The Lord is a Shoving Leopard

Here is a thought experiment for gay rights advocates. What if tomorrow morning the US federal government legislated that couples comprising a man and another man, or a woman and another woman be given the same exact rights as heterosexual married couples? Only, there would be one difference. Gay couples would enjoy the very same legal rights and protections as straight couples, but they would not be allowed to call their unions “marriages”. Under the new law, they would be granted a distinct but equal title called a “civil union”. Would this be an acceptable end to the gay marriage debate?

I didn’t think so.

In truth, gay marriage is actually two debates. The first debate concerns the specific question of rights for gay citizens granted by the government. The second debate concerns the acceptance of gay citizens and gay lifestyles by civil society. Even though people frame the argument as if it were about the former problem, it is actually this second issue that is of greater significance.

Personally, I suspect that a strong majority of citizens support equal rights for all, including gays. My guess is that most would support gay civil unions which encompass the same rights as heterosexual marriage. That this type of solution has not been attempted tells us a few things.

First, it tells us that gay rights activists are using the marriage debate as a proxy to fight for societal acceptance of gays. Rightly or wrongly, they are not willing to accept a “separate but equal” compromise, and, like prior US civil rights movements, they hope to use federal/state legislation as a means of advancing their cause and forcing societal change.

More interestingly, the lack of civil union proposals also tells us that the US elites who could relatively easily “solve” the gay marriage problem, do not really want to do so. In fact, it makes it clear that government elites actually benefit from having this debate rage on.

For Democrats, gay marriage rallies a generation of young voters who have only experienced political activism in the narrow realm of social and identity politics (besides the recent and important Occupy movement). It also distracts attention from the economy under the Democratic president, where the problems that caused the 2008 crisis of global capitalism have not even begun to be resolved. For Republicans, the debates surrounding gay rights serve the same purpose as other classic wedge issues, which is to trick not-rich people into voting against their interests. By arguing against gay marriage, Republicans get evangelical Christians fired up and also energize older voters who are afraid of disturbing the old ways. FN1

What is not clear of course is what everyone else gets out of the gay marriage debate. It is estimated that about 3% of the population is gay, and no doubt, for them gay marriage is incredibly important. Enlightened people should also be concerned when any kind of discrimination persists in society. Still, when we ask “cui bono” with regards to debates over gay marriage, we should not be so happy about the intensity of the argument.

FN1: For reference: see Karl Rove’s masterful addition of gay marriage ballot measures in the 2004 Presidential Election http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._state_constitutional_amendments_banning_same-sex_unions

You look better sitting down
Much more lovely near the ground
Sitting there again my dear
Gazing far, hair on your ears
While I wait across the aisle
A furtive glimpse, I see your smile
I see you think, I see you draw
Wondering what it is you saw
That gave you such a knowing look
A world discovered without books
Maybe we could grab a bite
While I watch you in this light
I am bound and I am swayed
So much more than yesterday

Ah, I am laid bare
Now that you have met my stare
Don’t worry I won’t come near
So, please do not stand up my dear

“To what can I compare this generation?  They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others”

-      Matthew 11:16

I have a habit of seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe it’s the product of my overactive imagination or perhaps a heightened awareness to dangers, but I have always seen movement in the shadows. Because of course, there really is movement in the shadows. The world never stands still, even when it’s dark and you can’t see it.

It’s in the dark that I met the elfin king. He lives in the backyard of the house that I grew up in. In the daytime, the elfin king is actually the crest of a very large eastern white pine tree in that yard. In the daytime, you can watch the pine sway, but you can never see the elfin king. Look as hard as you might, but you won’t see him sitting there upon his needle throne, wearing a crown of 3 sharp branches, dancing slowly or singing a soft windy dirge.

At night, in my old house, I would talk to the elfin king. Since he never talked back, I mostly told him about myself.  I’d tell him about my life and how strange it could seem to me, like a movie that was happening to someone else. I’d tell him about moving to another country and the new worlds I was now a part of. I’d tell him how alone I could feel and how wrong the world could seem. I’d tell him about my guilts and my wants and about victories and defeats. I’d tell him about lost friendships and lost loves.  I once wondered aloud, “Are you happy sitting atop your needle throne elfin king? Was it hard for you too?” He just swayed in the moonlight.

The older I get, the less I go back home to talk to the elfin kind. I’m sad to say it, but he’s changed. His pine leaves have shifted over the years and his crown is no longer as prominent. I can’t even see his mischievous grin anymore. And of course, I’ve changed too. That backyard is no longer my entire universe. The part of me that feels like standing alone over it, staring through old blinds and talking to trees is diminished. But the feeling is still there. If the night air is cool enough and the moon is out and the sky is a shade of eerie purple, then sometimes I still get that familiar ache in my chest. I still feel that longing for a time that I’m not sure ever really existed. It’s then that I sense the elfin king is with me. Hello old friend, I say. I haven’t forgotten you either. 

A few days ago I was tasked with giving a speech to raise money for a local Jewish club. I’m not entirely certain, but I presume that I was selected to speak for a couple of reasons. First, I’m Canadian, so I can emphasize how the club provides a sense of community to those far from their ancestral homes. Second, I’m actually a terrible Jew (or technically not one at all according to matrilineal rules) and so can play to the secular part of the crowd. And, most importantly, I am probably the only club member who actually likes giving speeches.

I first got into the whole public speaking thing when I was in 6^th grade. My teachers tasked us students to write a speech that we had to present to the entire class. I still remember the streak of panic that washed over me when I realized what that meant. I was a shy kid, and the prospect of being the center of attention was truly terrifying. But! As they (incorrectly) say, the Chinese word for crisis is the same as the word for opportunity. The flip side of my crippling fear was a desire to be acknowledged and liked, and I sensed a chance to achieve both here. After all, if I could spin a truly rousing yarn, everyone would like me. No, even more, I would be a class hero! I imagined girls I had crushes on, swooning at my gripping performance and talking to each other about how awesome and handsome I was. Thus properly motivated, I wrote a speech.

They say to write what you know, so I did. I wrote about Star Trek. At first, I thought that so flagrantly displaying my nerdy proclivities could backfire on me. But upon reflection, I felt sure that - A - everyone already knew I was a dork and - B - a Star Trek speech could write itself. After all, I had watched every episode of The Next Generation about 10 times on repeats! I had virtually travelled alongside the Enterprise crew for years and watched them deal with everything from Klingon mating rituals to Borg assimilation, to the puckish machinations of the my favorite god-like being, Q of the continuum. I knew everything about Star Trek. I dreamed about Star Trek. I would even spend my nights thinking about what I would do if I had access to a real Holodeck - and am somewhat ashamed to say that the more “adult” uses for it did not occur to me until years later.

After some re-writes, I finally crafted what I thought was the perfect speech about Star Trek and its beneficial effects on society (and by projection, my life). I wrote about the show’s prediction of future technologies. I wrote about its progressive politics and vision of a peaceful world where racism and sexism were things of the past. In short, I wrote my heart out. Then, it came time to deliver the thing.

When the teacher called my name to present my masterful Treatise on Society and Star Trek, I froze. Sitting in that hard wooden chair, a familiar panic set in all over again. I didn’t know if I could do this thing. But, I slowly rose and trudged to the front of the class as heavy waves of dread washed over me. I looked around and could see my classmates displaying glazed expressions, mostly bored and anxious for me to get it over with. I breathed heavily and felt my voice about to crack, my palms swiftly moistening. And then, a minor miracle happened. I discovered my powers of dissociation.

You see, my brain is usually a giant Gordian knot of tangled fears and guilts and anxieties. But that day I discovered that like Alexander, I too could cut the thing and untangle all those threads. Well, not really cut them, or even unravel them in any meaningful way if I’m being honest. But I was able to place those fears in a dark recess of my mind. I was able, somehow, to ignore them. I could hear a corner of my brain let out a muffled scream, “Run away, you fool!”.  But my body was mostly calm and I focused on what I had to do. I delivered the speech.

I did a passable job too, which was not too shabby for a kid who most likely had some kind of social anxiety disorder. In fact, I was placed in the top of my class and, along with another classmate, was chosen to repeat the performance to an assembly of the entire 6^th grade! Ah yes, a fresh hell always awaits one in adolescence. I somehow managed to give the same speech to another 150 kids without wetting my pants. I lost the final competition (with some honors) to a girl who spoke about how her father was intimidating and would scare boys who wore their pants too low. She was charming and better than me and she deserved to win. She also turned into quite a beautiful woman (thanks facebook for letting me stalk her 15 years later).

But overall, I felt triumphant that day. It took me a while to apply the lessons I learned there, but looking back, it’s clear to me that the keys to my success were the same then as they are now. Be not exactly yourself, but still unashamedly a nerd. And of course, fake it until you make it.

Power resides only where men believe it resides. It’s a trick, a shadow on the wall…

― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

You know that the old systems are coming apart when you start seeing strange terms like “moneyness” being thrown around by respected people. Moneyness always had a specific financial definition, but lately I’ve seen it employed to answer a question that was long thought to be settled – the question of what money is. I mean really what is it? Think too hard about it and you start to give yourself a headache.

Is money a paper bill or a metal coin? Well, obviously in the age of electronic balances the answer is no. By now many of us (myself included) have had those “oh shit” moments where cash mysteriously vanishes from our bank accounts, only to reappear later. Or else the opposite happens when we move money from one place to another and our riches seem to temporarily double. And then there are those collective “what the fuck” moments with modern money, where for no apparent reason, the Dow Jones Industrial Average drops 1000 points in seconds . Yes the ghosts in the machine are very real, and they scare the crap out of people. (FN1)

It’s no wonder we love Gold. It’s shiny and durable and has been a marker of status and wealth for centuries. More importantly, gold is real. You can hold it in your hands. You can touch it. If you polish it well, you can even see a pale reflection of the world in gold. It’s too bad that gold isn’t money either. I mean, I don’t want to bash the metal like Uncle Warren did. Gold may not be productive and its allure is most definitely a quasi-religious sort of lie, but lies are powerful and they can live for a very, very long time. The strongest lies are almost as old as our strongest fears.

As the great horror writer H.P Lovecraft said, our oldest emotion is a fear of the unknown. In his books, it is not uncommon for a protagonist to dream of falling into a deep and dark oblivion (“Merciful gods of earth, I am falling into the sky!”). If the fear of the unknown is our oldest emotion, then the fear of falling is perhaps how it expresses itself in our minds. After all, people always seek shelter both above and below. They yearn for terra firma. But what lies underneath our supposedly solid ground? Do we realize that beneath our feet is a vast ocean of molten rock atop a deadly radioactive core? Does the concept of above or below even have any meaning in a cold and potentially infinite universe?

I think maybe it is best not to think too hard about it. Perhaps there really is a solid foundation to stand upon. Maybe with gold as with the earth, underneath us it’s actually turtles all the way down.

(FN1) - The concept of central banks creating money “with a keystroke” is part of what is fueling the great inflation/deflation debate right now. For the record, I am a deflationist. The people who worry about electronic money are far less concerned about electronic credit, which is almost entirely out of central bank control. In my humble opinion, any electronic “money printing” happening now is simply a transmogrification of the boom years’ credit which already existed. The inflation everyone worries about already happened in the early 00’s

Since I’ve gone to the trouble of jotting my half-baked predictions on this blog, I thought I’d also bother to update them (if only to see if I’m any good at getting these things right). And looking back, it seems like something of a contradiction that I predicted in December that Bank of America would need to raise money in 2012 (ie that they are fundamentally insolvent) and that I then recommended buying shares of BAC on Jan 28. Well, for my own record keeping, I wanted to note that I sold my shares a couple of weeks back and that yes, it looks like the Mortgage Settlement resolved itself nicely with Attorney General Eric Schneiderman eventually succumbing to the carrot/stick of the Obama administration. To recap, BAC is trading at 8.13 (up 11.5% since the original prediction), Wells Fargo is at 31.28 (up 5.67%) and the S&P500 is at 1369 (up 4.05%). So, in sum it looks like I more or less called this one and the financials all got a nice boost from being able to avoid future mortgage litigation, with BofA the big winner as they were the most exposed. Of course, it is arguable that if say things in Greece took a turn for the worse, B of A would have lost twice as much money as everything else.

Oh, and I still stand by the gloomy outlook on the company’s long term prospects. The Charlotte bank is once again trying to extract additional fees from customers in a recessionary environment, and this is sure to be a sign of desperation. Again, here’s Matt Taibbi for the full story: Bank of America in Trouble? It looks like the future bailouts are right on schedule.

I live in a bubble. I forget that it’s there sometimes. It’s invisible, you see, this orb that encapsulates me. It holds most everything in my life - my workplace, my social circle, my thoughts, my concerns, my troubles. Its walls reflect my thoughts and my voice and those of the other people in this bubble too. We never really see its edges because we never really feel the urge to leave it. And we never feel the urge to leave it because we think that it holds everything in the universe – this bubble. Things are really pretty good in here actually. We nerds in this bubble can fill our heads with talk of website frontends and company valuations and whether or not some $4 cup of coffee is better than another $4 cup of coffee (they’re all pretty good, truth be told). And when we get sick of the insularity of things, there’s always irony and dive bars and protests and giant pillow fights to make us think that yes, we are really living in this organic, breathing world of ours. But I can see it clearly sometimes. I can see the bubble when I go to MacDonald’s.

I guess I’m a bit strange because no one else in my bubble likes MacDonald’s. The food isn’t particularly good and it’s definitely not good for you. But hell, it’s fast and it’s always the same and the coffee is cheap and not terrible. But there’s something else to the place too, something that feels incredibly important. MacDonald’s as a place is a tear in the bubble’s space-time continuum. When I pass behind the golden arches of a MacDonald’s restaurant, I can feel that I’ve entered into another world. If I sit alone in there, as I often do, I can see parallel universes. I can hear the homeless men talk about their lives in MacDonald’s. I can see their beards and worn faces and their dirty sweaters. I can see the dog-earned copies of motorcycle magazines in their rucksacks. Hard men sometimes eat at MacDonalds. When they leave, I mentally count the money in my wallet and wonder if I should have offered them a few bucks. I can see families at MacDonald’s too. In California, MacDonald’s is full of large broods of Mexican children who seem so at ease with the world. They don’t have much money (I can see their mothers with coupons), but they have large clans and they learn to live with other people and they never seem to display the strange autism spectrum problems of white kids that are younger versions on me. Or if it’s not kids, I see teenagers in MacDonald’s. When I see them, I perk my ears and hear them talk about girls and basketball and I remember a time when that was all I thought about too. I can feel life when I sit in a MacDonald’s. It’s not pretty but it somehow seems more real. I don’t know if helps me at all, but I think that maybe it’s good to leave the bubble sometimes. Maybe we all need a Big Mac now and then.