Professor Higgins Gets His Wish

For years, the national discussion of gender relations has been anchored from the feminist perspective, which is to say, “What is life in America like for women?”  We think about the cult of motherhood, the infiltration of the business elite, our independence, our goals, everything to do with women.  It’s a good question, but it’s only half the equation.  Recently, the nation has expanded its focus to include another question:  What effects does the autonomy of women have, on the psyches of men?

Marcus Buckingham, who is something of an expert on this topic, has written an article for the Huffington Post about the aftermath of the gender wars (link below).  He begins by citing a TIME magazine article, which declares the gender wars over, in a draw.   Buckingham disagrees, saying that, ” [i]n a war, no matter the outcome of a certain skirmish or battle, the winner is the party whose attitudes, behaviors and preoccupations come to dominate the postwar landscape. By this measure, the outcome of the gender wars, if wars they were, is clear: women won.”  According to Buckingham, men are now free to think and feel anything that women think and feel.   

I can’t help but spin the dialogue again, and ask what this alleged victory will mean for relationships between women and men.  Of course, it will have meaning in every arena: politics, art, academia, from the boardrooms to the bedrooms and beyond, but I am especially interested in how the gender shift will be felt in interpersonal relationships.  In “A Hymn to Him,” from Lerner and Loewe’s My Fair Lady, Professor Higgins sings, “Why can’t a woman be more like a man?,”   It seems that time and the forces of change have, in some ways,  granted his wish.  Anecdotally, at least, it seems that women are taking over the psychological role traditionally held by men, as regards termination of the romantic bond.

In generations past, dating was expected to lead, if perhaps circuitously, to marriage.  For many, divorce was not permissible and for many more, divorce was shameful.  Men and women stayed in their relationships for the sake of propriety, or the children.  Many women silently tolerated infidelities and abuse because divorce was somehow worse.  Not so, in these modern times.

Personally, I am terrible in relationships, and am far better at breaking up than sustaining a relationship — in part because I have so much experience.  I really wanted to be half of a couple, however, and devised a strategy to help me overcome my loneliness:  for some years in my thirties, I consciously restricted the duration of the bond to six months in length.  I would meet a men in whom I was interested and when we got to the question of being together, I would lay out my ground rule:  You can have six months.  After that I get bored, the chemistry will have worn off and we will break this off.  Of course they agreed, but when the day came, I would inevitably find myself sitting across my dining room table from some poor thing, tearfully pleading his case while I encouraged him to channel this energy into something creative or productive.  Finally, I abandoned this strategy.  Recently, one of my very dearest friends, upon the dissolution of her engagement, asked, “when did the role reversal take place………when did men take over as drama queens ….where did they get this bitchassness from……and why do the girls make the boys cry now?”  She cuts right to the heart of this issue:  how are we, as women, supposed to find men who act like women historically have acted, sexy? 

Take a moment to consider the archetypes of masculinity:  King.  Warrior.  Lover.  Hero.  Shaman.  Provider.  For at least a hundred thousand years of the evolution of human women, these were our images of attractive men.  Humans are more than just beings in the present; we are driven by hard-wiring to value what has historically been advantageous.  When the present disagrees with the past, we are — on some level — confused.  These archetypes represent levels of control over women, but those levels  are dramatically lower, now.  During the past couple of generations, things are shifting, and the change is awkward for men and women alike. 

To read about this subject from a man’s perspective, try Paresh Kumar’s article at the International Museum of Women website:

 http://imaginingourselves.imow.org/pb/Story.aspx?id=982&lang=1&g=0

To read Marcus Buckingham’s article “Pyrrhic Victoria: Why Men are Becoming More Like Women,” click here:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcus-buckingham/why-men-are-becoming-more_b_360349.html

Ernest Hemingway

Ernest Hemingway is dead and he is still a much better writer than I.  Though I have not read everything he’s ever written, maybe five or six books, what I have read is enough to convince me that this is true.  I have long thought he is exceptionally skilled at pacing his stories and revealing just enough detail to suggest emotion without becoming maudlin, but I am now convinced that his spare style lends itself to dialogue, as well.

I finished The Garden of Eden last night (ISBN 978-0-684-80452-1).  It’s not my favorite, but I’ll tell you about it, briefly.  A couple goes on their honeymoon, and we find out that the wife is a little crazy. She introduces another woman into their marriage and goes a little crazier.  Eventually the wife betrays her husband, who is a writer, by destroying his recent work, in order to manipulate him into writing about herself.  I do not own the following dialogue — I barely own the things I say, myself — but it takes place after this betrayal.  The wife is trying to convince the husband to write what she wants him to, and he resists:

“‘If you were friendly you’d write them for me. If you really loved me you’d be happy to.'”

‘All I want to do is kill you,’ David said.  ‘And the only reason I don’t is because you are crazy.’

‘You can’t talk to me like that, David.’

‘No?’

‘No, you can’t.  You can’t.  Do you hear me?’

‘I hear you.”

‘Then hear me say you can’t say such things.  You can’t say horrible things like that to me.’

‘I hear you,’ David said.

‘You can’t say such things.  I won’t stand for it.  I’ll divorce you.’

‘That would be very welcome.’

‘Then I’ll stay married to you and never give you a divorce.’

‘That would be pretty.’

‘I’ll do anything I want to you.’

‘You have.’

‘I’ll kill you.’

‘I wouldn’t give a shit,’ David said.”

There’s more, but this is enough to give you a sense how stripped and raw and empty David has become.  If you can’t relate, it’s just because you haven’t been there yet. 

Hemingway does other, interesting things in this book, like examine the relationship between David and his father.  I’m not a strict Freudian, but I believe there’s something complex about intergenerational power dynamics and in some ways, David’s father reminds me of my own (although, to be fair, I hardly know my father).  Hemingway writes, “[H]is father, who ran his life more disastrously than any man that he had ever known, gave marvelous advice.  He distilled it out of the bitter mash of all his previous mistakes with the freshening addition of the new mistakes he was about to make and he gave it with an accuracy and precision that carried the authority of a man who had heard all the more grisly provisions of his sentence and gave it no more importance than he would have given the fine print on a transatlantic steamship ticket.”  Later, he corrects his wife when she refers to a time when David no longer loved his father.  David says he always loved his father, but that particular episode was the one during which he got to know his father for who he really was.

Especially during an era when too many things are called “amazing,” and “fabulous,” Hemingway’s Nobel Prize-winning, simple, declarative style is a reminder to see things as they are, and to pay more attention to what people do, than what they say. 

(But my favorite Hemingway book is still For Whom the Bell Tolls.)

“Jane and David”

My next writing project will be a screenplay based on a dream I had last night.  At the University of Chicago’s Divinity School, Jane meets David.  She is a Buddhist scholar of Muslim studies and he is a Jewish  man on track to become a rabbi.  We are just a few years after 9/11, and she wants to expand the American imagination about Islam, to show that it is largely a religion of peace, and he is interested in cross-faith dialogue, generally.  They become friendly, respect each other’s intellects, and fall truly, deeply in love.  To the surprise of both their families (his for religious reasons, hers because she is not a sentimental person), they marry.  Jane is about 5’8″, with dark brown hair and a husky voice.  David is over 6′ tall, roundish, with a short beard.

They move to Brooklyn, where he will be the  rabbi at a synagogue near a radicalized mosque and he works on outreach, trying to have dialogue with the Muslims who worship and recruit there.  Jane is working on her PhD, regarding Radical Islam, when she gets a visit from her college chum, Samara Montag, who brings with her Jamie Johannson,  from the State Department.  Samara has been working with him, translating recorded conversations and intercepted emails, and thinks Jane would be interested in this insider’s view.  In the course of the conversation, the man mentions he would be interested in anything she can find out about the radicals in the neighborhood mosque. 

By now, radical Muslims are gathering out front of the mosque frequently, demonstrating against US policies, recruiting young Muslims and making thinly veiled threats against infidels.  Jane hears and contacts Samara, wondering whether she should call Jamie, but gets her machine.  Jane calls Jamie, same result.

The next day, Jane is in the neighborhood, reading in a coffee shop/tea house and she overhears two of the men from the mosque making menacing comments about the infidels in the neighborhood.   She doesn’t want to worry David, but she is becoming worried about their safety.  She begins trying to persuade David to return with her to the Midwest.  It’s obvious they love each other, but he says his work in the neighborhood is too important, and she shouldn’t worry so much.

 Soon, Jane and David are in a restaurant when the convenience store next door blows up.  They learn they’d been expecting a child when she has the miscarriage.  Gossip in the neighborhood suggests that the explosion  is the result of a mishandled explosive device.  Jane overhears two men in a coffee shop conversing, in Arabic, about her husband.  Looking around furtively, they see her staring and change the subject, pretending what they’d been talking about was from a book or a movie.

She contacts Jamie, angry now.  “If they think they are going to Danny Pearl my husband,” she says,” they don’t know who they’re fucking with.”  Jamie agrees to meet her.  He tells her that the mosque is planning something.  They don’t really know what.  They need someone who can get inside.  They have a prisoner who can send an email, vouching for an operative, but they don’t have anyone to send.  They need a man who speaks Arabic.  Jane is frustrated that the government isn’t willing to raid the mosque.  David reminds her of the Constitution, freedom of speech,  unreasonable search and seizure, et c.

We see her lying awake at night, watching David sleep.  We see them in tender moments, truly in love.  We see Jane watching the news as David comes into their apartment.  “Look, David, they’re on TV,” Jane calls.  On the screen, we see the protesters in front the mosque, their faces contorted with the hate they’re spreading, as the reporter’s voiceover talks about the First Amendment.  Through the camera’s lens, we see over the protester’s shoulders to a man we haven’t seen before, who turns to face the camera before entering the mosque.  He has a slight build, dark hair and a full beard, he wears loose-fitting clothing.

Inside the mosque it is silent; we see several other men spreading out prayer rugs, and the New Arab Man joins them.

Jane is on the phone with  her friend Samara, saying, “What would you do, Sam?  They said they’re going to kill David…  David.” and he clears his throat behind her.  She hangs up the ‘phone and turns to face him.  They talk about what Jane heard in the tea house, but it does not have the same seriousness for David, who remains more idealistic.  He pulls her close and kisses the top of her head.  He tells her it’s natural for her to be so protective, she’s just lost a child.  He tells her not to worry so much.  She rests her head on his chest, closing her eyes and he looks toward the window, which with the darkness of night behind it, reflects the image.  In a day or so, Jane is walking past the mosque when a radical Muslim shouts about a fatwa regarding the murder of the local rabbi and the destruction of the synagogue.  She ducks her head and keeps walking.

We see several shots of the New Arab Man praying in the back row of the mosque.  He slips away from where others pray and silently steps down into the basement.  He peers around a corner into a room whose door is ajar and sees a man, soldering at a crude work table.

Jane is on the ‘phone with Jamie.  She is angry.  She says, “I know what I heard, damn it.  That man is calling for the murder of my husband….  I was there when they blew in the wall of that restaurant and I know there are explosives in that mosque.  They’re planning something, Jamie, something soon.  I know it.  Please, just meet me. Tomorrow. ”  She hangs up.

We see Jane and Jamie, huddled over a table in the tea house, heads together, talking quietly.  He pushes back from the table, shaking his head.  Jane leans in further,  drawing something on a notepad.  She tugs his sleeve to pull him forward,   She turns the notepad so Jamie can see what she’s drawn.  He takes the pen and adds to the drawing and tears off the page and hands it to Jane. She studies it for a moment, folds it up and puts it in her pocket.  The Arab men keep eyeing them with some degree of suspicion, until they leave.  As they part, Jamie pulls her in close to him by her arm and says quietly to her, “You know this is a very bad idea, right?”  She smiles.  Jamie says, “Call me before you do anything.”  He releases her arm, she waves goodbye and they part.

The next morning, David kisses Jane goodbye.  She watches out the window as he walks away then turns and walks to the back of the bedroom closet, reaching for a box on a shelf.

We are back inside the crowded mosque.  The New Arab Man is, again,  praying in the last of many rows.  Again, he slips away.  Back in the basement, he opens the door of the workroom and exhales.  He is alone in the room.  He shuts the door behind him and braces a chair against it.  We see him walk toward the table.  Upstairs, the group is praying, we can hear them, muffled, through the floor.  The New Arab Man is working on the device.  When he’s finished, he exits the room, shuts the door and hurries up the stairs.  He slips out the back door, and pushes a bar through the door handle, effectively sealing the door.  He hurries away from the mosque, through the alley.  He is nearly a block away when a massive explosion destroys the mosque.  The New Arab Man ducks into an alley, crouches down and breathes heavily, eyes wild.  He pushes off from the wall and enters a building through its back door, hurrying to the basement.  Once there, he walks to the incinerator.  He peels off his beard, his wig, his loose-fitting clothing.  He is Jane. 

It is summer in Chicago.  Jane and David are in the back yard of a small, well-kept home.  Pushing a child on a swing, we hear her delight as they play.  She chases them.  Three people who love each other very much.

Talking to Strangers, Part One

I just finished What the Dog Saw by Malcolm Gladwell.  Gladwell’s book is an interesting collection of essays on a wide variety of topics, one of which was the efficacy of criminal profiling.  In Gladwell’s analysis, or more accurately my interpretation thereof, criminal profiling is about as accurate as fortune-telling.  Criminal profiling seems most accurate when it is vague, when there are contradictory statements embedded in the report.  He even gives an example of an actual profile, which fits his description.

This would normally have nothing to do with me, except by an unusual confluence of events, it does. 

Three nights ago, I went out for a cocktail after an unnecessarily dramatic shift at work.  I went with a co-worker, who arranged to have her friend meet us.  We three sat at the bar, me on the end.  The other two began talking to each other and I was trying every trick of invisibility I have ever used to avoid talking to the man to my right.  He was in his upper 40’s, heavy-set but otherwise unremarkable, except in his determination to speak to me.  I couldn’t tell you a thing else about his exterior, except he wore a pullover emblazoned with the name of an iconic motorcycle company, which is headquartered in this state.  He claimed to have purchased it that day.  He claimed to be a criminal profiler.  He claimed to get his assignments from an entity he did not have permission to name, except to say that this entity or agency is located in the nation’s capital.  He claimed that his work begins with an assignment to receive as much information as local law enforcement wished him to have, and ends with his analysis of these data.

He went on to predict what I was thinking.  “You want to know I’m hitting on you,” he said, “and whether I’m for real.”  “I doubt that you’re hitting on me,” I replied, “and whether I think you’re for real remains to be seen.”  To my way of thinking, if a person has a job he isn’t allowed to talk about, he should lead with the weather, or a commentary on the room, or any other subject.  This was enough to make me suspicious that he was just trying to make a big impression.  I turned away from him, and heard his voice behind me.  Not wishing to appear unreasonable, I sipped my martini and turned back to him.  “Today at lunch, my waitress told me she wants to be a cop,” he said. “I told her what I do for a living and she asked me to profile her.  I told her to leave my plate and when she came back I’d give her the profile,” he continued, obviously self-satisfied.  I could see the end of this conversation but knew we’d never reach it without my participation, so I said, “And..?”  “And she said I was so accurate it was scary!” he boasted.

I’d had enough.  I came into this conversation with an idea about criminal profiling and I thought, if a person only needs the skill set of a common hustler, maybe he’s the real deal.  I’ve known plenty of hustlers and they’re some of the smartest people I’ve met, certainly smart enough to make a living telling fortunes.  “Tell me about me,” I said.  Even as I said the words, I knew it was a mistake. 

“You’re a manager, or you do clerical work, possibly,” he said.  ” ‘Possibly?’ ” I asked.  “Well, you don’t work in a factory,” he said.  I resisted the urge to tell him he’s wrong, preferring to let him continue.  He looked me over and said, “You like working out, or sports.  You like spending time with friends.  You like spending time alone, too.  You like movies, but you like romantic comedies more than anything else.  You were married once.  How did I do?” he asked.  “No good,” I said. 

In fact, my co-worker and I were both wearing t-shirts with the logo of the business which employs us.  We’re waitresses.  Granted, it’s not a factory, but lots of things aren’t a factory.  Most people like working out or sports, some people even like both. Who doesn’t like spending time with friends, and time alone?  True, I have seen romantic comedies, but they aren’t my favorite genre.  Finally, the phrasing of his last statement can mean either that I was married and divorced, married and widowed or simply that I am married.  Most women in my demographic have been one of these three.

I recommend Gladwell’s book, and even after this experience, I recommend talking to strangers.

Marriage and Good Conscience

I have been writing and re-writing this post longer than any other. Let me say, at the outset, that I doubt I shall ever marry.  I know few happily-married couples.  I wonder whether marriage is a vestigial institution whose time has past.

Does that mean I wish to abolish marriage?  On the contrary.  I wish to expand it.  I want every sane, American adult citizen who wishes to marry another sane, American adult citizen to have that right.  Just because I am not a believer in the tradition of marriage does not mean that I can, in good conscience, keep quiet about my belief that the time for allowing same-sex marriage is long overdue.  Telling some couples they can marry and denying this right to others is hypocritical and an attempt to circumvent the Constitution.  If you have never read the Constitution, I highly recommend it, especially our Bill of Rights.

The arguments against gay marriage take one of two shapes: homosexuality is “unnatural,” which assumption has its roots clearly entrenched in religious opinion, or that gay marriage undermines current laws and traditions. 

As to the rejection of gay marriage on religious grounds, this is an un-American position.  The Second Amendment protects us from having the religious opinions of others, foisted upon us.  Only certain religions believe that homosexuality is unacceptable.  For two examples, Unitarian Universalists and Buddhists have both spoken out in favor of gays who wish to marry.  Perhaps more telling, many practitioners of religions that don’t formally support these marriages break with their faiths and privately support gay marriage.  Yet, as a nation, we turn our back on the founding document of our nation and deny this basic right to our fellow citizens. 

The second argument, that this type of marriage undermines current law and traditions, fails because the laws of this country are fluid, responding to the will of the people.  Humans have a long-standing tradition of marrying the people we love.  Gay marriage supports this tradition, by allowing two people in love to commit to each other.  Extending legal rights to same-sex unions will do no more damage to society than do present marriage laws, but refusing to do so harms us all.  When a certain case in Colorado, responding to a referendum on gay marriage called Amendment 2,  made its way to the Supreme Court of the United States, Justice Anthony Kennedy wrote the majority opinion.   In Kennedy’s own words,

 “[w]e cannot accept the view that Amendment 2’s prohibition

on specific legal protections does no more than deprive homosexuals of special rights. 

To the contrary, the amendment imposes a special disability on those persons alone.

Homosexuals are forbidden the safeguards that others enjoy or may seek without constraint.”

 

Please consider this, if you have not, yet.  I thank you.   If you wish to read the Bill of Rights, you may do so, here:     http://www.archives.gov/exhibits/charters/bill_of_rights_transcript.html

Apropos of Nothing

Regarding a magazine cover I saw last week which suggested that Angelina Jolie will soon be aiming her considerable charms at her newest leading man, Johnny Depp, I shall leave you with a verse from Homer’s Odyssey:

“If any one unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him home again, for they sit in a green field and warble him to death with the sweetness of their song. There is a great heap of dead men’s bones lying all around, with the flesh still rotting off them. Therefore pass these Sirens by, and stop your men’s ears with wax that none of them may hear; but if you like you can listen yourself, for you may get the men to bind you as you stand upright on a cross-piece half way up the mast, and they must lash the rope’s ends to the mast itself, that you may have the pleasure of listening. If you beg and pray the men to unloose you, then they must bind you faster.”

Imagine my Surprise

The universe contains no shortage of opportunities for me to learn new things.  When I started writing here, I named it what I did because I think I’m clever with a homophone, and I really love Gandhi.  So, imagine my surprise when I learned that the guy who shot Gandhi had the same last name as me.

Nathuram Godsey (sometimes spelled,”Godse”) fatally shot Gandhi following disagreements regarding Gandhi’s support for newly-formed Pakistan.  The partition of India left hundreds of thousands of people dead.  In court, Godsey made no legal defense, choosing instead to cite the reasons for the assassination.   Godsey was regarded by many, including Jawarlahal Nehru and Gandhi’s two sons, as a “tool of the man” (in this case, the RSS).  Nehru and Gandhi’s heirs sought to commute the death sentence handed down to Godsey, without success.  Godsey was hanged to death.

So, I certainly don’t mean any offense to the memory of Mohandas K. Gandhi.  I had no idea that juxtaposing Gandhi’s title with my last name would be significant in any way.

Which is not to say that it isn’t significant.  That depends whether one believes in coincidence.

Addicted to Sex?

There’s lots of talk in the media about sex addiction.  For years we have been inundated with the salacious details and mea culpas of famous sex addicts like David Duchovny, Charlie Sheen, Bill Clinton, and most recently Eldrick “Tiger” Woods.  Famous TV doctor, Drew Pinsky, M.D. stars in his own show, Celebrity Sex Rehab, helping more-or-less famous people with sex-related problems including sex addiction.  The sex addicts exhibit sexual compulsivity and impulsiveness, and seem not to comprehend the link between their behaviors in the moment, and the impact of these behaviors on plans they have made (e.g. marriages, families, careers, et c.).  The so-called addicts put their sexual cravings ahead of their commitments to relationships, having affairs that damage their personal and professional images.   From the outside, it’s plain to see the negative impact of these behaviors but to some, the pull of sex is stronger than common sense.   What, then, differentiates sex addicts, from regular people?

By now, we’ve all  heard comedian Chris Rock say that “[a] man is basically as faithful as his options,” and even though this statement is not the result of years of exhaustive sociological study, it rings true.  Most of the acknowledged sex addicts listed above seem only to be cheaters who got caught.  But cheating is just cheating, whether a person cheats once or a dozen times, whether or not a person is famous, right?  Are we to believe that all cheaters are addicts?

 Medicinenet.com shows the symptoms of sex addiction as follows:

• Compulsive masturbation (self-stimulation)
• Multiple affairs (extra-marital affairs)
• Multiple or anonymous sexual partners and/or one-night stands
• Consistent use of pornography
• Unsafe sex
• Phone or computer sex (cybersex)
• Prostitution or use of prostitutes
• Exhibitionism
• Obsessive dating through personal ads
• Voyeurism (watching others) and/or stalking
• Sexual harassment
• Molestation/rape

One need  not experience every symptom, to be diagnosed a sex addict.  To my way of thinking, however, if a person exhibits only one or two behaviors from the above list, and these behaviors are legal, then he or she is probably just not sexually discriminating enough.  Bad judgment does not an addict make.  By confessing to sex addiction and submitting to treatment, the guilty parties seem to be capitalizing on a public relations strategy.  One source, Winningcampaigns.org, has devoted a page of its website to handling this type of public relations event and says that, “[t]his strategy [apologize, admit shortcomings and seek help]  is employed on a daily basis by Hollywood celebrities.”  It is just that:  a strategy, and the employment of a strategy does not mean its cause is true.  It is only an acknowledgment that a mistake has been made.  It doesn’t even mean that the confessor is sorry for anything beyond being caught.  It works because the media have demonstrated that forgiving an addict is easier than forgiving a cheater.  Admitting to being an addict frees the confessor of responsibility;  it is a modern way of saying, “The devil made me do it.”   I think that by accepting this confession from people who are not, in fact, sex addicts, we undermine the traditional value of monogamy.

What does this mean for the future of pair-bonded relationships?  If these relationships continue to derive their strength from monogamy, then the future is at best uncertain.  As a society, we frequently undermine the durability of long-term pairings, in favor of self-serving actions that instantly gratify or minimize damage to ourselves and our own image.   If we find a way toward relationships with some other durable value as their center, then we will have evolved to a new way of pair-bonding.  Economic teamwork is one possible suggestion, especially insofar as enhanced survival was one of the original reasons that humans formed relationships.  Alternatively, we may find a way to dissolve the perceived necessity of long-term monogamy in favor of serial or concurrent affairs, based solely on personal sexual or psychological gratification. 

In any case, we are at a point in history where notions of personal responsibility and relationship are changing, and it interesting to observe the shifting dynamics and paradigms. 

Inside My Head

I have resisted blogging for years;  I do not have any topic of expertise, on which I feel I must be heard.  This is not the same as having nothing to say, however.  I have opinions on almost everything, and imagine myself to be a writer.  Which is not the same as being a writer; the big difference between me and writers is: writers write.

So, I’m writing. 

If nothing else, this will be a way to upload my thoughts to an external hard drive and free up some space in my head.  Many things interest me, including but not limited to:  philosophy, culture, food, humor, sociology, gender, psychology and power.  As you can see, the things that interest me intersect in fascinating ways, and keep my mind well-occupied.  I am not an expert in any field, but have a fairly well-developed mind, a message, and finally, a platform.