While the simple definition of “epithet” is a “name” or “moniker,” the connotation is clearly negative, as in “hurling epithets.” An epithet is name-shaming—a designation meant to demean.  It is a rhetorical punch, meant to land with force and effect.

Growing up “born again,” of which I have written before here, here, here, and here, there was an entire list of epithets that were rehearsed on a regular basis at home, in churches, on Christian radio, and in the religious schools that still dot the land.

They were mainly employed as a warning—a warning about certain people, people with ideas or actions that were wrong, dangerous, and possibly demonic.  When I say “rehearsed,” I mean just that. In sermons preached in local churches, large assembly halls, on the radio, and on TV (in the later years), you could almost predict when they would come out as the “preachers” worked themselves up to a frenzy of anger and hate.

At home, they were as regular as the evening news—when they were most frequently employed.  And at the Bible College, where I spent four years, they were given more refined formulations—more intellectual renderings.  But they were still meant to be hostile, and in all cases they were used against people who were (God’s grace notwithstanding) pretty much beyond redemption. 

My purpose here is not to sort through all of them.  In recent reflections, I have only gone back to the most prominent ones, the ones that stood the test of time and evolved even as the targets changed.

My purpose here IS to examine how these epithets, in current times, most aptly describe, not the people I was taught to fear (hate), but rather the people most beloved by the kind of folks who were my teachers.  

I am not going to offer exhaustive proof.  I am merely going to hold up the most public aspects of these people to illustrate how the epithets of my youth have evolved to describe those in power today.

And the lesson—the conclusion, really—is simple.  The epithets that were hurled (with abandon) in my youth were tossed about by men who were envious of the targets of their attempted humiliation.  Let me say it in the current vernacular—every accusation was an admission.  They wanted to be able to “live that way,” but they knew they could not, at least not then.  But times have changed, and now those to whom these “monikers” apply seem to glory in the naming—they wear them as a badge of honor.

Let’s dig in to see what I mean. In no particular order, here are the epithets of my youth.  Some are best expressed as nouns, others as adjectives. 

One note: As you read through these, you will see that about half of them have to do with sex.  This is not surprising since the brand of Christianity I grew up in was positively obsessed with it. I won’t go into all the details about this here. But sex was that one thing that one could simultaneously not engage in and not really talk about in any meaningful way, but was also on the mind of the “preachers” almost constantly, and found its way into their condemnations constantly.  

It’s not an exaggeration to say that pretty much everything was about sex then, and it still is. Fundamentally, it was, and still is, about controlling women’s bodies, while men were/are given a pass for their indiscretions. After all, most of these folks seems pretty okay with “grab ’em by the pussy.” 

Permissiveness

In one sense, “permissiveness” was the root of everything.  Permissiveness was used to describe people who lived without “boundaries.”  Being permissive meant that you could indulge your carnal pleasures without limit or concern for the consequences. Permissiveness by parents would lead to children who smoked, drank, had sex, and used drugs.  Permissiveness was a sickness of the time. 

Back then, permissiveness was associated with questioning authority, eschewing norms, and generally flaunting social conventions.  

The issue of “boundaries” is interesting in our time, when the most powerful people in the world (I mean that literally) can say things like “the only thing limiting me is my own morals.”  In other words: “I set the boundaries, and they are whatever I define them as.”  

Permissiveness has graduated from something we warned children about to a big grown-up thing we assume the powerful will practice—with abandon and without consequences.

Lawlessness  

If permissiveness was for children, lawlessness was a grown-up term.  In one sense, lawlessness was the “adult” outcome of permissiveness.  If you grew up in a permissive household, you would end up a lawless person.  

Lawlessness was, not surprisingly, associated with violence, such as the urban riots of the 60s and 70s.  Clearly, people who would riot in the streets, burning cars and buildings, had grown up in permissive households.  They had not learned limits.  The result was literal lawlessness.  But the problem was in their hearts.  

At home, lawlessness or lawless acts were not against the government, after all, the government was a suspect entity. Acts of lawlessness against the government might not be lawlessness at all. They might be necessary. Lawlessness showed itself in damage to something far more sacred: private property.  

This was how lawlessness was used at home, but there was also lawlessness among Bible teachers. This was the lawlessness that was, essentially, shaking one’s fist at God.  This lawlessness was far more dangerous than the mere physical kind because one’s eternal soul was at stake. 

I will note that all forms of “white collar” crime were exempted from the category of lawlessness.

It is interesting to see how parts of America that, in other times, would condemn physical violence against the police as a prime example of lawlessness, seem to allow it in certain carefully prescribed circumstances (say, at the Capitol on a January day).  In these days, the lawless might be pardoned if their lawlessness is against the right kind of people or for the right reasons.  As was the case in my youth, lawlessness might be okay if the target is corrupt or suspect.  And, as was the case then, if you have enough money and don’t actually throw a punch or a projectile, your lawlessness may not be lawlessness at all. 

Antinomianism

When I went off to Bible College, permissiveness and lawlessness acquired a new moniker—a more theological formulation: antinomianism. Antinomianism is considered a theological error (by orthodox Christians) and a fundamental misunderstanding of God’s grace, suggesting that those covered by grace are not under any moral law. 

In essence, antinomians say that God’s grace covers all sin and that God’s grace is beyond bounds. Therefore, for followers of Jesus, there is no moral law; their faith and God’s grace render moral law unnecessary.  

St. Paul seems to have directly dismissed this idea in Romans 6 when he asked whether we should “continue in sin” because of grace. His answer was a resounding “No.”

Paul never disputed that grace abounds: “where sin abounds, grace abounds even more,” he said just before arguing that this does NOT mean one should continue in sin. 

Perhaps today we could frame this as “where sin abounds, praise abounds even more.”  After all, we have a president who, no matter his sin—be it transgressing the Constitution or protecting a pedophile—receives praise.  The ritual genuflecting at every staff meeting, or the mindless praise heaped on his acts of genius, move in tandem with his worst sins.  

Where sin abounds, praise abounds even more. Indeed.

Our president is an antinomian—relying on the unswerving grace (and praise) provided by his sycophants—to continue in sin and defy any and all moral strictures. 

But antinomianism is also a statement about autonomy. To be unbound. To be free. To be accountable to no one and no standard is a declaration of autonomy.  More could be said about this, but this “freedom” is, perhaps, the unstated goal of humanity, and may explain why we secretly admire the antinomian for the audacity of their declaration of independence.  What Joan Didion referred to as the “dream we no longer admit.”  But, maybe now we not only admit it, but praise it. 

Immorality/Hedonism

Immorality was always about sex. Hedonism was immorality celebrated publicly, wantonly, and unapologetically. If immorality was “grabbing them by the pussy,” hedonism was celebrating it publicly.  

Immorality, let alone hedonism, was never to be rewarded with, say, an election victory…

At best, you were given a pass if you were a man (married) who committed an “indiscretion” with a woman.  After all, women were largely responsible for these indiscretions.  Male immorality was a blemish, but one that could be removed with time and with the ever-enduring empathy for the weak (male) flesh. 

But back then, immoral people (men) were never celebrated, and the clock could run out on a life before it ran out on the opprobrium. 

No more. 

Today, those who would otherwise rail against immorality give immoral people a pass if they provide access to power. Now, immorality is ignored, and hedonism barely causes a stir depending on who engages in it.  

In fact, the most depraved forms of hedonism are seemingly ignored or actively hidden if they involve the wealthy and connected.  There is now evidence that, globally, many wealthy people even banded together in a loose but strong affiliation to commit heinous sexual acts against children. The social capital that enabled them to accomplish things together that they would never have contemplated doing alone is something to behold: deep human bonds nurtured to promote the most despicable acts.

I am a long way from my childhood on this one. 

Situation Ethics/Secular Humanism/Postmodernism/Relativism/Post-Truth

This last category is a cluster of terms that evolved over the course of my life, but all, more or less, came down to the same thing. The overarching characteristic of these terms—deployed in an ever-evolving condemnation—was the belief in the lack of any objective truth. 

In general, these terms were used against intellectuals who questioned the idea of a single, fixed set of moral standards handed down by a deity.  It is not that these intellectuals doubted the existence of good or evil; it is that they would not ascribe these concepts to the dictates of an eternal being. And, according to my teachers, without a god, there could be no truth. Deny God, you must deny truth.

I was well into adulthood before I learned that there were people in the world who held that “truth” could be independent of God.

I was taught that “We hold these truths to be self-evident” could only be understood if a creator were involved.

Having access to truth—God’s truth—was also the basis of morality.  People who rejected God’s existence could not be trusted to tell the truth because, after all, they did not hold to any truth.  Quite simply, if you did not believe in God, you could and would be a liar.  It is not that you would have understood that you were a liar; it is only that truth did not matter to you, because there was no truth. 

Without an anchor in truth, people could say anything at all. And that would inevitably lead to chaos.

Well, where are we today? 

Fact-checking is now a career.

I wake up every morning wondering what new slew of lies will have been told while I slept. We have never lived in a less truthful time, and the main purveyors of the firehose of lies that flow our way every day are those most admired by those who formally condemned our post-truth world. 

Epitaph (not epithet)

I remember all these epithets, these names, now with a kind of wonder. 

But I have buried those years, and the name on the tombstone of my (innocent) youth reads:

Herein lie lies parading as moral superiority. The words were mobilized to attack others, while those hurling the epithets secretly yearned not only to own but to practice them. 

I did something this week that I had long anticipated, but hoped I would never have to do. I told a friend that we were no longer friends. I did not do it in anger. I gave it a lot of thought. It hurt.

Maybe we should never draw lines we will not cross.

Maybe we should never close off dialogue and the potential for reconciliation.

Maybe I was wrong to do it.

But… when fundamental differences about what constitutes justice, or whether compassion matters, or whether some people matter more than others, or whether the evidence of science about things like vaccines matters are in play, sometimes you have to make a break.

I have devoted the majority of my life to bringing healing, caring for the oppressed, and welcoming the houseless and wandering into my life. When a “friend” values none of that, it might be time to say, we cannot be friends.

A friend from long ago sought to reengage, and this is my response:

Past relationships and memories, even good ones, are not the basis for a current or future relationship. The paths of our lives—yours and mine—diverged a long time ago.  For a relationship to transcend time (and physical location), requires more than memories. A shared past does not suffice. A relationship requires shared values, a shared understanding of the world and our place in it, and a commitment to shared goals for how to live in the world.  Values are not merely things we espouse, they are the way we live our lives.  I think it is fair to say that you and I do not have shared values.  You can feel free to present evidence to the contrary.  Given this, I would ask you to please leave our relationship where it belongs—in the past.  I would ask you to not contact me again.  If you do, I will not respond.  I hold no animus towards you, I merely do not think there is a basis for a relationship in the present. 

That is harsh.

But people are dying (I mean, literally).

And differences are no longer just “of opinion.”

Saying goodbye is hard.

But sometimes (like now), the world moves on, and we move with it. And sometimes that movement takes us into different universes across which human engagement is not possible. I think we are in a time like that.

I have the pleasure of working with a group of smart, dedicated, and passionate undergraduates at the Basic Needs Center at the University of California, Davis. Our Center provides food, housing, and financial resources to the over 40,000 students on the campus, and the students who come to us are facing extremely challenging situations as they seek to accomplish their (and their family’s) dream of new opportunities. Just under half of these students are the first in their families to go into higher education. The Federal Government considers over one-third of them to be very low income, deserving of financial support.

Our student staff is a microcosm of this broader student body, and they amaze us as they provide direct service to other students day to day. They deal with the most challenging cases and guide students to the resources they need. It is safe to say that I am, quite often, in awe of them.

We deal with the stress of this work by maintaining a high level of unbridled joking and general pranking. It keeps us sane, and no one is exempt.

So, when a colleague suggested we all go bowling at an on-campus bowling alley (the only one in town!), I got ready for a LOT of competition–with personal challenges and trash-talking. And in the lead-up to the event, I was not disappointed. Challenges got personal, and lines were drawn. I expected much of the same in the lanes.

But after we got our stylish shoes and selected the appropriate balls, everything changed. A silence settled over the lanes, broken only by the crash of pins. Competition turned to encouragement, and trash-talking gave way to grim resolve. I could see it in their faces–I could imagine it in my own.

We rolled.

And while we all had fun, I was struck by the utter seriousness with which every person took their turn. Amid the smiles, a focus and seriousness about the whole affair prevailed. We were having fun, but there was a studiousness that suggested we were sitting for a final exam.

I later learned that all but one of us was a “first gen”-the first of our family to attend university. And when I examined my own feelings throughout the evening (Did I mention it was fun? It was!), I identified what was going on.

The truth is, we did not leave the competition at the office. It was very much present. But we were not competing against the others. We were competing against ourselves. Our grimness was just concentration. Our stoicism was focus.

A focus on doing better.

On bettering ourselves.

And we were our own worst critics.

As I stood back and observed, I experienced a deep sense of pride in these students. I felt a tightening in my chest as I realized they approached this time of fun with the same determination and commitment they brought to their jobs and studies.

I will admit that I nearly wept.

There is a dark side to all of this. Imposter syndrome has followed me my entire life. Despite what has, arguably, been a successful career, I battle with that demon almost every day. Those who don’t live in that reality cannot understand how debilitating it can be: to always have to prove oneself, no matter one’s accomplishments, over and over and over again.

I suspect that my young colleagues face that demon all too often, too. And I mourn for them (as I mourn for myself).

But if one can overcome the challenges of the syndrome, one can marshal the strength to do extraordinary things. One can drive to be better–to serve more faithfully, to work more assiduously, to persevere more completely.

We went bowling.

And it was beautiful.

Maybe this is a lament…

It was just a short stint, providing leadership in the small city that has become home. It was never going to be earthshaking. It was, perhaps, pedestrian.

But it was a formal leadership role, and I would like to believe I helped lead–that I was, in fact, a leader. Some who live here may debate that, and I certainly left no “mark.” But I did my homework, collaborated on making tough decisions, listened to the community, told the truth, strove for accountability, and walked with those in the community who were hurting and needed a listening ear.

Most decisions, especially the consquential ones, were made within considerable constraints. At times I wondered if we were “deciding” or merely “stamping.”

We made sure that the water flowed, garbage was collected, roads were maintained, money was put aside for harder times, and safety was largely maintained. It was blue collar stuff, the stuff that makes a city what it is.

I guess the key in all of it, for me, was that we faced our citizens without guile, with transparency, with, I would say, a desire to make things better. Maybe we failed, but our goals were clear. We knew where the job would lead: to more hard decisions made under constraint (and sometimes duress). But we did it, and our expectations of personal gain were nil.

Nope, we were not heroes.

And we wielded the small amount of power we had with a kind of trepidation.

We

Me and some others.

I never took a bribe.

I never lied about a decision I made.

I never dissembled.

It was the basic commitments that were easy. The commitment to preparing well was without cost (okay, it took time, but that is part of the job). The commitment to listening never hurt. The commitment to explaining my votes actually made things much smoother. The commitment to telling the truth actually paid dividends in trust gained.

None of that is hard.

I did not have to overthink it or scheme with anyone to make that stuff work.

I am reflecting on this today, because I want leaders like us.

There is no hubris in that. We were unspectacular, unnoticed, unrecognized.

Maybe

Maybe leaders like us are not smart enough to lead at any level beyond the local. (I can own that, it may be true). Maybe we don’t have what it takes.

But still, I want leaders like us.

Leaders like us.

How hard is it, really, to have leaders like us?

We took the train from Davis, CA, to the California Capitol to volunteer at the university’s graduation ceremonies.  We crossed the causeway and the river on the Capitol Corridor (CC) train, landing in downtown.

I want to say many things about Davis, my hometown for the past quarter-century.  I want to tell you about the ingenuity of the causeway and the beauty it attracts.  I would love to tell you about the CC and how it connects us to the Bay and beyond.

But those stories are for another day.

On this day, we took the train that, by an apparent accident of time, was transporting people to graduation at the Golden One Center, the June Pride Festival a few blocks to the south, and the “No Kings” protest further south still on the Capitol Mall. 

At the station, the first thing I saw (in addition to the 100+ people waiting to board the train) was a small sign carried by a protester

COMPASSION

We boarded and immediately entered a rolling party.

How can I describe it?

Every visage felt “open,” inquiring, alive.

So many smiles, so much laughter.

Every face bore the imprint of a history—a story.  

Every voice a different accent, language, in-group vocabulary.

Every article of clothing a statement of loves and origins or hopes and futures. 

Everything spoke of diversity—that much reviled, but actually quite beautiful reality that is California. And I wondered why anyone would not want that.  I wondered why that word is so hated.  I wondered why they could not just leave us alone to enjoy that one thing that brings us energy and smiles, and a constant sense of discovery and wonder. 

Why?

The couple across from us heading to Sac for a pride weekend and fathers’ day celebration. Two scientists across the aisle discussing climate change and next steps in their dream to bring lasting change to the world. Beside them, two folks older than us with their water and hats, sporting signs of dissent.  Downstairs, a bit later, three college pals kitted out in their regalia, my wife helped one fix his tie and straighten his collar.  All smiles. 

We breathed together on that train.

We “conspired.”

And though we all approached the capitol with our own goals in mind, there was a solidarity in acknowledging the importance of what, each of us, was going there to do.  We all KNEW that everyone was attending a life-affirming and life-changing event. 

And we celebrated that.

Across America at the same hour, millions lived in hate of who we were, with a clear desire that we would all just disappear.  

But we exist.

And we will persist.

On that train that day, we celebrated our differences but also the things that bind us: love, solidarity, community, and hope.

I will acknowledge that ours has never been an easy marriage. I will further admit that I have stayed in it “for the kids.”

After all, we had a commitment to pass on our values to our kids. At least at the beginning.

Yeah, we have been through some hard times and we both know that when we split up, things got bad—really bad. But, somehow, we patched things up after all that craziness. You admitted I was right—at least you said you did. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

And, for a little while, you seemed to accept the terms of our agreement to get back together. But then you showed your true colors and, well, it’s been a while and I just don’t think you ever acted in good faith.

Still, the kids.

Others have stayed together through tough times because of that promise of tomorrow. So, I figured, why not. Things got better when we faced common challenges and, for a while after things seemed like they might change.

But they didn’t.

You and I never agreed on what was best for our kids—let’s not pretend. But we debated and tried to hash it out. Sometimes you prevailed, sometimes I did.

It wasn’t perfect.

But then the lying started. You lied about so many things, and our kids paid the price.

Sigh… I still feel it is worth trying to focus on the good we want for them. But now I feel you just don’t care about them at all. I don’t believe we share a common goal anymore.

And the lying…

Can I just say that it has gotten far worse. Every word out of your mouth is a falsehood. Every accusation, an admission of what you are doing. Every false outrage, just another way to manipulate me—and them.

I don’t trust you.

Maybe I subscribe to an old fashion view of things, but I just don’t see dissolution as a good idea. It won’t solve anything for them… for us.

But lately you have been telling people you hate me?

You have been telling people that “I am your enemy?”

You have been saying that I want to harm our kids—our future?

So, what’s the point?

Why don’t you divorce me? Send me on my way and we can both start over?

I think I know why. You need me.

You know that I have been paying the bills and doing the hard work of keeping our home safe. I know you don’t really value those things, but…

Why don’t you just let me go?

Take the plunge?

Give me what I know you want?

A divorce.

For many reasons, and for a long time, I have been reflecting on leadership. I am not an expert. I realize there are PhD programs in leadership and many journals devoted to its study. Still, over the course of a 40+ year career, I have learned some things.

I have had the privilege to serve under some amazing people, true leaders, who would perhaps not have been able to describe what made them so effective. Those times (thankfully) were the majority of my career.

I have also, unfortunately, labored under some people who had a title but were not leaders at all. Those times were painful and draining, and ultimately, no matter how important the work, I had to leave. That is always hard.

This brief piece is my attempt, however poorly, to start to enumerate what I think a leader is and should do. I hope to develop these points in more detail with examples later.

If you read this and have suggestions, I would love to hear them. These represent the kind of leader I aspire to be.

Lead with vision, tie it to the mission, and review the mission regularly to ensure it does not drift. Make sure that evolving strategies stay consistent with the mission and don’t allow other priorities to become the de facto mission.

Build accountability structures and processes in your work. Assessing progress toward your mission is not possible without a commitment to assessing your results. In my experience, you need to hire staff committed to this function.

Support staff. Your primary purpose should be clearing the way for staff to do the work that supports the mission.

Be present—both physically and emotionally. This is a specific way to support staff. Yes, leaders are busy and face many demands on their time, but staying engaged throughout the day and week to respond to concerns, gauge the atmosphere, and assist with course corrections in real time is essential.

Remember that this is not about you.  If you set out to make yourself the organizational “brand” or accept the framing that you are, bad things will happen.  Placing your interests as somehow inseparable from the organization’s will harm both.

Keep in mind that institutions—including the organization you lead—transcend the individuals who work there. An institution can become focused on its own survival, which may hinder its mission. Institutions can be abusive, even if individuals within them reject abuse.

Confess when you fail—do it often and, in apologizing, describe steps you will take to do better and avoid the errors you committed. 

Our work in most fields is complex and occurs in a complex world.  You cannot be the master of everything, nor should you try.  So… 1) You should hold up and praise the knowledge and experience of your staff and receive it as a gift. 2) You should make an ongoing commitment to learning.  In fact, if there is any single moniker you should welcome as a leader, it is that “they are a learner.”  

I look forward to your ideas.

We skirted the side of Mt. Tam on a New Year’s Day that now seems so long ago (it has only been five years). That day’s bright, shining beauty could not suppress the knowledge that everything was about to change, to change in ways that we could not quite imagine.

I had been following the unusual pneumonia cases that were springing up in China. If one was paying attention, it was clear that this thing was coming. But what would it look like? No one knew. 

So, on that day, I hid from my fears and merely accepted the possibility that everything would shift. 

I felt powerless. I felt weak.

And then it came, and… Change is so hard.  But in the moment, and moment by moment, we changed.  

But in a sense, we did not change at all.  We only became more of what we were.

I saw that for the first time just a few weeks later when I sat in our County Supervisor’s office. The county Health Officer looked at me and said, “This is our time. This is what we trained for. This is a time for who we are.”

And, we became more.

Though we were weak in the face of the onslaught of that novel coronavirus, though it often defeated us, and though, at times, we defeated ourselves, we became who we were. We did not turn our backs. We fought the defeat, and, sometimes, and in significant ways, we won. 

The sense of weakness in the face of a natural disaster never left us. Our strength came in the weakness of knowing that we had to move on. And we did.

I feel all those things today…

Farmer’s “long defeat” was and is very much about what we see around us today.  His long defeat was the realization that the wealthy and powerful would always end up on top and that the people he loved and to whose wellbeing he was committed would too often die terrible deaths or live diminished lives, while those same powerful folks would never, ever pay the consequences.  Indeed, they would thrive.

And Farmer was saying, “So be it. I know with whom I will throw in.”

St. Paul was making a more explicit theological point—though the same stuff inspired Farmer.  For Paul, weakness made space for the force of God to enter the fray (replace God with “the universe,” “good,” or “truth”—see also King’s “arc of the moral universe”).

But neither King, nor Farmer, nor Paul were pie-in-the-sky dreamers (nor were Dorothy Day, Fannie Lou Hamer, or Rosa Parks). All of these were people of action—not waiting for the arc, or truth, or God to intervene.  No, this great cloud of witness embraced their weakness and the long defeat and became who they were—who they had to be.

The point is that the changes did not change them.  

It made them more of who they were.

They simply lived into who they were, weathered the change—embraced the weakness, and fought the long defeat.  And it was enough to change the world. But the change did not change them.

I take heart.

The changes are coming—indeed they are here.  The powerful will crush the weak.  The least will suffer.  Hopes will be deferred.  And the powerful will walk away from the carnage with their stature and wealth in place. 

This is, after all, the long defeat.

But if we can move through the change and, yet, not change.  If we can simply become who we are—more of who we are: people of love, compassion, persistent in doing good, supporting the weak, standing with the oppressed… If we can do those things…

Then our weakness will be strength, the arc will bend to justice, and the long defeat will turn to victory.  

They have proven it.

It is our turn to live it. 

I am wondering if, today, somewhere in the Pentagon, at the Department of State, or in the Ministries of Defense in Canada and Mexico, they are doing those “tabletop” risk simulations.

I am wondering if they are gaming out the probability and the possible timeline of a shift from tariffs, to trade wars, to cold wars (think “ice curtain” to the north, “sand curtain” to the south), to hot wars. (Yes, the shooting and bombing kind–the current SecDef says all options are on the table for Mexico, is everything also on the table for Canada too–after all, “the fentanyl”)

I am wondering what the Quebecois will do to resist being part of the 51st state?

I am wondering what all the other Provinces and Mexican states will do too?

And, I am wondering if they will simply cut off federal funds flowing to blue states. (I mean, they are already messing with our water. Easterners simply do not understand that you cannot mess with California water.)

I am wondering what that will do to our “union.”

I am wondering, actually, if they will go more “surgical” than that and punish us by voting district, sparing the red, cutting off the blue. Or, might they even access the data on how I voted and cut me off–everything from tax refunds to future social security benefits?

I am wondering who will respond, and how, when we (inevitably) march by the hundreds of thousands in San Francisco like we did before the Iraq war.

I am wondering if they will order us to be shot.

I am wondering who will do the shooting.

I am wondering if I will stand up and be counted.

I am also wondering how long it will take for the red to find out they were just cannon fodder, too.

And, I am (honestly) wondering if there is a pact–maybe explicit, maybe tacit–to divide the planet into spheres of influence. China gets Asia and Australia, Russia gets Europe, the US gets the Western Hemisphere and (of course) Greenland, and the “tech bros” who bid the highest get limited access to all of it in one way or another. And will there be fiefdoms in the Middle East that get fought over later? And how long will the pact last?

I am wondering which current craven Senators or Reps will be appointed proconsuls to these vast new territories when they come online.

I am wondering how much more bowing to power it will take for them to secure those jewels.

And, I am wondering if this is all just the plot of a near-future dystopian sci-fi that I read sometime last year.

And, I am wondering if Bruce Cockburn had all this in mind when he sang

Used to have a country but they sold it down the river
Like a repossessed farm auctioned off to the highest bidder

Yeah, I am wondering about all these things on 2/2/25.

Even obliquely, blaming crises on DEI seems to be de rigueur among the current junta in DC. But let’s be clear: this is simply saying that some people are not worthy, that they do not belong, and that they are unnecessary. 

It is actually a relatively small step from there to saying they do not have a place in society, that they are parasites, and, with just another short step, that they do not deserve to live.

We’ve been there—and not just in Germany in the 30s.  Let’s not forget Rwanda.  Oh, and the former Yugoslavia.  And other corners of the world that we would rather not have to think about. I have visited some of them. 

You blame them today.

You kill them tomorrow—massively, efficiently, and without remorse.

It’s barely coded language. But the purveyors of this kind of thing are not playing games. They never do.

So, let me tell you about DEI from where I sit.

D

J. would never have gone to college when I was his age.  He has a serious mental illness (treatable) and several other disabilities.  He is smart—honest smart—so he may have figured out a way to get in, but soon enough, he would have flamed out, and there would not have been any supports to keep him on track to complete his studies.

Unless his parents were rich… 

Which J’s are not.  His dad died on the streets, and his mom—who knows?

And yet here he is, a mere six courses from graduating.  He has support.  He is on his meds. And he is going to succeed.  

I say “D” for this because J enriches me greatly.  I never knew any J’s who succeeded when I was in school because they were not there.  But J’s presence is a blessing to me.  He smiles.  He laughs. He shares his dreams.  And he adds enormously to every class he attends. 

He brings D, and we are far better for it.

E

J needs help.  He can only enroll in a limited number of classes.  A) Because he works a LOT to pay for it all. And B) Because he has these “disabilities” that inhibit his ability to focus on too much at one time. 

So, J gets what we call an “accommodation.” If J asks for it, he is allowed to make “minimum progress” by taking fewer courses than he would normally be required to take. 

J benefits from E considerations. And it’s a good thing.  E considerations are going to help J succeed.  

Key point: His accommodations do not harm students who do not get them.  They are not being “cheated.” Instead, they place J in a position to participate fully in his education.  And isn’t that what we want a student to have?  Isn’t that a good goal?

I would say, “Yes.”

I

J told me today, “I am afraid I will end up on the street.  My dad died there, and I am terrified all the time that I will, too.  I wish I could find housing with other disabled people.  My best friend here is autistic.  We get along great.”

J is saying, I want a place characterized by “I.”  

He wants I, and he is excited about the possibility of moving into housing where he experiences it every day.  I am going to try to help him with that.

DEI

Honestly, J illustrates what this all means.  Sure other people with other identities, needs, and lives could illustrate what it means.  J is just one case—one example—of what this apparently cursed word means. 

Which should only remind us of our first point: this is not about DEI. This is about creating a world in which some people are disposable, some people are overusing scarce resources, some people are “unpeople.” 

It is worthwhile fighting for J—and I mean fighting hard.  The path those screaming against DEI wish to take us down only leads to gas chambers, pogroms, ethnic cleansing, and state-sponsored eugenics.  It is time to acknowledge this and scream our opposition in every way we can. 

J deserves it.