started to arm themselves.

Dudley-Flores and fellow HTT female members were also subjected to sexual harassment and abuse by Milan Sturgis and his cohorts. Sources say that Sturgis, in collusion with other HTT members (male) and individuals in the 101st Airborne led a "rat fucking campaign" against Dudley Flores. That campaign played on the fact that, according to sources, Dudley-Flores was overweight. The "rat fuckers" according to sources claimed that Dudley-Flores was unable to buckle her body armor or even get in and out of a Humvee. Further, because of her weight, Dudley-Flores was nicknamed by male HTT members and some in the 101st Airborne as "The Cow." In one instance, a picture of a 500-pound stripper on hands and knees with a midget on top was placed on her desk.

Dudley-Flores was called the Chief Cow by male HTT teammates and, according to sources, phrases like, "The HTT needs more cow bells," appeared on homemade posters around the HTT office. Dudley-Flores was also accused, falsely according to sources, of telling 101st Airborne officers (up to 20) that she was "the first infantry woman in the US Army." In late December2008/early January 2009, Dudley-Flores was terminated for non-performance.

Former US Army National Guard Lieutenant Dudley-Flores was the first certified woman combat mountaineer in the Alaska's US Army National Guard and has hundreds of hours of small arms training. She also worked in Pakistan during the USSR's occupation of Afghanistan helping refugees.

While she was at the University of South Carolina, she and her colleagues developed a rudimentary social networking/human terrain mapping-type program to assist victims of the war in Kuwait. That program, the Victim Assessment Database, was to be used in Kuwait after the first Gulf War but the US government showed no interest.

Sources claim that HTS management knew of many of these activities targeted at Dudley-Flores and did not act. In July 2007, in a briefing designed for LTG John Kimmons (http://www.dami.army.pentagon.mil/), HTS management knew it had personnel and organizational problems. Those apparently were ignored in favor of marketing the "concept". Once again, oversight of HTS program has been negligent resulting in the many problems already documented in past articles.[For a copy of the briefing to LTG Kimmons, contact cioran123[at]yahoo.com.]

In the end, Congresswomen Woolsey's staff had her pulled out of Afghanistan because they feared for her life.

Soviet Shuttle Pondered for Plugging US Space Gap

2009-02-18T19:11:00.000-08:00

By Thomas Gangale

With NASA set to retire its Space Shuttle fleet in 2010, and facing a five-year hiatus before its new Constellation system can be developed to replace it, a November 2008 Russian news article considered the possibility of solving the US space gap by reviving a Soviet space shuttle project that was shelved 20 years ago.

Soviet space shuttle could bail out NASA

The idea reads like "Plan 8 From Outer Space," not quite up to Ed Wood's high standards.

That one of the pilots who test-flew the Soviet space shuttle Buran would say the things attributed to him is only believable if he has spent the years since the project was canceled drowning his disappointment in cheap vodka. The news article quotes Magomet Talboyev as stating, "The Energiya-Buran programme was started to get the capability to attack the United States, just like the shuttle was able to attack the USSR. We also wanted to take the Skylab space station from orbit. Buran was supposed to put it in its cargo bay and deliver it back to Earth for studies."

First, a legal point: if the Soviet Union were to have taken Skylab without the permission of the United States government, under international law, it would have committed history's first act of piracy on the high frontier. But, the Soviets were always proud of their space "firsts." I can see the insignia on the Soviet shuttle now: a gold skull on a red field, with the crossed swords replaced by the crossed hammer and sickle. Argh! Johnny Depp is looking over the script, Pirates of the Korabl Buran.

Next, an historical point: if the Buran were intended "to take the Skylab space station from orbit," it faced severe schedule constraints. The first (and only) Buran unmanned orbital mission flew in November 1988, and its first manned flight was not expected before 1994. By then, the major components of Skylab had been sitting at the bottom of the Indian Ocean for 15 years; it fell out of orbit in July 1979.

Of course, noting the Soviet penchant for copying American technology, it's entirely possible that they were planning to fit the end of the Buran's remote manipulator arm with a claw-like device similar to the one that the Glomar Explorer used to pick up a section of a sunken Soviet submarine in July 1974. But, probably more technically feasible, and certainly just as legal, would have been to land the Buran on the Capitol Mall, steal the Skylab backup vehicle out of the National Air and Space Museum, and take off again (an atmospheric test vehicle version of the Buran was equipped with jet engines). Or, just buy an admission ticket... you can see whatever you want.

There are a number of other technical considerations.

The Buran's physical dimensions were nearly identical to the US Space Shuttle, whose payload bay has a 15-foot diameter; Skylab was 22 feet in diameter. If the payload don't fit... well, I don't know of any chop shops in space.

The only way I know of for a US Space Shuttle to "attack" a ground target is by raining all over it, a capability it demonstrated in February 2003 when Columbia "attacked" Texas.

But the main point of the article was reviving the Buran project and offering it to NASA. The US is retiring its own shuttle fleet, which is based on 1970s technology, but has nevertheless flown more than 120 successful missions. Why would it make sense to resurrect a program based on shoddy Soviet reverse engineering of 1970s US technology, and which was abandoned before it achieved a single manned flight?

Now, here we get back to schedule considerations: given that the first manned flight of the Soviet space shuttle was five years in the future at the time the program was suspended in 1979, it is difficult to see how a reconstituted program would be able to launch a manned mission less than five years from the turn-on date. The US plans to have the Constellation system flying by then, so what would be the point?

The Russian Federation... bringing you yesterday's technology tomorrow!

It would take a least a year to locate the old Buran engineers, pull them out of the bars, and run them through detox programs. And, you would really need to find these guys. Documentation was never as central to aerospace culture in the Soviet Union as it has always been in the United States; if you wanted to know how something worked, you had to go down the hall and ask Yuri. This is how Yuri protected his job security.

It didn't protect Buran, however. The Russian article mentions that the only Soviet shuttle that ever flew in space was destroyed in 2002 when a roof collapsed at Baikonur. Would you like to fly with guys who couldn't even built a decent hangar roof for one of their country's historical treasures? Dumayu, chto nyet!

I'm relieved that the article stated that "some American and Russian scientists are beginning to think of ways to revive the Buran programme." I'm glad he said "scientists;" if they were engineers, I'd be embarrassed. But it's appropriate to the name of Buran, which means "snowstorm," to propose such a scheme; if it were actually put over on NASA, it would be the snow job of the century.

Smashmouth Economics

2008-10-19T06:17:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
California Progress Report
12 October 2008

George W. Bush pushes a $700 billion "rescue package" of government money to shore up the markets. Henry Paulson announces that the government will use some of the money to acquire stock in banks. John McCain proposes that the government buy up the bad paper on your home. And any number of deregulationist Republicans are now tripping over each other to step up to the pulpit and preach the need to replace our outdated, 20th century regulatory structure with a newfangled system for the 21st century. All of which leaves the Republican Party with about as much philosophical underpinning as the Communist Party in China, where capitalism is cleaning our clock. Perhaps the Communist Party and the Republican Party ought to swap names, for the GOP is now espousing the sort of capitalism that Karl Marx would have loved.

Really.

Contrary to popular belief, Marx was not an enemy of capitalism. His magnum opus, "Capital," fills a library shelf, the product of a lifetime of studying capitalism. If he was a critic of capitalism's excesses, given what has occurred in the past few weeks, is criticism such a bad thing? But Marx also gave capitalism its due as the most efficient mode of production ever devised. The problem, as Marx saw it, was that an economic system based on competition necessarily produces winners and losers. It creates wealth, but it creates it unevenly. What about the losers? Aiding society's small-time losers is called "welfare;" aiding its major league losers is called "rescue." By any name, both are socialism.

That's such a scary word! Worse than visions of doling out Cadillacs to the underclass, it conjures up your having to give half of your paycheck to everyone else, and if that were the case, no one would want to work very hard. I mean, just suppose that the 49ers have another disastrous season and end up at the bottom of the heap? Do they deserve to get the top draft picks in the college draft? When they go on the road to get creamed by the Dallas Cowboys, do they deserve to get 40% of the gate receipts at Texas Stadium?

That's right, the National Football League, one of the most successful capitalist enterprises in history, is socialist in its structure. Long ago, the team owners agreed that although competition was a good thing and the American way, driving each other out of business was bad business. What they wanted was "parity," to keep all of the franchises stable, to punish winners and reward losers, to limit the lifespan of team dynasties, to increase competition by constraining competition, to increase the creation of wealth by redistributing wealth. Without revenue sharing, the Green Bay Packers would be only a fond memory from the days of leather helmets. NFLism's merger of capitalism and socialism is as American as soccer-style place kickers, and it's the best of both worlds. Its socialist net makes the league safe for smashmouth capitalism. And everyone in it works very hard, because Americans always want to win.

Forget about the self-regulating "free market." It doesn't exist, it never has, it never will. The free market religion has a number of central tenets, a couple of which are demonstrably false. First of all, it assumes that everyone participating in the marketplace is rational; writing subprime loans was rational? Secondly, it assumes that rational actors have perfect information; how good was Lehman Brothers' information?

What has emerged in the American economic system over the decades is a sort of disaster socialism: government intervention to pull the economy back from the precipice. And it's a form of socialism that historically turns a profit. Bailing out Mexico, the savings and loans, Chrysler, and Lockheed, the American government made money every time. We're smarter socialists than the Soviets ever were. Recognizing that there is no free market that some preach, and being honest about the disaster socialism that we practice, we need to take the next step toward NFLism. Our current crisis of capitalism wouldn't be as dire if socialist intervention had been more timely, and had it been more timely, the intervention would have been so tiny as to be unremarkable. The free market coaches knew they had lousy field position, but they keep wanting to run up the middle on fourth down and long yardage anyway. We can do better, and we already know how to do better. NFLism runs capitalist and socialist plays like a smart coach uses the ground game and the air game, knowing when and how to use each. If salary caps for football players is a good idea, why not for CEOs as well?

So, let's go, America. We're getting blitzed, but we can get back in the game. Maybe John Madden will draw some yellow circles and lines on the NASDAQ board for us.

Backers of GOP Primary Rules Overhaul Decry Resistance From Campaign

2008-08-31T09:50:00.000-07:00

By Kathleen Hunter
CQ Politics
27 August 2008

Republicans performed an about-face and nixed a plan to dramatically reshape the party’s primary process in 2012, with proponents of the plan accusing the McCain campaign of working to derail the overhaul.

“Once again the presidential nominee has killed any reform of the primary process,” said Ohio GOP Chairman Bob Bennett, the architect of the overhaul proposal.

The plan rejected Wednesday by the Republican National Committee’s rules-making panel was the same one the panel had endorsed in March as a way to establish a more orderly, drawn-out election schedule in 2012, with the goal of easing the “front-loaded” primary schedule that has developed in recent campaign cycles, while promoting more one-on-one interaction with voters.

Bennett and other supporters of the so-called “Ohio plan” accused the McCain campaign of launching a full-court press to persuade rules committee members to adopt a far more modest proposal.

FULL STORY

Democrats Move to Fix Primary Scramble

2008-08-28T07:53:00.000-07:00

By Kisten Wyatt
Associated Press
23 August 2008

Democrats moved Saturday to change the way they nominate presidential candidates and avoid a repeat of this year's primary scramble.
But they shied away from substantive debate such as whether to take away Iowa and New Hampshire's jealously guarded status as the nation's first vetting grounds for presidential candidates.

As a rules panel within the Democratic National Convention Committee voted unanimously Saturday to start talking about how to avoid a repeat of this year's jammed up primary schedule, party leaders sought to put off substantive — and divisive — talk about how to do that until after this is year's campaign.

"No state was left behind in the primaries," Democratic Chairman Howard Dean told the rules panel, Dean said earlier this month that the party needed to review its primary and caucus rules and reduce the number of superdelegates.

There appears to be broad consensus among Democrats that the nomination process needs to be reformed in light of this year's seismic battle between Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton and nominee-to-be Barack Obama.

FULL STORY

Obama Says He'll Support NASA Programs

2008-08-02T17:49:00.000-07:00

By Eun Kyung Kim
Gannett News Service
29 July 2008

Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama pledged his commitment to NASA in a statement his campaign released Tuesday congratulating the agency on its 50th anniversary.
Advertisement

The declaration may surprise many NASA supporters. Earlier in his campaign, the Illinois senator said he would rather see money budgeted for Constellation, the program to replace the aging shuttles, go instead toward education reform.

Yet, Obama said he would support the agency if elected this fall.

“I believe we need to revitalize NASA’s mission to maintain America’s leadership, and recommit our nation to the space program, and as President I intend to do just that,” he said.

FULL STORY

SEE ALSO:

A Letter to Lynn Woolsey on the 2008 NASA Authorization Act
Space Exploration: A Progressive Investment
A Progressive Vision of Human Space Exploration
Libertarianism Reaches for the High Frontier

Thirty Seconds Over Doolittle

2008-06-27T17:59:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
9 October 2006

With eight-term California Congressman John Doolittle sinking in the polls, key figures in the GOP (Greedy Old Perverts) recently flew into the Sacramento area on a rescue mission. Dozens of high donors turned out for the $2000 a plate event. About a dozen of those, who happened to be hungry and wanted some food on their plate, paid an additional $2000 for a smoked weenie on a toothpick. A cheese cube was 50 cents extra... if you pre-qualified.

"It's not about the money," famed lobbyist "Casino Jack" Abramoff told a cheering audience. "It's about access."

"Absolutely!" agreed fellow California Congressman Richard Pombo, who is facing his own tough reelection race. "John even treats his closest friends this way. Everybody has to pay for access. His own children have to pony up to get an appointment to see John." He shook his head in admiration. "By God, that's integrity!"

"Anyway, everyone knows you can't buy votes," former Texas Congressman Tom Delay grinned photogenically.

"I've known John since he first got into politics," said former Florida Congressman Mark Foley, principal cosponsor of No Child's Behind Left. "He was a cute kid. I'm here to give him a boost."

"I want the record to show that I am cooperating fully with this campaign," retiring Ohio Congressman Bob Ney declared to thunderous applause.

Former California Congressman "Duke" Cunningham, who was unable to appear in person due to a previous commitment lasting the next eight years, was patched in by video link. "We are here to lend our reputations to John. We want everyone to know that John Doolittle is one of us. Always has been. John will always have a place in our midst." Unfortunately, Cunningham's message suffered due to bad acoustics at his location.

"To call John 'Doolittle' is really doing him an injustice," Delay said. "As far as I know, John's done nothing at all." At that point, Delay covered the microphone while Ney whispered in his ear. After conferring briefly with Abramoff as well, Delay back-pedalled, "On the advice of counsel, I wish to retract my previous statement. I was making a joke, and I wouldn't want my remarks to be misinterpreted. There are a few things that John may have done, and for which he may be indicted."

The audience was also treated to appearances by members of the hastily-formed "Veterans Against Veterans" committee, who lauded Doolittle for having one of the worst voting records on veterans' appropriations. They also wowed the crowd with vague and unsubstantiated accusations against Doolittle's Democratic opponent. "I'd like to know how the hell Charlie Brown got his Distinguished Flying Cross... dogfighting with the Red Baron?"

"Charlie Brown can't even pronounce Vi-et-nam!" another member of the group shouted. "He calls it 'VEET-nam,' so that makes me question whether he was ever in-country. For all I know, he was stateside the whole time, ducking the Air National Guard and snorting coke with George W... well, as I was saying...."

With this, a sullen muttering rippled through the crowd. A third veteran quickly stepped into the breach. "Don't pay Slick much attention, folks! He's probably just having one of his PTSD flashbacks. Thanks to John Doolittle, VA services aren't what they used to be."

He was joined by a fourth brother-in-arms. "We had a saying in the military: 'There's always ten percent that doesn't get the word.' Veterans Against Veterans stands up for that principle. We're all ten-percenters, and we're damn proud if it!"

At this point, the mood began to lighten again. Julie Doolittle, the congressman's wife, supervised the serving of refreshments. Several people remarked on the fact that their glasses appeared to be precisely 85% full. "Well, there are the ten-percenters, and then there are the fifteen-percenters," she quipped breezily. "Don't you know? I always take fifteen percent off the top!"

John came over and put his arm around Julie. "That's right! In the old days, Julie used to cut my hair, and she always took fifteen percent off the top!"

Casino Jack joined in the fun. "This one always gets a few titters," he smirked, barely containing his glee. "Didja hear about the campaign consultant who decided to go to medical school and specialize in breast reductions? He always took...."

So the event turned out to be a huge success. How could it not? It probably won't save the Doolittle campaign, but John and Julie are laughing all the way to the bank. Seriously, folks.

The Whole Man

2008-06-25T18:54:00.001-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
Petaluma Argus-Courier
Petaluma, California
27 April 2006

In the Air Force, we used to joke about its four great myths: "the real Air Force," because wherever you were stationed was somehow unrepresentative of the service as a whole; "the regular crew chief," because anyone you went to for a solution was not in a position to provide it; "the big picture," because no matter the pay grade, no one was ever high enough to see it; and "the whole man," because no one had the requisite breadth and depth of skills and experiences to qualify for this description. It was axiomatic that you could serve an entire career and never come across any of these things.

A few days ago, I attended a campaign rally for Charles Brown, LtCol, USAF (Ret.), one of the "Band of Brothers," now 72 strong, veterans who are running as Democrats to take the Hill and win back Congress for the people of the United States. Also speaking at the event was Max Cleland, Capt, US Army (Ret.), former senator from Georgia. I had seen him only once on TV, when he had been head of the Veterans Administration under President Jimmy Carter, and I remembered the astonishing sight of a triple-amputee playing basketball. But on this day, I got to meet him and to hear him speak, and I was astonished several more times and on much deeper levels. The first surprise was to see Charlie lean over Max and put his arms around him, and my first thought was that Charlie was going to lift him out of his wheelchair... surely not! But no, it was a hug, a hug of comradeship, one Vietnam veteran to another.

The second jolt was when it came time for me to meet the senator, to shake his hand, and to mouth the conditioned-reflex platitude of what an honor it was, and he leaned forward and pulled my arm toward him, and I realized that I was about to hug him, too. Does your senator hug you? Driving home from the rally at the Fair Oaks VFW post and the fundraising reception afterward, it occurred to me that with only his left hand remaining to him as his primary means of touching the world, it makes sense that Max compensates by pulling the world to his breast and enfolding it with his soul.

But I have jumped ahead of my story, for it was an absolute joy to hear Max speak, and to spend some time becoming acquainted with him. Here was a man of great warmth, humor, compassion, and wisdom. Here was a man who had been blown to bits serving his country in a dubious cause, and who had never stopped loving it or serving it. Here was a man, who in the prime of youth and vigor, must have spent some time wondering whether he was going to live, perhaps some time wishing that he hadn't, then some time struggling to build meaning into whatever life he had left.

Mindful that we live in a time not only when, as George Orwell predicted, war is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength, but under the malevolent manipulations of Karl Rove and the like, falsehood is truth, courage is cowardice, and loyalty is treason, I can do no more than to let Max Cleland's record of service speak for itself. As to the man himself, I can say that as I got to know him, my dominant impression was of a man whose strength of spirit has healed his soul and triumphed over the loss of much of his body. Incredibly, the more time I spent in his presence, the less noticeable became his physical disability. At length I realized that there really had been only three myths, for I had finally met "the whole man."

Welcome home, Max.

Southern Strategy

2008-06-24T15:29:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
12 June 2003

If you’re one of those whose eyes glaze over the moment someone starts to tell you about his dream, skip on to the next item without reading further.

I've been cautioned not to work too hard at this international relations and political science stuff. Perhaps, when the alarm wakes you out of a dead sleep at 5am and a few seconds earlier you were been riding around in the back of a limo with Richard Nixon, it's time too heed that advice.

In my dreams, as the saying goes, I was engaged in conversation with Tricky Dick, still alive but looking a hundred years old (which would be about right), and several other dignitaries in the limo. At one point, Pat Nixon, who was riding up toward the front, turned around to ask me if the president was still smarter than a Marine guard and his dog, alluding to an intruder incident that had been mishandled by the official security.

I responded, "I wouldn't care to comment on the Marine, ma'am, but the dog still has a way to go."

There was an awkward silence.

I had tried to make a joke, putting the Marine's intelligence below that of the dog. No former Air Force officer would have missed a chance to disparage the Marines, I'm sure. But in the process I had also implicitly compared the president's possibly waning mental faculties to the dog's intelligence in a manner that was certainly less than a ringing endorsement.

Thus the awkward silence. If Nixon doesn’t think it's funny, it isn't funny.

I had to come up with something to recover gracefully, so I continued, this time with a hint of a drawl, "Howevah, as a yellah dawg Democrat, Ah'd still vote foah the dawg."

The ancient Nixon laughed. He knew a Southern strategy when he heard one.

An orderly presidential election process

2008-06-22T07:37:00.000-07:00

By Todd Rokita
Indianapolis Star
22 June 2008

Although Americans have turned their attention to the heated race building toward November, we still have many lessons to learn from the history-making 2008 presidential primary.

For such a nation-shaping decision, the method through which we select our candidates for commander in chief is in dire need of improvement. Our primary process is too front-loaded -- 34 states plus the District of Columbia voted in January or February, more than three times the number that did so in 2000. This not only creates a prolonged campaign, our current primary schedule also runs the risk of disenfranchising almost half the population.

In recent years, a number of plans for reform have emerged, such as a national primary, the "Delaware Plan" or a graduated random presidential primary system. Each strategy shows promise, but none provides a comprehensive solution that will ensure an equitable way to select hopefuls for our nation's highest office.

As president of the National Association of Secretaries of State, I'm an advocate of our own solution to the problem -- the NASS Rotating Regional Primaries Plan.

FULL STORY

American Plan Support

2008-06-19T18:18:00.000-07:00

By Dwayne Hunn
People’s Lobby Executive Director

In 2008 almost every state played an interesting and, in the Democrats race, significant role in determining our presidential candidates. Excepting maybe Iowans and New Hampshirites, most Americans, who follow how we determine who will be the last suits standing to be CEO of what was once the world’s most respected power, do not think we have a fair, logical nominating process.

So how do we devise a better nominating process?

Well, for balance you’ll probably need someone who is a registered RepubDemoInde, or at least who has been registered with the Republican, Democratic, and Independent parties. He or she should also have some military training, so as to develop and stand by a disciplined approach to problem solving. Then, he/she should also be heavily trained in the math and sciences, so as to support a fairer nominating plan with math and graphs.

And guess what? Thomas Gangale, author of From the Primaries to the Polls: How to Repair America's Broken Presidential Nomination Process fits all those criteria. He Has Been an Independent, Republican, and Democratic. He is a scientist who loves math. He produces plenty of graphs.

To fix the nominating process, Gangale warms us up as he mixes it up. In each nominating stage, he juggles the small states and different regions to get as close as possible to fair and even. Consequently, an unknown with little money has a chance to establish himself and perhaps move up into the medium-sized juggled states to see whether he can compete there too. Gangale has brought common sense, fairness, science, and math to give us a much fairer process.

Just because you may have enjoyed the 2008 nominating process doesn't mean we shouldn't fix a nominating highway that is dated, dented, and needs more than just pothole repair.

Read Gangale’s book. Then write your Congressperson, so that they can vote to bring a saner nominating process to your hometown next time. With all the challenges our political process has lined up on our horizon, America needs all the common sense it can garner in its nominating process.

Bush's Fun House Mirror Vision for Space

2008-06-18T08:53:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
18 June 2008

Monday's Office of Management and Budget statement opposing H.R. 6063, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration Authorization Act of 2008, is as full of deliberate distortions as a fun house mirror. Naturally, it sticks up for the President's "Vision" to end the Space Shuttle program as quickly as possible, despite the fact that the Administration never came up with a plan to keep American astronauts commuting to the mostly-American International Space Station during a five-year gap while a new manned spacecraft is developed. It also sticks up for the President’s decision not to fly an already-built billion-dollar instrument.

Congress intends to restore three Space Shuttle flights. Since the bill anticipates that the three flights will occur in 2010, it is not "effectively superseding the 2010 Shuttle retirement date that is a critical step to enabling successful development of the Crew Exploration Vehicle." The OMB statement is clearly false, given that throughout 2007, NASA's schedule held firmly to a retirement date of July 2010, and this year NASA actually pulled that date ahead to April 2010. What are the odds that in the remaining eight months of 2010, NASA could get three "additional" missions off the pad?

Not bad, I'd say... especially since two of them have been on the launch schedule for four years.

NASA's Consolidated Launch Manifest lists ULF-4 and ULF-5 as contingency flights, under review, to establish a six-person crew capability on the ISS. Gee, might it make sense to fly a couple of shuttle missions to double the size of the ISS crew from 2010 to 2016 and beyond, and do a lot more science during that period than three people can do? I guess so! Also, there's nothing new that Congress is adding in this bill... except money; it is only restoring what Bush's "Vision" forced NASA to roll back from "no foolin', we're gonna fly 'em" missions to "contingency" missions, meaning "it sure would be nice if Congress would give us the money." These two missions were part of the baseline flight manifest at least as far back as 2004, around the time that Bush was off somewhere having his "Vision." So, just what exactly are the risks of turning contingency missions that were originally baseline missions back into baseline missions again, other than to the Administration's credibility? The bill provides new money to fly these missions, rather than robbing the Orion program to pay for them, so why would this delay "the operational capability of the Orion CEV?"

The other "additional" mission isn't really an addition, either. The Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer cost a billion dollars to build, so maybe spending a few million dollars to actually fly the thing would be a prudent use of taxpayers' money, huh? How much science are we getting out of it while it sits in a clean room?

Back in December, the Fox Business Channel brought me into a San Francisco studio at 4am to have a goofy debate with Ed Hudgins, formerly of the Heritage Foundation and the Cato Institute, now the executive director an Ayn Rand cult called the Atlas Society. I wonder how long this guy can keep stepping to the right before he falls off the planet. The occasion was the scheduled launch of STS-122, which at one time was intended to carry the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer to the ISS. Naturally, it being "fair and balanced" Fox, it was an ambush. The moderator let Hudgins rant repetitious slogans about the grounding of the spectrometer as an example of government waste, and as I was gearing up to verbally beat Hudgins' arguments to a bloody pulp, what do you know, Fox was suddenly out of time. Even the studio technician was startled. "Man, that was a hard 'out!'" Anyway, I confidently predicted on-camera that Congress would come up with the money to fly the spectrometer, and it has made a brave beginning to do that. Gangale 1, Hudgins 0.

Of course, the NASA authorization bill has only been reported out of the House Science Committee, so it has a long way to go before it reaches the President's desk. Still, if these courageous provisions survive in the bill, a presidential veto of a NASA bill would be a shocking historical precedent. I say to Congress, hang tough, you're doing the right thing with the people's money, call his bluff.

However the NASA authorization bill ends up, funny thing about these "government is the problem" libertarians... if the government writes off a billion-dollar spectrometer, they call it waste; when the private sector writes down a hundred billion dollars in sub-prime loans, they call it a business decision. Could this be why Atlas shrugged?

Well-Regulated Arms

2008-06-17T07:21:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
17 June 2008

A couple of weeks ago, I happened to see a gun nut rant about the Second Amendment passed around via email. It was little more than a string of sound bites thrown together in no particular order, which is a poor substitute for a logical progression of statements in support of a conclusion. In any case, one of these slogans was the less-than-clever rhetorical question, "What part of 'shall not be infringed' do you not understand?" I forwarded this and the whole set of goofiness to a few people, with my own commentary.

I would like to ask, "What part of 'well-regulated Militia' does the NRA not understand?" Conveniently ignored is the concept of regulation, which is explicit in the Second Amendment. Furthermore, there is the premise of a "Militia being necessary for the security of a free State," which defines the context of "the right of the people to keep and bear Arms." The Second Amendment establishes the right of a free state to maintain its security by providing for itself the capability for organized use of force in the form of a "well-regulated Militia;" it says absolutely nothing about individual citizens providing for their own security through the use of force. To claim that an assault rifle is necessary to the security of a free citizen is a ludicrous misconstruction. It should also be understood that the Second Amendment, along with the other nine in the Bill of Rights, were written and ratified with the intent of limiting federal power over the states; accordingly, states reserve the right to regulate their militias, and to regulate the conditions under which its citizens may keep and bear arms for the purpose of maintaining the state militias.

Rights must always be understood in a specific context; they are never absolutes, because each government--federal, state, and local--and each citizen is a sovereign, and if sovereignty were absolute, there would be anarchy. Anyone who fails to understand this is most certainly unarmed in the intellectual sense, and ought to be disarmed in the interest of the security of a free state. Anyone who does not wish to be considered in this category can begin by reading and comprehending one complete sentence in its historical and legal context: "A well-regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

One response I received was, "I've been educated and proud to be a gun owner. I believe you forgot 'Guns Don't Kill People, People Kill People!'"

Great, I thought. Here's a guy whose only reading material is on the freeway at rush hour.

Yes, you certainly dazzle me with your intellect by repeating what you read off of someone's car bumper. I'm happy for you that you are a gun owner and that you are very proud of that! I happen to own a firearm as well, but I don't go around patting myself on the butt about it, I simply exercise my constitutional right quietly. What you apparently fail to understand is that this right, like all rights, has limitations, because other people have rights as well. Their rights end where yours begin, don't they? Then the reverse is also true.

But really, there's nothing like a nuclear weapon for home defense. I separated from active duty at the end of the Cold War, when a number of strategic arms treaties were negotiated. I found it incredibly easy to convince neighbors that I, a former air force officer, had been entrusted with basing a nuclear warhead in my garage to avoid it being reported as required by the treaties. If you ever saw the clutter in my garage, you would immediately realize that there was no possibility of either verifying or falsifying this claim. It was my grandparents' house, so there was stuff all the way back to the 1930s. No one threw anything away during the Great Depression, nor afterward either. The Site Selection Team's inspection report gave it an "outstanding" rating. For some reason, during training for the program, we didn't refer to the warheads themselves, but to the keys, I suppose because it sounded so innocuous. During the Cold War, the nuclear strategy was called Mutually Assured Destruction, or MAD. The program I participated in to clandestinely re-base warheads was called Basing Of Nuclear Keys to Evade the Reporting System, or BONKERS. I recall that my neighbors accorded me a certain deference. You see, security is not necessarily a matter of firepower, but of deterrence.

Have a nice, bright day.

Then a neighbor wrote, "Tongue in cheek, right?"

I mulled this over. "Could have been, in which case I own him an apology. I took him seriously... seriously stupid."

"No, I meant to ask if your answer was tongue in cheek --- basing a nuclear warhead in your garage, etc."

Not to worry. The site was inactivated several years ago and the "key" was relocated. When I was debriefed from the BONKERS program (and, for that matter, when I was briefed into the program), I was not required to sign a nondisclosure statement. "Tell anyone anything you want. Most people will think you're having them on, but eventually your story and those of others who are participating or who have participated in the program will get picked up by our potential adversaries, and it will introduce an element of doubt in their minds." Sun Tzu wrote, "All war is based on deception." Make the enemy think you are in his front when you are not, make him think you are elsewhere when you are in front of him. Always give him cause to doubt your capabilities and intentions. Perhaps this was the real "key" to the BONKERS program. It could be that the program gave me no warhead at all, just an empty reentry vehicle. After all, in a number of strategic weapon systems there are decoys that deploy among the actual weapons to ensure their survivability, so it makes sense to me that some BONKERS sites were decoys. I suppose that we will never know for certain until the program is declassified someday and someone files a Freedom of Information Act request for program documentation.

Obama: Inspiration Lost in Space

2008-06-16T08:26:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
16 June 2008

According to Senator Barack Obama, "NASA is no longer associated with inspiration." If so, I wonder why NASA websites have scored billions of visits while the rovers Spirit and Opportunity have traveled across the surface of Mars.

Senator Obama has also said, "I do think that our program has been stuck for a while - that the space shuttle mission did not inspire the imagination of the public."

What could be more uninspiring than a program that boldly goes where hundreds have gone before? What's the mission we're flying next? STS-124... STS-125... or is that the number of sheep I've been counting as the space program has been putting me to sleep? Yes, the space shuttle program is boring, but it was designed to be. It was supposed to provide routine access to space, and except for the losses of Challenger and Columbia, it's been pretty routine. STS-126... STS-127.... are we inspired yet? The most famous astronaut in recent times is Lisa Nowak.

The space shuttle program was so uninspiring from the very beginning that NASA wasn't even inspired enough to give it a name like Apollo. But then, the American public was already bored with the Apollo program by the time an oxygen tank exploded on the third lunar landing mission. As Marilyn Lovell remarked when the Apollo 13 crisis erupted, the media hadn't cared that her husband was going to land on the Moon, but suddenly cared that he wasn't going to land on the Moon. And Jim Lovell was one of the men who had captivated the world by reading from Genesis on Christmas Eve only a year and a half earlier as Apollo 8 orbited the Moon.

So, I can forgive Senator Obama for sounding like Kurt Cobain when talking about the space program: "Here we are now, entertain us!" It's not just a Generation X thing.

However, it's curious that Americans are looking to him for inspiration while he is looking to the space program for inspiration and not finding it. It's also curious that his proposed cure is to make the patient sicker. He plans to delay Project Constellation--a space program with a real name and real destinations to the Moon and Mars--for at least five years, putting the saved money into a new $10-billion-a-year education program. President Bush has already killed the space shuttle program to help pay for the Constellation program, and with a President Obama, we may not have that either. This is of special concern to California in view of its large aerospace industry, including the prime contractor for the Orion spacecraft, Sunnyvale-based Lockheed Martin.

With space shuttle flights ending in 2010, and the first Constellation mission not scheduled until 2014, American astronauts face a planned four-year gap during which they'll be forced to hitch rides with the Russians--or even the Chinese--to get to and from the International Space Station, which is mostly American. That's a bad plan to begin with because development programs always slip a couple of years. As a new program, the space shuttle was supposed to fly in 1978; its first mission wasn't until 1981. So, I'll bet that even if fully funded, Constellation will fly no earlier than 2016. An Obama administration would add another five years to the delay, so it could be eleven years between the last space shuttle mission and the first Constellation flight.

The only thing more uninspiring than the space shuttle program would be no manned space flights at all, and on the Obama plan, that's what the next generation of American youth will get. We're already calling them Generation Z. Zzzzz.

Getting back to education, let's do some math. Senator Obama proposes to fund a new $10-billion-a-year education program by cutting back the $2.5-billion-a-year Constellation program. OK, and I suppose I can pay my $10,000 federal income tax bill with a check for $2,500? People's eyes glaze over when hearing about billions of dollars, so let's scale down to everyone's everyday experiences. Today, the federal government will spend $26.21 of my taxes. The entire NASA budget will cost me $0.16. I can afford that.

In an era of secretive government, the best-kept secret is how inexpensive the space program is. Polls taken over the decades consistently show that a majority of Americans overestimate NASA's share of the federal budget at anywhere from five percent to 25 percent. Would you believe it's only six-tenths of a percent? It's the best deal in the solar system.

I hope that this won't be viewed as a hit piece against Senator Obama, but as a friendly nudge, and I hope that he will understand that nothing could give a bigger boost to education than an inspiring space program. In the Apollo years, the number of students graduating with advanced degrees skyrocketed (no pun intended), and the nation has reaped the benefits of that Apollo inspiration throughout the decades of their productive lives.

Let's give the next generation something other than violent video games and other virtual-world fantasies for their entertainment. Let's inspire them to excel with a vision of the future that promises peaceful adventures on many worlds.

Dumbed Down Democrats

2008-06-14T08:00:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
Berkeley Daily Planet
12 June 2008

One of my international relations instructors at San Francisco State knew the late Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan of Massachusetts, and characterized him as a raging alcoholic. OK, I’m Irish on my mother’s side, that goes with the territory. But, he also said that Moynihan was smarter dead drunk than most of his colleagues were sober. Would that we had more Democrats like him these days.

I’ll fess up: I just lost the election to the Sonoma County Democratic Central Committee. Hell, I haven’t won an election yet. Now, you can chalk up my attitude to sour grapes. I don’t care. Jesse Unruh said, “Winning isn’t everything, but losing is nothing." Right, so why should I cry over nothing?

And, what a nothing the Central Committee is. I was in the office of one of our senior ranking elected officials the week before the June election, and a staffer declared loudly, “The Central Committee is a joke!”

How much of a joke?

One of last week’s winners is someone who a couple of years ago got the Central Committee to pass a resolution to ban from the committee’s sponsorship lists any local Democratic officeholder who “has publicly endorsed or supported non Democratic Party candidates or incumbents for an elective office, including non partisan offices,” or “has supported the appointment of a non Democrat to any commission, agency, committee, or other group." Shortly after I was appointed to the Democratic Central Committee a couple of years ago, I paid a courtesy call to the Republican Central Committee headquarters. They told me that this individual was the greatest gift that Democrats had ever given Republicans in Sonoma County. And, since he’s been reelected, he’s the gift that keeps on giving.

This guy seems to be mostly about restricting what other people do. Late last year, he threatened to bring a motion before the Democratic Central Committee to enjoin me from advertising my book in the signature block of my own email messages. So much for freedom of speech. Last month, he got a majority of the Central Committee members present to agree to restrict the number of resolutions that its Issues and Legislation standing committee can report each month. That standing committee has been far too productive, and it has thrown more issues at the Central Committee than it can stand to think about.

And he calls himself a “progressive.”

I was chair of that Issues and Legislation Committee, for which I became much disliked. Among my many transgressions was to ask the Central Committee to take positions on a couple of proposed amendments to the California Constitution. I met with vehement resistance. They were too much for the former mayor of Sebastopol to handle. “These issues are too complex and confusing for us to take a position on!" The issues in question were Propositions 98 and 99, which appeared on the June 3 ballot. Never mind that any high school dropout who was registered to vote could take a position on these. She likes to impress her colleagues on the committee by claiming to have a master’s degree from Harvard. Well, so does George W. Bush. I take it that Harvard isn’t what it used to be.

And she calls herself a “progressive.”

But this last one takes the cake. This weekend, another of the recent winners asked me about a Central Committee member who won reelection, but who has accepted a job as a Department of Defense contractor and who will soon deploy either to Iraq or Afghanistan. Dr. Marilyn Dudley-Flores couldn’t find a job in academia in this state, so in her mid-50s, she is going to war, to be embedded with troops one-third her age. But she’s tough; 35 years ago, she was the Army’s first female infantry soldier trained for arctic and mountain combat. I said, “She’ll do all right. After all, she served under Norman Schwarzkopf.”

The newly-elected Central Committee member, no spring chicken herself, replied, “That doesn’t mean anything to me." I looked at her with astonishment. When I saw the deer-in-the-headlights glaze in her eyes, I realized that she wasn’t being rude or flippant.

“You know, General H. Norman Schwarzkopf, who commanded American troops in the Gulf War?”

“I wasn’t paying attention." I might as well have been talking about Caesar’s campaign in Gaul. She says that she wants to work on issues that are important to Sonoma County residents, and she calls herself a “progressive.”

I suppose “progressives” might support our troops... if they knew where they were.

When one loses to people of this caliber, it really is nothing. Well, perhaps it’s a bit of a repressed grimace, followed by an unrestrained belly-laugh. I take it as an article of faith that the democratic process works in the long run, but neither have I any doubt that in the short run it produces sub-optimal outcomes. Just look at who’s in DC and Sacramento. In any case, I never really lose; if a path before me closes, there are still so many others that are open. I have some more books to write, and perhaps the Sonoma County Democratic Central Committee has furnished me with some useful material.

Meanwhile, I’ll drink a toast to Pat Moynihan. Maybe two.

The Race Is Over... Now What?

2008-06-13T08:52:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
13 June 2008

Now that the Clinton-Obama drama is over, in the calm before the national conventions and the kickoff of the autumn campaign, pundits will cast about for some other presidential election issue to fill up air time and column space. Some will reflect on this year's nomination process and schedule, on what went right and what went wrong, and on what changes might be made for 2012. There are a lot of voices out there for changing the process, and I'm one of them, but each of us has his own set of assumptions and conclusions.

The front-loaded schedule, with so many states voting on the first Tuesday in February, should have determined the nominees of both major political parties very early. In part, the schedule was actually designed to do that, although it is also true that the schedule is in part a "tragedy of the commons" result of states pushing and shoving to the front of the calendar. So, regardless of one's opinion on front-loading, this year's calendar was a partial success and a partial failure. John McCain sewed it up early, Barack Obama didn't. Why such different outcomes?

A quick victory like McCain's has become the norm over the past 20 years; it was the Obama-Clinton saga that was the fluke. No one predicted that the Democrats would have two such evenly matched candidates. But, removing the element of random chance, what made the difference was the winner-take-all contests in the Republican Party, which magnified McCain's advantage over his rivals. In contrast, the string of victories that Obama racked up wasn't enough to put him over the top early, for in every state that she lost, Hillary Clinton took a big bite of delegates. As a result, there is some grumbling among top Democrats about going back to winner-take-all contests, which the party began phasing out in 1972. In other words, the solution is for the Democratic Party to operate more like the Republican Party. That's not the Democratic Party I would want.

On the other hand, some Democrats have concluded that the system worked well this year, that the protracted struggle between Obama and Clinton was good for the party, and that no changes are necessary for 2012. They stayed in the media limelight while McCain was relegated to the shadows. They rained punches on each other and got into condition for the main event, while McCain has yet to take a hard blow. I agree, but after March 4, Clinton and Obama were really just sparring partners. With most of the primaries and caucuses behind them, barring a catastrophic gaffe or scandal, Clinton had no chance of overtaking Obama in the dribble of remaining contests, so the next two months were an empty charade.

So, a structural change in the nomination system is necessary, but Democrats don't need to revert to winner-take-all. In a way, the calendar needs to be inverted, "back-loaded," if you will.

One good feature of the present system is that it begins with a few small states: Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada, and South Carolina. In theory, this would allow small, underfunded campaigns to take on the big dogs in small venues where money is less of a factor than in mass media markets. However, there is no good reason why it should be these four particular states leading the pack cycle after cycle. Other small states are just as deserving, so the selection should be by lottery. Also, a Super Tuesday on the heels of the first few small states magnifies their importance. Landing one-two punches in Iowa and New Hampshire virtually assures victory on Super Tuesday, so that's where the big money gets spent, and the underfunded candidate is blown off the field. So, let's put Super Tuesday at the end of the calendar rather than near the beginning. This would allow for true "retail politicking" at the beginning of the calendar, giving small campaigns an opportunity to grow from early victories and compete with the well-financed campaigns in later, bigger states. Also, a protracted contest would have real meaning right up to the end, when the big prize of delegates would be waiting to be taken. Again, the states participating in Super Tuesday should be determined by random selection, as should all of the states at the beginning and in the middle of the calendar. This way, over several cycles, the advantage of one state of another cancels out, and voters across the nation are treated fairly.

The Feinstein Censure Resolution Is Alive, But Is It Kicking?

2008-06-12T08:45:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
12 June 2008

Last November, a resolution to censure Senator Dianne Feinstein was brought to the Executive Board meeting of the California Democratic Party. The resolution cited the senator's vote to confirm the nomination of Judge Michael Mukasey as United States Attorney General, "thereby elevating to the highest position in law enforcement a man who refused to renounce the right of the President to resort to torture and who refused to recognize waterboarding as a form of torture." Also cited was her vote to confirm Judge Leslie Southwick to the U.S. Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit "despite his clear record of racism and gender discrimination."

The resolution was late in terms of that particular CDP E-Board meeting, thus according to the party rules, the resolution required the unanimous consent of the Resolutions Committee for it to be considered by that body. It didn't get anywhere near unanimous consent. There was some shouting and shoving over the next couple of days, including a classic "blocking the camera" cameo appearance by Bob Mulholland in the meeting's general session, but party rules provided no procedure for bringing the resolution to a floor vote.

However, a resolution that is late for one meeting is automatically timely for the next one, and the next CDP E-Board meeting is this weekend. The Resolutions Committee resolution will consider the resolution, and it will probably vote it down. The CDP rules provide a recourse for a timely resolution that has failed in the Resolutions Committee: 135 Executive Board members, or 40% of the members, whichever is fewer, may sign a petition to bring the resolution to a vote in the general session of the meeting. So, this is the next hurdle that the resolution must pass.

The question is, should it pass?

The resolution has the support of the Courage Campaign, MoveOn.org, Progressive Democrats of America, at least three caucuses of the CDP, at least three county Democratic central committees, and more than 30 Democratic clubs. These censures sent a strong message to Senator Feinstein. She appeared to get the message. While the storm was brewing last November, she reversed her position on a bill that would have given telecom companies retroactive immunity when complying with warrantless federal government spying on Americans. She took the next available turn to the left.

A lot of California Democrats believe that Senator Feinstein should make a number of additional left turns, and we certainly need to hold her accountable for her votes in the Senate. However, seven months have passed since the censure resolution was first brought to the E-Board. Has it served its purpose? Does it make sense to continue scrapping with an elected Democrat as we march toward the autumn campaign season with the purpose of electing many more Democrats? Is it time to move on? E-Board members should reflect on these questions as they consider signing the censure resolution petition this weekend.

A Letter to Lynn Woolsey on the 2008 NASA Authorization Act

2008-06-11T10:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Representative Woolsey:

Thank you for seeing me in your Santa Rosa office a couple of weeks ago. As you pointed out during our discussion on space policy, in principle we are not so far apart, rather it is a matter of emphasis and priority. Once again, I urge you to consider that, given wise programmatic decisions, NASA funding returns far more to the American people than the outlay, and it is an investment in our future. It deserves high priority because it augments many other positive goals. In the military, we have the concept of key war-fighting technologies as "force multipliers." I see key space technologies as "future multipliers." They provide us with more and better options as to how we will continue to exist on our own overburdened planet.

In reading the 2008 NASA Authorization Act that was just reported out of the House Science and Technology Committee, I was particularly gratified to see that it provided funding for a Space Shuttle mission to deliver the Alpha Magnetic Spectrometer to the International Space Station. Last December, on the Fox Business Channel, I confidently predicted this during a discussion with Ed Hudgins of the Atlas Society (formerly of the Cato Institute and the Heritage Foundation), who was decrying the grounding of the spectrometer as another egregious example of government waste. When the government writes off a billion-dollar spectrometer, they call it waste, and when private enterprise writes down ten billion dollars in sub-prime loans, they call it a business decision.

I hope that you will add your name as a cosponsor of the 2008 NASA Authorization Act. I will continue to do my utmost to articulate a progressive vision of human space exploration.

Sincerely,

Thomas Gangale
Executive Director, OPS-Alaska

Primary Reforms

2008-06-10T10:19:00.000-07:00

New York Times
8 June 2008

The strange ritual of the Iowa caucuses, the fight over the Michigan and Florida delegations, the battle over the superdelegates it has been a colorful nominating season, but not the most democratic one. It takes nothing away from the achievements of Barack Obama and John McCain to take note that the system for choosing the parties’ nominees is seriously flawed.

The Senate is planning hearings on the subject, and both parties are talking about reform. We hope a better system will be in place by 2012.

A guiding principle behind American democracy is "one person, one vote." All voters should have an equal opportunity, regardless of who they are or where they live, to affect the outcome. The process should be transparent, the ballot should be secret, and there should be no unnecessary barriers to voting.

Tested against these principles, both parties' systems fall short.

Dianne Feinstein, the chairman of the Senate rules committee, which has jurisdiction over elections, says she wants to hold hearings next month on rotating primaries and related issues. Ideally, the parties would fix the process themselves, but insiders do not always have the interests of ordinary voters at heart. Whoever takes action, the goal should be a new and improved nominating process that reflects the will of the people.

FULL STORY

Florida-Michigan Fight Not About Clinton v. Obama

2008-06-09T07:09:00.000-07:00

By Paul Hogarth
BeyondChron
28 May 2008

But the more important question is what comes next …

Already, efforts are underway to plan the 2012 primary schedule in a way so that we don’t have these problems in the future. There are different ideas in the works, but all involve some national co-ordination of the primary process. If we respect that process, no state will get to hi-jack the schedule for its own benefit. My favorite is the American Plan, which creates a mathematical formula that selects each state at random on who gets to go first – but other solutions should be actively discussed.

But if the DNC Rules Committee doesn’t enforce its own rules on Saturday, any future effort at reforming the primary process down the road will be pointless.

FULL STORY

Ruminations on reactions to my "CounterSpin" appearance: parties need a fair schedule

2008-06-08T07:23:00.000-07:00

By Rob Richie
FairVote
27 May 2008

Last week I taped a short radio segment with CounterSpin, produced for national distribution by Fairness and Accuracy in Reporting. My subject was how many journalists have over-hyped recent Democratic primary results, not recognizing how predictable they largely have been in a race whose basic outlines were established by February 6th

During the broadcast, I commented matter-of-factly that the Obama-Clinton race is very close, but that Obama is ahead by several different measures, including the national popular vote. For me, this is a simple fact, as the only way Obama can be said to be behind in the popular vote is to count all votes cast in Michigan and Florida in January contests that the party had rejected months before. The only way Clinton can be said to lead in the popular vote is to count all votes cast for her in Michigan and keep Obama’s Michigan total at zero, given that he was not on the ballot. You can see all the ways of counting the popular vote tallied helpfully at Real Clear Politics

Perhaps I should have realized that this comment would draw some reaction, but I still was surprised at some of the vitriol in some blogs. My comment had no partisan intent, but this debate is a hornet’s nest.

This got me to thinking about why the Obama-Clinton contest has gotten as ugly as it has in recent weeks, with tensions mounting. What reinforces for me is the value of the major parties having a schedule of contests that ensures all states and territories have a crack at a meaningful contest, particularly if the nomination race is close.

Polls consistently show that Democrats want this contest to cover all states, but since March 4, Clinton has mathematically had no real chance to win a majority of pledged delegates barring a massive shift in voting patterns — there simply weren’t enough states left. With three more months of contests and most Democrats wanting a 50-state nomination, Clinton had every reason to keep campaigning hard. But to justify her candidacy her campaign has had to make arguments that can get both sides riled up — fighting over seating delegates from Michigan and Florida, for example, and starting to highlight the symbolis national popular vote.

In a better scheduled system, the pledged delegate contest would have not have been decided with three more months of voting in such a close contest. There would have been enough states voting at the end of the process for the race to be in play.

There are various ways to structure such a process, although they all require that states play by the rules that the party establishes. See our FixThePrimaries website for different proposals; my favorite continues to be the American Plan or some variant (such as ending with a national primary between the top two candidates or possibly top three candidates using instant runoff voting.)

Democratic nomination rules debate shows value of National Popular Vote plan

2008-06-07T08:03:00.000-07:00

Rob Richie
FairVote
12 May 2008

Former president Bill Clinton’s one-time chief of staff Leon Panetta is among those suggesting that Democrats would be better served by going to winner-take-all primaries where the candidate who wins a state takes all of that state’s delegates no matter how close the contest. As Bill Clinton himself has pointed out, Hillary Clinton would be far ahead with this rule, given her victories in states like Texas, California and New York.

Setting aside the debate over allocating delegates by proportional representation versus winner-take-all for the primaries (a debate where I think proportional representation wins hands down, as previously argued) and other issues like the impact of the Democrats’ schedule of primaries, consider the lessons for how winner-take-all would have played out in the Democratic primary for how best to elect the president in general elections.

In general elections, we currently have winner-take-all, state by state rules (Maine and Nebraska allocate delegates by winner-take-all in congressional district, but have never divided their electoral votes since adopting their approach and are highly unlikely to do so this year either). As we can learn from appplying this rule to the Democratic nomination contests, winner-take-all rules means that:

* The winner in the national popular vote is more likely to be defeated: HIllary Clinton wouldn’t need delegates out of Michigan and Florida to win if winner-take-all had been used even though she’s behind in the national popular vote and behind by more than 2% in the national vote without Michigan and Florida.

* Big states count more than small states: Barack Obama has won nearly twice as many states as Clinton, but she has won more of the big state. That helps explain why contrary to what some misinformed people contend, the current Electoral College system doesn’t help small states. It in fact makes the swing voter in big popular states far more important than anyone else.

* Close states count far more other states: The current Democratic system is essentially a national primary contest unfolding state by state. Getting more votes in every state matters, no matter how close, even if the media likes to obsess over who wins states as if the results were winner-take-all. In contrast, if winner-take-all rules were in place, the candidates would completely ignore states they couldn’t win or were sure to win. That’s sadly just what they will do in general elections this fall, as revealed over the weekend in the New York Times. Our Presidential Election Inequality report presents powerful data from 2004 about 99% of campaign resources going to 16 states in the campaign’s peak season.

* Recounts are a far bigger problem: When Hillary Clinton won Indiana by fewer than 20,000 votes, some in the media started hyperventllating about a recount. That was absurd. If Obama had won Indiana in a recount, he would have gotten only one more delegate. But winner-take-all makes artificial crises out of close results in states like Florida in 2000. The odds of a national recount being impactful with a national popular vote plan are minuscule, as demonstrated in our 2007 report on recounts.

Some might wonder why I don’t support proportional allocation of electors in the Electoral College as the Democrats use in their nomination contests. That approach would be better than winner-take-all if applied to all states, but it’s not nearly as sensible as every vote being equal in general elections. See chapter four of Every Vote Equal, the book I co-authored about the National Popular Vote plan, and our 2007 report Fuzzy Math.

Fortunately, we should have the National Popular Vote plan in place for general elections in November 2012 to correct all these defects in the current Electoral College system — the plan has passed in four states and will be debated in all other states in the coming year.

Washington Post Outlook: Proportional representation a big success in Democratic nomination process

2008-06-06T08:03:00.000-07:00

By Rob Richie
FairVote
11 May 2008

This is a theme to which we’ll be returning, as debate is rising about whether Democrats or Republicans have had a better nomination process, with a focus on the winner-take-all rules for allocating delegates that gave John McCain such a big boost to the Republican nomination compared to the proportional representation allocation rules that have extended the Democratic nomination.

FairVote is firmly on the side of proportional allocation of delegates, although there are ways it could be improved. For one, it has ensured that the delegate results more accurately reflect the popular vote in contests, making the Democratic race more like a national primary unfolding state by state. If winner-take-all had been used and and the popular vote had been the same in every state, Hillary Clinton would be far ahead despite trailing Barack Obama in the overall popular vote and being swamped in number of states won — a questionable result no matter what one might think about the relative merits of Clinton and Obama.

Echoing and amplifying arguments (such as here and here) I made on this blog, see Alan Wolfe’s ode to the Democratic nomination process in today’s Washington Post Outlook. Included in his piece is this quote:

For the Democrats, proportional representation, rather than producing chaos, underscored the party’s commitment to inclusion. Democrats are more likely to speak about equality, social justice and fairness in election campaigns than Republicans, and proportional representation is more compatible with those themes than a winner-take-all method. We live in democratic times in which people get to choose the churches to which they belong and the television stations they want to watch. Under such conditions, a party that opens itself up to its members invests them in its decisions — not only in the election coming up this fall but in future contests as well. More people became Democrats in 2008 than became Republicans, and more of them were younger. Exciting and open contests can do that sort of thing.

A Dialogue on the Presidential Nomination Process

2008-06-02T12:46:00.000-07:00

At 10:40 PM 6/1/2008, Jeanie wrote:
>Thank you for this posting. I have been reading comments on Hillary's blog site. I've been listening to Obama supporters. I'm VERY concerned.
>
>First, let me say that I've been a Hillary supporter since 1993, when she presented her proposal on health care reform. I've said many times since then that she was right, and we're paying the price now as a nation for not listening to her. I voted for Hillary in the California primary, not because I don't like Barrack Obama - I like him a lot - but because I felt she was the best qualified, most knowledgeable of the two. That said:
>
>I am deeply troubled by the feverish, angry loyalty that is being displayed on her website blog. It's great for people to be inspired by a candidate, and to work for that candidate's election. And I'm sure the more involved one gets, the more emotional it all becomes. However, it is a problem for our party and our nation if people are only committed to individual candidates, and not to the principles of the Democratic Party itself. We are supposed to be choosing OUR nominee here - whichever one it is. I'm starting to feel like a lot of people are hijacking our party for the sake of their own candidate, and no one else - in both camps. The length of the divide, in terms of time, may not be a factor at all. I think it is just making the problem visible. Someone needs to get to these people, and soon. Someone they'll listen to. They need to understand that the venom in each camp is going to lead to yet another pathetic Republican administration, against the values and life's work of both Clinton and Obama.
>
>All right. So good luck with that! (I'll try to do my part in San Benito County. But there needs to be a national effort.)

Dear Jeanie,

You raise some excellent points. I took a long time to decide on a candidate. I decided for John Edwards shortly before the California primary, and within an hour of mailing my ballot, I learned that he had just withdrawn from the race. I am not emotionally tied to either Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama, but only emotionally tied to the victory of one of them in November. Also, as a political scientist, I tend to focus more on the political process than on the candidates and the issues.

So, as to process, having been disenfranchised by Edwards' withdrawal, I suddenly saw the utility of having a ranked ballot for presidential candidates. There are two good reasons to support this. Increasing numbers of citizens are voting by mail, so what happened to me is likely to become a more common occurrence. Also, even if there were no voting by mail and everyone cast their vote on election day, many people would be disenfranchised because the Democratic Party requires a candidate to reach a certain threshold percentage of the popular vote, below which, no delegates are apportioned. If your candidate doesn't reach the threshold, your vote is not counted toward the allocation of any delegate, and effectively, your vote is thrown away.

The Democratic Party has another mechanism for restricting democracy in its presidential nomination system: superdelegates.

I am often asked why these antidemocratic mechanisms exist, and I think that it is important to understand the history of how we got to where we are today. As I explain in my book, it started in Chicago in 1968. When the party nominated Hubert Humphrey, a man who entered not a single presidential primary, and a riot erupted outside the convention, the party concluded that its nomination system needed a massive overhaul. The party tapped George McGovern to chair a commission to study and to make recommendations. McGovern saw where the commission was heading before it issued its report, and he left the commission to declare his candidacy for the 1972 nomination. He based his campaign strategy on his insider's knowledge of the new rules that the commission was likely to recommend and that the party was likely to adopt, thus he stole a march on all of the other candidates who were playing by the old rules and whose strategies were about to become obsolete. As McGovern foresaw, the commission recommended that states abandon caucuses and institute primaries, in order to reduce the influence of state and local party bosses and empower the rank and file party members. Also, the winner-take-all system was abolished, and from that time on, all delegates were to be allocated according to the percentage of the popular vote, with low thresholds. The modern era of presidential nomination was born, and 1972 was to be the most democratic process by which the Democratic Party would choose its nominee.

The result, of course, was an unmitigated disaster. McGovern easily captured the nomination, and lost to Richard Nixon in one of history's biggest landslides. The Democratic Party went back to the drawing board, concluding that too much democracy was not a good thing. A new commission, chaired by Morley Winograd, made a number of problematic recommendations. First, it enshrined the "first in the nation" status of the Iowa caucuses and the New Hampshire primary. Second, it permitted the dwindling number of caucus states to raise their thresholds to 20 percent, and primary states to 25 percent. Third, it created superdelegates as 10 percent of the total number of delegates required to nominate a presidential candidate, so that party leaders would have voting power at the national convention and exert some influence over the nomination outcome.

As an aside, I should mention that a consequence of the proliferation of primary states is that campaigning is more expensive, and candidates must create huge, ad hoc political machines to compete for the nomination, and the party machinery is barely in play; thus, activists' principal loyalty is to their candidates, not to the party. So, when you say that you feel that "a lot of people are hijacking our party for the sake of their own candidate, and no one else - in both camps," this is a phenomenon that has been building for several decades, but has only now become apparent because, in a system designed to produce a nominee before most people know what's going on, we accidentally have a truly competitive nomination race in 2008.

There have been other commissions that have tinkered around the edges in the course of the intervening 40 years, lowering and raising the threshold and superdelegate percentages, but that is essentially the system we have today. Often, this tinkering has been done on the basis of the perceived self-interest of the moment, or on an incomplete and faulty analysis of the most recent election outcome, with the result that the party often bumbles from one disaster to the next. A case in point is that now, because of the protracted struggle between Clinton and Obama, party elites are grumbling about going back to winner-take-all primaries, which the Republican Party never abolished. For those who are all stoked up about one candidate or the other, my advice would be to watch what the party is going to do to the process for 2012. Is the party going to go back to the past and become more like the Republican Party? Is the solution to have an even less democratic process than we already have? I believe that such knee-jerk ideas are likely to produce future disasters for the party. I believe that the solution is more democracy, not less, an intelligently-designed system rather than a few timid ideas kluged onto a successively kluged process. The McGovern revolution solved a huge set of problems for the party, but it also produced a set of unintended consequences that the party has never dealt with in a scientific manner. I believe that the democratic solution is to return to the principles of the McGovern revolution and to craft a process that will permit these principles to be fully manifested. Let's believe in democracy, and let's practice it for change.

Best regards,
Tom

Florida, Michigan delegates will get half-votes

2008-06-01T08:02:00.000-07:00

I called it in March:

At 06:28 PM 3/13/2008, Thomas Gangale wrote:

Regarding Florida and Michigan, tell everyone to split the difference and settle. The Republicans only took away half their delegates, why should Democrats be more bastardly than they?

And again a couple of days ago:

At 07:22 PM 5/30/2008, Thomas Gangale wrote:
If it were up to me, I'd be Solomonic: let Florida and Michigan have half of their delegates, and move on to more pressing matters. This is also how the RNC Rules Committee dealt with them, so in terms of inter-party political calculation, there would be parity. Can the DNC afford to have these two states still pissed off in November?

By Nedra Pickler and Beth Fouhy
Associated Press
31 May 2008

WASHINGTON (AP) Democratic Party leaders agreed Saturday to seat Michigan and Florida delegates with half-votes at this summer's convention with a compromise that left Barack Obama on the verge of the nomination but riled Hillary Rodham Clinton backers who threatened to fight to the August convention.

"Hijacking four delegates is not a good way to start down the path of party unity," said adviser Harold Ickes.

Clinton's camp maintains she was entitled to four additional Michigan delegates.

The decision by the party's Rules Committee raised slightly the total delegates Obama needs to clinch the nomination. Clinton advisers conceded privately he will likely hit the magic number after the final primaries are held Tuesday night, but said the ruling threatened to dash any hopes of a unified party.

"Mrs. Clinton has told me to reserve her right to take this to the Credentials Committee" at the convention, said Ickes, who is a member of the Rules Committee that voted Saturday.

FULL STORY

2008 Presidential Politics Simplified

2008-05-31T10:13:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
31 May 2008

Obama: a vague promise of change.
Clinton: a dubious claim to experience.
McCain: unchanged by experience.

How Professors Fight

2008-05-30T12:52:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
30 May 2008

This week, Dr. Marilyn Dudley-Flores began Human Terrain Team training at Fort Leavenworth, KS. After a month there, she will go to one of three other bases for an additional three months of training, then she will deploy either to Iraq or Afghanistan. When she was accepted into the program, I submitted my application, hopefully to share the danger and to watch her back, so I am still waiting on acceptance. I should hear one way or another in a few weeks, with a reporting date in late June. We have been advised to be prepared to move with the troops in 120-degree heat and wearing 40 lbs of "full battle rattle," including a sidearm. In our mid-50's, we are going to war alongside soldiers one-third our age, in the hope that they will live to be our age.

Having successively lost several academic positions on North Bay campuses during the past few years, the Human Terrain Team program was Marilyn's last, best opportunity. It is not what she would prefer; rather, it is an indictment of the deterioration of the American post-secondary education system and the militarization of the American economy. But, given the situation, and having served in the 1970s under Lieutenant Colonel Norman Schwarzopf as the US Army's first female infantry soldier trained for arctic and mountain combat, she will do what she must. Her old unit, the 172nd Arctic Light Infantry Brigade, regularly deploys to Iraq as the 172nd Stryker Brigade.

On the morning of 2 July 1863, brigade commander Colonel Strong Vincent inspected the position of the 20th Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment on Little Round Top, south of Gettysburg, PA. He explained to regimental commander Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, who had been a professor of rhetoric before the Civil War, that his position was the southern end of the Union line, to be held at all cost, for to lose this position would be to lose the battle, and probably the war. "Now we'll see how professors fight."

How soon some Democrats forget: Al Gore was not helped by easy nomination in 2000

2008-05-28T10:04:00.001-07:00

By Rob Richie
FairVote.org
May 10th, 2008

The conventional wisdom crowd is having a field day with misguided arguments in favor of avoiding competitive contests in presidential primaries — take former MccCain advisor Dan Schnur’s somewhat wistful analysis for the New York Times that if Democrats had had the same popular vote results in each state and used winner-take-all rules, Hillary Clinton would have a lock on the nomination despite having fewer popular votes overall. You now have Leon Panetta, former chief of staff for Bill Clinton, opining that winner-take-all is the way to go.

I’ve argued in this blog that Democrats in fact are getting a leg up over Republicans with their process — mobilizing far more voters that will help them in the fall in down-ballot races, getting far more press attention that has contributed to a widening advantage over Republicans in voter self-identification and getting more “battle-tested”, with plenty of time to heal wounds as long as the contest ends soon after the Montana primary on June 3rd.

Of course for many Democrats, they just want to make sure the process doesn’t lead to a loss in November. But they seem to be forgetting history:

* John Kerry in 2004 had an easy nomination process after his upset win in Iowa and follow-up win in New Hampshire. Then he lost a race a lot of Democrats thought they could have won.

* Al Gore in 2000 had a far easier nomination process than George Bush. After winning Iowa and New Hampshire and the onset of Bill Bradley’s heart condition, he strolled to the nomination while Bush faced a vigorous challenge from John McCain. By May, Bush was 8% ahead in a New York Times poll and went onto win a race many Democrats thought was theres. Of course the election was highly controversial, but few would argue Gore somehow was boosted by having such an easy ride to the nomination.

* Bob Dole in 1996 overcame a stumble in New Hampshire to close out the nomination relatively early under Republican winner-take-all rules. He never came close to defeating Bill Clinton’s re-election effort.

* In 1992, George Bush quickly fended off Pat Buchanan’s insurgent campaign while Bill Clinton had to fight it out for months. But Clinton won by 6% in November.

And so on. Each election has its own reasons for why the general election goes the way it does, with the most important being the public attitude toward the party occupying the White House. Having a more democratic process for choosing nominees seems to be no barrier to winning in November.

Space Exploration: A Progressive Investment

2008-05-27T23:18:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
27 May 2008

A typical reason that progressive politicians give for not supporting NASA's human space exploration program is, "we have so many issues here in our own country, and on Earth, to deal with as priorities." I first heard that argument before Neil Armstrong set foot on the Moon, and it is as fallacious today as it was then.

We will always have issues here on Earth; where there are people, there are issues. The issues change over time, but I doubt that there is much variation in the number of issues. Frequently, when we solve a set of problems, we inadvertently create a new set; if we encounter that new set of problems at a higher standard of living, that's net progress. On the other hand, we may encounter that new set of problems simply because, having solved that earlier set, we looked around for some new challenge. Indeed, given the human penchant for problem-solving, the exhaustion of problems would itself be problematic! So, waiting for all of Earth's problems to be solved before doing anything else means never doing anything else. Also, this position denies the possibility that what we do in space can be part of the solution to our problems on Earth. In our increasingly complex and interrelated material culture, this is a demonstrably false premise. We are not thinking holistically if we fail to consider space technology in our tool kit of possible solutions.

Progressive politicians' first line of attack is often "the billions of dollars" that the space program costs. Like the late Senator Everett Dirksen, I can talk about "real money." I can also scale down to everyone's everyday experiences. Today, the federal government will spend $26.21 of your taxes. The entire NASA budget will cost you $0.16. You can probably afford that. Furthermore, NASA's Constellation program of human space exploration by itself will cost you a little more than two cents.

Let's explore how the Constellation program furthers a progressive agenda.

1) Education. Nothing could give a bigger boost to education than an inspiring space program. In the Apollo years, the number of students graduating with advanced degrees skyrocketed (no pun intended), and the nation has reaped the benefits of that Apollo inspiration throughout the decades of their productive lives.

2) Energy. The space program pioneered photovoltaic and hydrogen fuel cell technologies, which, after decades of continuing research, are now becoming affordable for diverse Earth-based applications. It was as an aerospace engineering student in the 1970s that I first learned of heat pipe technology, which is the basis for most home and office solar heating today. Space-based solar power holds the prospect of opening up a new mode of energy generation, which would need to be on an industrial scale to have any effective societal role; obviously, a space-based industry will require space-based industrial workers, which is just one reason why we must continue to perfect human spaceflight.

3) Environment. Few people are aware of the amount of environmental monitoring that occurs in space. NASA doesn't just investigate the other planets, it also investigates Earth. Furthermore, as we gain greater understanding of the natural processes that Venus and Mars -- the planets most resembling Earth -- have undergone in the course of the past 4.6 billion years, we can compare these to the processes on Earth. By studying these planets, we calibrate our knowledge of Earth, better enabling us to see where and how quickly global warming is taking us, and better informing us of viable mitigation strategies. Since Earth is a planet in space, a comprehensive environmental protection strategy must include a healthy and well-funded space program.

4) Health Issues. I myself have worn portable, heart-monitoring equipment analogous to the biosensors that aerospace medicine began developing decades ago for astronauts. Also, the technological commonality that goes into roving vehicles on Mars and electric scooters for the disabled is obvious. There are other examples too numerous to mention. Space technology touches our lives in a hundred positive ways every day; it's just that they're not advertised as such.

5) Labor. I suppose that when most people think of the aerospace industry, they think of Boeing, Lockheed Martin, and Northrop Grumman. When I worked in the industry, I saw machinists, electrical workers, and forklift operators. The aerospace industry and its subcontractors in various other industries employ the disparate skills of hundreds of thousands of Americans in well-paid jobs with good benefits, and in many cases these are union jobs.

6) Business. Nor is the aerospace industry confined to large corporations. They are primarily system integrators, subcontracting much of the work to smaller companies, with federally-mandated set-asides for women-owned and minority-owned disadvantaged businesses.

7) Military. If you have read Chalmers Johnson's "Sorrows of Empire," you know that he despairs that nothing short of armed revolution can ever break the grip that the military-industrial complex has over our federal government. Voting against Department of Defense appropriations bills time and again is futile, since defense industry lobbyists will always find the votes they need elsewhere. You will never starve this beast. But, we may be able to tame it. Naturally, the corporations want to stay in business, and being corporations, they don't much care whether they work on missiles for attacking Iran or missions to Mars. We must establish that priority. Certainly, a limited amount of aerospace technology can be leveraged into developing mass transportation solutions and serving other social needs, but let's be frank, there isn't much of a missile in a light rail car. The most immediate and effective way to demilitarize the aerospace sector of the American economy, without inflicting significant dislocation, is to transfer funding from DoD weapon systems procurement to NASA, and if done on a one-for-one basis, there should be little resistance from industry. Absent such a conversion -- if nothing else a partial one -- dooms us to a continued foreign policy of belligerence; if you build it, you will use it.

8) Social Issues.

a) Bill Clinton, quoting from Proverbs, said, "Without vision, the people perish." Today's vision, if that's the proper word for it, is violence. For working class youth, there are street gangs; for middle class youth, there are a plethora of video games in every conceivable style and scenario of combat. Our youth are desensitized to violence and they are programmed to serve the war machine. And the people perish. I grew up during the Vietnam War, and yes, there was that pervasive image of destruction, but there was also an alternative: the was John Kennedy's vision of the New Frontier. Let's give the next generation something other than virtual-world fantasies for their entertainment and wars on the other side of the world to appeal to youth's quest for adventure. Let's inspire them to excellence with a vision of the future that promises peaceful adventures on many worlds.

b) While earlier I addressed the environmental monitoring aspects of spaceflight, there is another dimension: human spaceflight as environmentalism. Sending crews to the Moon and to Mars while containing costs mean reducing the mass that we launch into space, and the way we do that is by living and operating on the far edge of efficiency, reducing the footprint of the human support system, recycling recycling, recycling. That's how ten people will live on the Moon and on Mars, where developed resources are limited. Meanwhile, how can ten billion people live on Earth, where resources are increasingly scarce, with an advanced standard of living? The same way: with the smallest possible footprint. But, it will require a major cultural shift. Essentially, we must all learn to live like astronauts, using no more than we need. How do we progress to the astronaut material culture unless we have astronauts as prominent role models? This will require making the adventure of human exploration on other worlds part of everyday existence here on Earth. Buckminster Fuller called this "Spaceship Earth," and Archibald MacLeish called us "riders on the Earth together." Spaceship Earth doesn't need any more riders; it needs more crewmembers, and that is a culture that only a fully manifested spacefaring society can inculcate.

Again, the NASA budget costs each person sixteen cents per day. Short-changing humankind's future is not a "progressive" agenda.

Woolsey's Sound Bites for Peace

2008-05-18T10:09:00.001-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
Petaluma Argus-Courier
Petaluma, California
29 June 2005

In reading Chris Coursey's "Opposing War in Five-Minute Increments," which appeared in the Press Democrat on March 28, I gained an increased admiration for Rep. Lynn Woolsey. Her lonely evening vigil in the nearly-deserted House chamber, where she bears witness to the folly and evil of war, may seem quixotic on the surface. On the contrary, her campaign against the Iraq War is exactly the sort that one should wage against an opponent of superior force: small, incremental victories that wear down that opponent over time. It is the strategy of Fabius over Hannibal, Washington over Cornwallis, Giap over Abrams.

Nearly 2200 years ago, Marcus Porcius Cato the Censor invented the sound bite by ending every speech in the Roman Senate, regardless of its subject, with the words "Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam" -- "In conclusion, I believe that Carthage must be destroyed." One can imagine that Cato's colleagues thought him quixotic, and some may have laughed at him in secret when he brandished a branch of figs, allegedly of Carthaginian origin, as "proof" of Carthage's resurgence as a Mediterranean power and a mortal threat to Rome. Yet armed with this flimsy evidence, much as Colin Powell played tape recordings to the UN Security Council two years ago, Cato eventually won the day. Carthage was destroyed.

But Cato could not have foreseen the consequences of victory. Whereas many of his contemporaries were only too glad to believe that Rome's pre-emptive war against Carthage was an act of self-defense, history has judged otherwise. Rome paid dearly for its hubris; in the course of the next century its republic was battered down by its own imperialism. Rome was destroyed.

Quo vadis, America?

It is a historical fact that the persistent drumbeat of oratory can drive a great nation down the road to war. Perhaps our generation can answer this question: can the patient vigil of one person of conscience move a great nation down the road to peace?

In conclusion, I believe that Lynn Woolsey must be re-elected.

David Broder's President of the Swing States of America

2008-05-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

By Rob Richie
Fairvote.org
9 May 2008

David Broder, dean of inside-the-Beltway political pundits, often accurately captures the insiders' conventional wisdom. That's what makes his Washington Post column yesterday so reveavling. He casually calls North Carolina and Indiana "throwaway" states unworthy of the attentiont they received in Democratic primaries on May 6th.

"Throwaway"? Is this American democracy we're talking about?

Sadly, the answer is yes. Broder's appalling observation is based on the cruel reality of today's Electoral College system: a few states matter, and most states are so "unimportant" that they are "throwaways." The people of North Carolina and Indiana -- and indeed most of the nation -- may care about America just as much as the people of Ohio and Iowa, but fundamentally they are irrelevant. They live in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Broder is right that the major nominees will at most make token appearances in those states after securing their party's nomination.

Indeed, following this logic, Broder suggests these states shouldn't even count in primaries. He audaciously suggests that "In a sensible nominating system, these states would never become important battlegrounds. Lots of people complain that Iowa and New Hampshire enjoy disproportionate influence because of their place at the start of the process. But both are closely contested in November -- not throwaways."

For Broder, it's sensible that if a state is irrelevant in November it should be irrelevant in the nomination process. Long live the POTSSOA -- President of the Swing States of America.

FULL STORY

Sore Dems Want Out of Proportion Primaries

2008-05-16T19:55:00.000-07:00

By Donald Lambro
Townhall.com
9 May 2008

Under the Democrats' proportional system, delegates are awarded among the candidates in direct proportion to the vote each receives in the congressional districts, with some portion based on their share of the statewide vote. In the winner-take-all system used by the Republican Party, the candidate who takes a state primary, even by a single vote, wins all its delegates. But liberal Democrats are repulsed by what they consider to be an undemocratic, survival-of-the-fittest system that quickly eliminates the weaker candidates.

Throughout the year's primary battles, I always made it a habit of asking Clinton supporters whether they believed it would have been far better for their party if it had switched to winner-take-all. The answer was usually the same: no. The proportional system was "fairer," it rewarded front-runners and second-tier candidates, giving them a chance to build support as they became better known to their party, they told me.

Now, I find more and more Democrats -- especially Hillary's supporters -- regretting the present system, which produced an interminable nominating process that has proved to be costly, divisive and politically exhausting. The Democrats come off as the party who can't get its act together, struggling to produce a nominee, while Republicans have picked their strongest candidate early and are confidently gearing up for their convention and the general election to come.

FULL STORY

A plea to Clinton campaign: Don't use Florida and Michigan to block future reform

2008-05-15T18:35:00.000-07:00

Rob Richie
Fairvote.org
9 May 2008

Democratic voters in Florida and Michigan have every reason to be frustrated about not having contests that elected delegates to the Democratic convention in Denver this August. But I hope they remember where to point their finger of blame: their state parties.

I'm a big fan of the parties establishing a rational schedule for nominating presidential candidates. My current favorite is the American Plan, perhaps ending with a single national primary the first Tuesday in June, but any number of plans are better than what we have - -see our FixThePrimaries website detailing several of them.

There's one common thread through every plan, however: the parties will need to enforce them, and states can't just move their primary or caucus to the front after the plan's been established.

That's what Florida and Michigan did in the past year. Party leaders in those states were understandably frustrated at being left out in past elections, and they didn't want it to happen again. So even though the Democratic National Committee went through a lengthy process of deciding how to modify their rules (putting South Carolina and Nevada into the January mix with Iowa and New Hampshire and having all other states wait until at least February 5th), Michigan and Florida last year passed laws establishing a January primary.

In the summer of 2007 the Democratic National Committee (DNC) made it clear that trying to establish a January primary would have severe consequences -- these states' delegates would not be seated at the national convention. The DNC offered alternatives like caucuses. But the Michigan and Florida parties essentially played chicken with the DNC, metaphorically putting their states' voters directly in front of the rushing train.

But the DNC didn't blink, so all the major campaigns swore off campaigning in Michigan and Florida.

Now that Senator Hillary Clinton is behind in delegates, her campaign is using high-toned rhetoric to urge that the January votes now be counted -- even though hers was the only major candidate with a name on the Michigan ballot and no campaign had operations in Florida Yesterday Sen. Clinton wrote: "whoever emerges as the Democratic nominee will be hamstrung in the general election if a fair and quick resolution is not reached that ensures that the voices of [Florida and Michigan] voters are heard--.. The Republicans won an election [in 2000] by successfully opposing a fair counting of votes in Florida. As Democrats, we must reject any proposals that would do the same."

Democratic voters in Florida and Michigan of course matter, and I hope for their sakes that some agreement is made. But Sen. Clinton, the comparison between Florida in November 2000 and Florida in 2008 does not wash. If ever we are to have a better nomination process, states will need to abide by their national party rules -- and indeed I think they will if those rules are clearly fair. Parties can't establish a precedent of casting those rules aside when it is politically convenient to do so.

Night of the Living Dems

2008-05-14T00:13:00.000-07:00

by Thomas Gangale
14 May 2008

About 15 years ago, when I was working for a small company in Brisbane, a coworker about ten years my junior laid a pearl of wisdom upon me in a political discussion, making reference to "fascist leftists."

"Pray tell, what is a fascist leftist?"

He drew himself up all self-righteous, "You don't want to save the whales? Fuck you, man!"

In other words, if you aren't with my political agenda, you're not a real progressive.

As a hopefully former member of the Sonoma County Democratic Central Committee (I say "hopefully former" because, against my better judgement, I'm on the ballot seeking another term), I've come to understand the profundity of that apparently flippant characterization by a thirty-something: If you're not with a self-anointed "progressive's" program, you're a DINO (Democrat in name only).

In my nearly two years on the DCC, I have had the misfortune to become acquainted with the most willfully ignorant, narrow-minded rednecks in a supposed liberal bastion. They flatter themselves "progressives" because it's cool to say you're one. A friend of mine from South Carolina refers to them as the lint in the cosmic navel. She may not be able to define rednecks, but she knows them when she sees them.

One night last winter, the chair of the Democratic Central Committee of Marin, a self-described meeting junkie, came to one of our meetings, soon to his regret. He tried to leave the meeting early, only to find several tobacco addicts taking in the adulterated evening air outside the Rattigan Building, who accosted him with tales of past internecine wars on the Sonoma County DCC. I told him the next day, "It's not safe outside of an SCDCC meeting after dark! The next time you come up here, bring some wooden stakes."

Would that I had taken my own advice, for last night was another "Night of the Living Dems."

As a bit of background info, you should know that almost every county in California has a Democratic and a Republican central committee (Alturas is in a different star system). All of them register voters, mount "get out the vote" efforts, and support their local candidates--they all want to win--but what most distinguishes Democratic from Republican central committees is that nearly all Democratic and hardly any Republican committees have policy arms. They may be called Resolutions committees or Issues and Legislation committees, or something like that, but in a nutshell, Democratic party policy begins at the grassroots, while most Republicans are content to receive the revealed word from the state party... or higher.

Last night, the SCDCC took a step to the right. It voted to limit the number of issues that its Issues and Legislation Committee could report to it in any given month, and as far as I know, no other Democratic central committee has such a restriction. This DCC wants to focus on winning elections. Well, what the hell does that matter if the party doesn't stand for issues? No wonder more people are registering as "declines to state." If your only objective is to win, what distinguishes you from any other party... or any sports team? You have made yourself value-neutral. As Oakland Raiders owner Al Davis said, "Just win, baby!" Is that what American politics should be reduced to?

The maker of this motion to limit political speech in the local arm of the Democratic Party is the same guy who, a few years ago, conned the SCDCC into passing a resolution to withhold its support to local Democratic officeholders who appointed non-Democrats to public offices. Forget about their professional qualifications, they had to pass a political litmus test. And they call this "progressive." In contrast, one of my first acts as a member of the Democratic Central Committee was to visit the Republican Central Committee. They told me this guy was the greatest gift that Democrats had ever given Republicans in Sonoma County. Unfortunately, the current local Democratic leadership has chosen to ally itself with him, demonstrating once again that the ends justify the means.

The term "progressive" has been hijacked in Sonoma County, and perhaps elsewhere. It now connotes some narrow, fringe agenda, not only saving the whales these days, but perhaps saving the light brown apple moth as well. In this county's Democratic Central Committee, one can propose an interminable string of resolutions supporting single-payer health care, ending the war, and impeaching the president and vice president, and receive unending praise, but stray outside of those narrow ideological boundaries and the so-called "progressives" go ballistic. The concept of a broad-spectrum progressive is alien. A few months ago, a motion to take positions on a couple of June ballot initiatives was objected to because, as proposed amendments to the state constitution, these were matters too weighty for the DCC to weigh in on. Never mind that any yokel registered voter, high school diploma or not, is going to vote on it. Man, is that leadership or what? Sadly, the maker of this motion tries to lord it over her credulous colleagues on the committee by repeatedly reminding them of her Harvard master's degree. Well, the current President of the United States has one, too. I guess Harvard isn't what it used to be. Glad I went to San Francisco State.

Results are in-- Democrats NOT being hurt by longer nomination process

2008-05-13T09:52:00.000-07:00

By Rob Richie
Fairvote.org
May 5th, 2008

Many analysts are taking the position that the ongoing presidential nomination battle between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton is a gift to likely Republican nominee John McCain. Worried Democrats and gleeful Republicans are a regular feature of the horserace drumbeat.

I don't think so. And there's some good evidence to suggest I'm right.

Sure, many Democrats can rightly worried about the tenor of the campaign, but there are two basic points to keep in mind: 1) Democrats are engaging far more voters than Republicans as the primary season continues; 2) there's plenty of time to heal wounds.

FULL STORY

Zigzagging Toward November

2008-05-12T09:45:00.000-07:00

New York Times
5 May 2008

As the Democratic presidential contest slouches forward, the Republicans are wise to look ahead to 2012 and try to invent a better mousetrap than the jumbled primary system that they find occupying, if not entombing, the Democrats. The G.O.P.’s rules committee has offered a plan that attempts to find a better balance between “retail” politicking in smaller states and the inevitable big-money, heavy media campaigning in larger states.

The goal of a more measured and conclusive pace is well worth pursuing. But the scheme is already in doubt as Republican leaders in the larger states denounce it in advance of debate at the party convention in September.

Consider the crazy-quilt experience this year, in which a glut of states rushed forward to attempt a de facto national primary in February. Record turnouts have been followed by increasing confusion as various “showdown” votes roll forward three months later for the two Democratic finalists.

Twenty-year-old Democratic rules, rooted in arcane formulas about past Congressional turnouts, have awarded caucus and primary delegates proportionately, with, so far, a winner never quite winning and a loser never quite conceding. By now, the vaunted Democratic superdelegates are wary of their grand power to play Solomon by settling the competition in late August.

The Democrats cannot rewrite their rules in midrace, but voters must hope that some lessons are being learned and that appropriate changes will be attempted the next time around. In the Republican plan, the sticking point is that smaller states representing a quarter of the Electoral College clout would always vote first as a group (with, yes, Iowa and New Hampshire retaining their prom-queen status as separate openers). Three balanced groups of larger states would follow, rotating their positions in subsequent elections.

This, at least, is closer to a rotating regional primary system as proposed by the National Association of Secretaries of State — the model this page endorses.

Efforts to devise a better system may well founder in the tooth-and-claw state of politics, and with separate state parties and legislatures willing to freelance parochially this year against national party plans. Still, if only in the name of democracy, voters and candidates are entitled to dream of something better.

Dean: Nomination Process Should Change

2008-05-11T08:43:00.000-07:00

By Kristin Carlson
WCAX News, Washington, D.C.
9 May 2008

As the Democratic presidential fight continues, Party Chair Howard Dean says that, before the next election, the nomination process should be changed.

The race between Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton has been going on for months. Although Obama has a lead, many Democrats are still worried there will be a nomination fight at the convention, which could divide the party.

To try and avoid that, Dean has asked superdelegates, who can vote for either candidate at the convention, to declare who they support. But overall, it's a complicated system, one that Dean says needs fixing.

"I think we could readjust the superdelegates, make them fewer, or something like that. There are changes we could make, but I don't see any major changes. I would like to move the primaries back and not have people freezing in January, and campaigning over Christmas in Iowa," Dean said.

Dean says he's already talked with the Republican National Committee about making changes together when it comes to the primary schedule.

Primary Care

2008-05-10T08:29:00.000-07:00

By Thomas Gangale
28 September 2005

Throughout all of history's republics, various means have been contrived to advantage a few over the many: sometimes by geography, sometimes by ethnicity, sometimes by theology; by tests of property, loyalty, or literacy.

In ancient Rome, for instance, voting was conducted by tribes: one tribe, one vote. The catch was that the upper classes were apportioned many small tribes, while the lower classes were aggregated into a few large tribes. In our present republic, we have many low-population states who dominate the Senate to the detriment of the few populous states: one state, two votes. Since each state has two electoral votes in addition to those apportioned by population, this inequity colors our method of electing presidents as well.

Another device that was used in ancient Rome to extend the political power of the economically privileged was that the tribes voted in a prescribed order, the tribes of the upper classes always voting before those of the lower classes. Quite often, enough tribal votes were counted to elect a candidate before the lower classes voted, thus they were effectively disenfranchised. Similarly, in the current presidential primary system, certain states are guaranteed the privilege of voting before all others. When Howard Dean suspended his campaign in February 2004, only one-fifth of the American electorate had spoken. Just as during the civil rights era, it was said that "justice delayed is justice denied," a vote delayed is a vote denied.

This is a civil rights issue and a voting rights issue, yet it goes almost entirely unaddressed in public discourse. It is an issue that crosses boundaries of race, region, and religion, and of political persuasion, economic class, and gender. The current system enables an injustice that is so pervasive, and has grown worse by imperceptible increments over so many decades, that most of us are blind to it. It is like the object that fades from view as one stares at it steadily, yet the object is still there. Similarly, injustice persists in the absence of our perception of it. Indeed, it flourishes ominously.

The Democratic National Committee's 2005 Commission on Presidential Nomination Timing and Scheduling recommended only small changes to the 2008 presidential primary calendar, "minor surgery" in the words of DNC chair Howard Dean, MD. If his metaphor was apt, it was only because the cancer was inoperable, and in the past few months we have seen it metastasize. The time is long past when an ounce of prevention might have been effective. The commission's tragic misdiagnosis will doom the body politic to suffer needlessly for a few more years.

So now, the only hope of a cure is in a full protocol of chemotherapy. It will not be easy, and it will not be pleasant, but it is imperative to our health and survival as a republic. Several systemic solutions have been discussed, some in scholarly journals, others only in the popular press. What is needed is for a panel of specialists in electoral reform to consult on this case, separate science from folk medicine and patent elixirs, and give us their prescription for the best course of treatment. Furthermore, so that we, the patients, can give our informed consent, they must disclose the probabilities of potential side effects and strategies for relieving them.

Then, let America take its medicine, and let us get well.

Will States Fix the 2012 Primary Process?

2008-05-09T09:16:00.000-07:00

By Pamela M. Prah
Stateline.org
6 May 2008

What if the presidential primary worked more like a lottery with all the states having a chance at the ultimate prize of being first to vote in the nominating schedule, ending the coveted tradition of New Hampshire and Iowa leading the pack?

That’s a simplified version of one of several ideas being considered by top party and state officials, who aim to prevent a repeat of states’ helter-skelter scramble for early presidential primary dates in 2008.

While voters in Indiana and North Carolina go to the polls today (May 6) to help Democrats pick Hillary Clinton or Barack Obama as their nominee and Republicans rally behind John McCain, party insiders and state election officials are in informal talks to improve the presidential nominating contests for 2012 and beyond.

FULL STORY

GOP seeks order to primary chaos

2008-05-08T12:09:00.000-07:00

Roger Simon looks at this year's extended presidential nomination race between Clinton and Obama and concludes that there is nothing wrong with the process. And if one stands in Buffalo on a cold, windy day, one may conclude that global warming is a myth. This is the fallacy of seizing on a single data point; it is not valid reasoning. --TG

By Roger Simon
Politico
5 May 2008

In past elections, most of the stuff discussed would have been considered "deep in the weeds," but this year there has been an intense concentration on the process itself.

Is our current system of selecting presidential candidates doomed?

It certainly is under attack. And that’s because it has become so messy.

It often starts with a fight over whether Iowa and New Hampshire will go first, and then the rest of the states jostle and elbow each other to move up close behind them.

This year has been downright chaotic. We have two "rogue" states on the Democratic side that have been stripped of all their delegates, and five "semi-rogue" states on the Republican side that have been stripped of half of them. And the Democrats are at an ethical crossroads over whether superdelegates should overturn the choice of pledged delegates.

It has all been very exhausting, which is to say fun. Though I realize not everybody has found it as jolly as I have.

FULL STORY

Who’s on First? Trying to Fix the Primary Calendar

2008-05-07T09:27:00.000-07:00

By Katharine Q. Seelye
New York Times
April 30, 2008

CAMBRIDGE, Mass. -- For all the bellyaching about the current presidential primary system -- it starts too early, goes on too long, is insanely expensive and gives undue influence to two small states (and you know who you are) -- it is possible that the same system will be in place for the next presidential cycle.

Or it might be blown to bits.

Some of the officials responsible for setting up the Democratic and Republican primaries -- various secretaries of state, state party chairmen and national party rules officials -- met here Tuesday at Harvard’s Institute of Politics to talk about the primaries.

By a show of hands of the roughly 50 officials, most thought the current system was basically successful. States that were once irrelevant have had a voice, at least on the Democratic side. Voter turnout has soared. Whether these outcomes are the result of this particular process or are unintended consequences of it, of course, are debatable, but that didn’t stop the Democrats in particular from crowing about them.

But they also agreed that some things should change. The official start date should be moved back to at least late February, even if the next campaign starts unofficially the day after Election Day.

They would also spread out the primaries to eliminate what David Norcross, chairman of the Republican rules committee, called the February "clutter." On Feb. 5 alone, 22 states held contests in what amounted to a national primary. This meant that many states didn’t see the candidates, didn’t have their issues discussed and didn’t get the media attention or the economic boon that they hoped for.

And after all, it is about the states and what they perceive as their best interests.

Determining that has been a vexing process for decades. But "fixing" the system means different things to different people. And it is clear from the discussion here that some states are ready to repeat last year’s “gold rush” in which everyone flocks to be first -- and try again to snatch the early attention from Iowa and New Hampshire.

FULL STORY

GOP Proposes New Primary Calendar

2008-05-06T10:21:00.000-07:00

By Stephen Ohlemacher, AP
2 April 2008

WASHINGTON (AP) - A Republican Party rules committee voted Wednesday to allow small states to hold nominating contests before big states in 2012, which would preserve the traditional roles of Iowa and New Hampshire as the earliest voting states.

Larger states would be placed into three groups that would rotate the dates of their nominating contests.

With this year's GOP nominee chosen, Republicans already are moving to regain control of the presidential primary calendar four years from now. Ohio GOP Chairman Robert Bennett, who developed the plan, said a coordinated primary calendar is necessary because so many states were moving their primaries earlier.

"Nobody wants a national primary," Bennett said in a telephone interview from the GOP meeting near Albuquerque, N.M. "When you have a national primary you eliminate retail politics. You eliminate the ability of candidates to sit in somebody's living room and talk to them."

Bennett said he accepted the special early voting status for Iowa, New Hampshire, Nevada and South Carolina as a political reality he cannot change.

This year, Iowa started the voting with its caucuses on Jan. 3, and more than 20 states staged a de facto national primary on Feb. 5.

Michigan GOP Chairman Saul Anuzis said Iowa and New Hampshire shouldn't be allowed to vote first just because they have in the past.

FULL STORY

What govs think of '08 primary calendar

2008-02-28T13:10:00.000-08:00

By Pamela M. Prah
Stateline.org
28 February 2008

Many governors regard this year’s chaotic mad dash for early spots on the presidential primary calendar as a mess to be avoided for 2012 — but are quite happy with how the 2008 schedule worked for them.

To assess governors’ thoughts on the earliest nominating schedule in history, Stateline.org buttonholed state chief executives in Washington, D.C., to attend the National Governors Association winter meeting, which closed Feb. 25.

FULL STORY

Real Progressives and Conservatives Get Along

2008-02-25T09:10:00.000-08:00

By Thomas Gangale
San Francisco Chronicle
24 February 24, 2008

Bill Brock is retired from politics these days, but he used to be a U.S. senator, U.S. secretary of labor, Republican National Committee chair and a few other things. His Wikipedia biography states that "while in the Senate, Brock was a darling of the conservative movement." A few months ago, Bill asked me, "How can you be a serious Democrat and still make so much sense?"

My response was rather flippant: "Actually, before I was a Democrat, I was a Republican. I started out smart, and got smarter, so much so that now I am such a smart a-, that what else could I be but a Democrat?"

But really, Bill deserved a better answer than that. The fact is that in my experience, a lot of Democrats are depressingly dumb. Some of my less-critical-thinking colleagues on a Democratic Party committee suspect me of being a closet Republican, some because I was a military officer and still read Sun Tzu, some because I've admitted to talking to Republicans (and they were absolutely scandalized when I went to a county Republican central committee meeting), and yes, maybe because I make sense. God knows some of them don't. One of my colleagues confided, "Yes, I've been told you are a spy, underground Republican, nuclear something, etc., etc."

FULL STORY

A Preemptive Strike Against Al-Davis Is Morally Justified

2008-02-19T09:41:00.000-08:00

By Thomas Gangale

19 February 2003

My fellow San Franciscans,

The time has come for us to confront the clear and present danger of Al-Davis.

Al-Davis is a maniacal tyrant who for decades has openly flouted the will of the National Football League's executive council. In so doing, he has done untold damage to the credibility of that organization to provide stability to the community of professional football teams. Despite numerous NFL resolutions, Al-Davis recklessly invaded Los Angeles in 1982. Thirteen years of sanctions proved ineffective in dislodging this dictator, and it was only his own calculating self-interest that led him to end his occupation of Los Angeles and return to Oakland in 1995. But his scorched-earth policies reduced Los Angeles to a football wasteland, and nearly a decade later, America's second largest city remains destitute of an NFL team.

It must also be remembered how Al-Davis clawed his way to power in Oakland in the 1960s, engineering a series of corporate coups against the more senior partners of the organization. His subsequent reign of terror, spanning nearly four decades, has been replete with ruthless purges against players and coaches alike. He has extorted vast sums of money from the city to build palatial luxury boxes for the benefit of an opulent elite, while the ordinary multitudes have been impoverished by exorbitant prices for the barest accommodations at his public spectacles.

Just last month, Al-Davis came within a scant sixty minutes of world domination, stopped only by the brilliant generalship of one of his former commanders (Jon bin Gruden) and the evident lack of enthusiasm of his own troops to do battle. But while the danger may have been temporarily averted, there can be no doubt that Al-Davis will try again.

Al-Davis' thirteen-year occupation of Los Angeles is proof that Oakland is too small of a market to satisfy either his avarice or his ambition. No major city in America can consider itself safe from the depredations of this evil dictator.

Obviously, San Francisco lies within easy striking distance, and for that reason we must act alone if others will not join us in dealing with this menace. We cannot wait for the next crisis to burst upon our beloved Baghdad by the Bay. Given the proximity and immediacy of the threat, and given this despot's long history of repression within his own territory and aggression against his neighbors, a preemptive strike against Al-Davis is morally justified.

It is time for a regime change. We must do for Oakland what she cannot do for herself as she lies prostrate under the boot of this madman. The long-suffering people of Oakland are waiting to welcome their San Franciscan liberators with open arms.

Thank you, and may God bless our City.

This year shows why primary system must change

2008-02-17T19:35:00.000-08:00

By Joshua Spivak
San Francisco Chronicle
10 February 2008

After years in which party presidential nominees are effectively chosen before most voters cast their ballots, 2008's primary season has been a refreshing breath of fresh air, with real races lasting through most of the primaries - if not beyond, as we might see with the Democrats. However, it is also clear that despite this year's excitement, the two parties should look to seriously revamp their nomination systems to avoid alienating their electorate. This year's primary campaigns highlighted glaring deficiencies, one of which - the superdelegates - might still cause a giant headache for the Democrats. But if reforms are not made, future presidential races may erode trust in the selection process.

There are two main reasons that 2008 saw an exciting election, both of which have nothing to do with the candidates or issues. The first was an anomaly. It was clear since President Bush was re-elected that 2008 would be the first time in more than a half a century where neither an incumbent president nor an incumbent vice president would receive one of the parties' nominations. The lack of an incumbent who could take credit or blame for the actions of the Bush administration radically changed the dynamic of the elections. No candidate was truly able to run on, or be forced to defend, the Bush record. The other side of this coin was at work in the Democratic primary. Even though the race was shaped by an anti-Bush sentiment, the Democrats were not able to run simply as the most electable, as the opponent, whose strengths and weaknesses were unknown. The 2012 election will probably return to the more traditionally structured environment, with the 2008 winner almost certain to seek re-election.

The other major event was the nationwide rush by states to move up their party primaries to an earlier date - resulting in more than half the voters casting their ballot on Super Tuesday. The states moved up after absorbing a painful lesson: The presidential primaries could be effectively over after only a small fraction of the voters had their say. Therefore, the states decided that the earlier the vote, the better the chance that candidates will pay attention to them. The rush to early primaries has caused an immediate problem for the Democrats. Michigan and Florida, as a punishment for moving their primary elections way up, have been stripped by the party of their delegates. Whether to rescind the punishment and seat these delegates may actually be the question that decides the nomination. If it grants Michigan's and Florida's demands to have their delegates seated (which would substantially help Hillary Rodham Clinton), the Democratic Party is opening itself up to every state jumping to the front in 2012. If the party denies the two states their convention votes, it may cost the nominee two key swing states in November.

FULL STORY