Bestemies

Our friends help define us. We say in essence: “I’m the kind of person who likes this bunch of books, plays that collection of music, and has those friends.” Our enemies do too, though more so if we choose them than if they choose us. (Sometimes folks can have it in for you for reasons of their own that have little or nothing to do with you in particular.) Among the more interesting relationships, though, are friendly enemies. These relationships usually require face to face interaction to develop, which is why they may be less frequent in an online world that is conducive to dehumanizing one’s opponents, but they still exist.
 
G. Gordon Liddy and Timothy Leary are a prime example. I’m painfully aware that there are at least two generations over the age of 18 to whom those names mean little, but they loomed large in my youth. Leary was the psychologist and psychedelic guru who touted the wonders of LSD and urged listeners to “tune in, turn on, drop out.” Convicted on drug charges, he escaped prison with the help of the Weather Underground. He was re-apprehended but was pardoned in 1975 by Governor Brown of California. Liddy was the FBI agent who had led the raid in 1966 on a New York estate where Leary and his followers were conducting experiments. During the Nixon Administration Liddy planned, conducted, and botched the Watergate break-in that ultimately forced the president to resign. Liddy and Leary both ended up in the same prison. In 1977 President Carter commuted Liddy’s sentence. (Neither man was shy to write about himself: Will by G. Gordon Liddy and The Politics of Ecstasy by Timothy Leary are both worth a read.) To the public Liddy was the face of a corrupt authoritarian establishment. Leary was the face of the counterculture. In the 1980s the two went on speaking tours together and became the best of friends even though they remained philosophically opposed. Their mutual respect and playfulness is obvious in Alan Rudolph’s 1983 documentary film Return Engagement.

Perhaps an even odder couple were Jerry Falwell and Larry Flynt. These, too, were once household names that... well… no longer are. Larry Flynt in the 1970s was founder and editor of Hustler. This publication was nothing so innocent as Playboy; it was porn. Flynt was a radical free speech advocate who constantly faced obscenity charges. While in Georgia on account of one such charge in 1978, he and his lawyer were shot on the sidewalk. Flynt survived but damage to his spinal cord confined him to a wheelchair thereafter. Jerry Falwell was a televangelist and head of the Moral Majority, a lobby group for the religious right. (Incidentally, he was also cousin to Jerry Lee Lewis.) The Moral Majority was very high profile in the 1980s. Among its targets was porn. Flynt decided to satirize Falwell in Hustler in 1983 with a fake alcohol ad that recounted a tale of Falwell supposedly losing his virginity to his mother in an outhouse. Falwell sued for libel demanding $45,000,000. Flynt lost the lawsuit in the trial court and then lost an appeal, but he then appealed to the Supreme Court, which took the case. In a unanimous decision Flynt won. The Court defended the right to satire regardless of good or bad taste.
 
The 1996 movie The People vs. Larry Flynt gets the basics of the Flynt/Falwell battle more or less right, but it ends without mentioning what happened next. Jerry Falwell approached Larry Flynt to make peace. The two chatted for an hour. They hit it off and decided to go on debating tours together. Jerry would push Larry’s wheelchair into and out of the engagements. They joked and sparred and enjoyed each other’s company. Said Flynt, “I disagreed with him on absolutely everything: gay rights, a woman’s right to choose, everything. But after getting to know him I realized he was sincere.” They remained friendly enemies.
 
Those two cases are more dramatic than anything I’ve experienced, but I have had small tastes of something similar. Back in the 1980s, for example, there was a young lady who was the most intellectually challenging of any of my serious involvements. (Not “the one that got away” – she was a decade earlier – but serious nonetheless.) We traded and debated books of all types. I was a libertarian while she was a former SDS member whom I called (without irony) “my favorite Marxist.” Our first principles couldn’t have been more different. Yet we worked for over three years, and when things ended philosophical differences had nothing to do with it.
 
It may be that we cheat ourselves when we refuse to associate “with people like that,” meaning folks with outlooks radically different from our own. (Of course there are some people who really are beyond the pale such as the fellow who shot Larry, but there is a temptation to cast our nets too wide.) We miss out on friendly enemies.

 

Johnny Rivers – Enemies and Friends

Henry Is at It Again

The oldest surviving Cabinet member from any Administration, the 99-y.o. (!) Henry Kissinger continues to surprise with his ongoing analyses of foreign policy. Kissinger served formally in three Administrations (Kennedy, Nixon, Ford) and informally has consulted with nearly every other Administration from Eisenhower onward. One has to go back to Tallyrand to find a statesman with longevity like that despite changes in governments. He hasn’t entirely escaped the physical effects of time but his faculties are intact. He remains the smartest man in the room. His latest (last?) book released this July is Leadership: Six Studies in World Strategy in which he profiles six pivotal leaders (Konrad Adenauer, Charles de Gaulle, Richard Nixon, Anwar Sadat, Lee Kuan Yew, and Margaret Thatcher) all of whom he knew personally. Each, despite flaws, had a major impact on national strategy and global order.

 
It would be negligent to fail to acknowledge that many folks (including more than a few journalists) regard Kissinger as the devil incarnate for his practice of realpolitik. (This always struck me as a strange word to intend as an insult. As opposed to what, fantasiepolitik?) His Westphalian approach (referring to the 1648 Treaty of Westphalia) of leaving the internal affairs of other nations (who may not share our values) largely out of consideration in matters of diplomacy and geostrategy strikes them as callous (or worse) toward human rights. Kissinger’s point of view was that guaranteeing human rights around the world is outside the scope and power of the US government, and that nothing is more dangerous to them anyway than an unbalanced world order that leads to a wide war. Strategy therefore takes priority in diplomacy, such as the normalization of relations with China, done to counter the growing power (at the time) of the Soviet Union. Should he have forgone reopening relations as Nixon’s envoy with China because of the mounting casualties of the Cultural Revolution? It is possible for opponents to disagree on these points without either being fools or evil.
 
For 20^th century historians, the six bios in this book are a gold mine. To be sure, they are necessarily abbreviated: the book is 416 pages plus footnotes. Nonetheless within their lengths they are erudite, insightful, and informed by first-hand knowledge. They make clear that historical developments that in retrospect seem inevitable were really anything but. The resolution of key crises (whether in the Falklands, the Sinai, Algeria, or elsewhere) took leadership by leaders who went against conventional wisdom and political convenience: “they did not strive for, or expect, consensus.” All, accordingly, were divisive, as of course is Kissinger himself. I personally found the section on Lee Kuan Yew, Prime Minister of Singapore 1959-90, the most interesting precisely because he did not represent a major power. He nevertheless navigated among the major powers while guiding the city state to astonishing prosperity as a global business and finance hub. Per capita income in Singapore in the 21^st century is always in the top 5 nations: sometimes #1 depending on exchange rates.
 
In his concluding chapter Kissinger laments the decline of “deep reading” amid the rise of visual culture, which enhances the biases of immediacy, intensity, polarity and conformity: “in an age dominated by television and the internet, thoughtful leaders must struggle against the tide.” He remains hopeful that some, though currently obscure, will arise to meet the challenges anyway. Providing fodder to both his supporters and antagonists, he quotes Machiavelli that in adversity “out of necessity the people turn to those who in tranquil times were almost forgotten.”
 
Thumbs up.

Good Morning America Interview

Do Nothing

A friend called me last evening and asked, “So, what did you do today?” “Nothing,” I answered. For once it was true… at least for about an hour in the afternoon.
 
Whether from a residual Puritan ethic or a Becker-ian denial of death, most of us balk at doing nothing. We fill the time with busy work or – if there is no work we feel motivated to do – with TV, video games, and YouTube. The last three are the barest excuses for activities, but they do distract us from our thoughts and awareness.
 
An extreme approach to doing nothing is to float in a sensory deprivation tank. This had a vogue in the 1960s because of the occasional psychedelic effects, though users sometimes combined the experience with actual psychedelics. The tanks have made a minor comeback in the 21^st century. Folks such as Joe Rogan, Jeff Bridges, Elle Macpherson, and Kristen Wiig swear by them for the head-clearing and revitalizing effects. Perhaps they are right. I haven’t tried it.

Sensory deprivation tank

I was less ambitious yesterday in my inaction. I simply sat in a lawn chair and stared off into the woods. Sensory deprivation was pretty much the opposite of the point. The warm wind flowed over me, the birds tweeted, the squirrels leapt, the leaves rustled, and the distinctive odor of freshly dug dirt (I don’t know from where) was in the air. All the while I thought about nothing in particular.
 
It turns out that this is a highly recommended non-activity. Even Forbes Magazine, with its unapologetic slogan “Capitalist Tool,” notes the value of breaks like this on the job and off, as opposed to frenetically checking emails and other unproductive busyness. “Doing nothing or having nothing to do, are valuable opportunities for stimulating unconscious thought processes,” one Forbes author writes. “The suggestion here is that as well as being the best thing for our mental health, doing nothing – or slacking off – may turn out to be the best way to resolve complex issues.” The author goes on to cite Archimedes in his bath and Paul McCartney composing Yesterday in his sleep. I haven’t had any insights on specific gravity, nor did I walk away from my sit-down with the lyrics to a hit pop song in my head, but there were less dramatic benefits. The refreshment was real, and the after-buzz surprisingly long-lived.
 
Rachel Williams, writing for Chopra, says, “A mindful way of life encourages sitting down and pressing pause on your life from time to time, giving yourself space to take a deep breath and simply be.” This, I think, is the heart of it: the Zen of just being in the moment without accomplishing anything else in particular. Or, worse, relying on booze and drugs to escape the moment.
 
Is all this just an attempt to make being a lazy-ass sound like a virtue? To some extent, yes. But it helps that to some extent it really is a virtue. Find a quiet spot without distractions (kids, noise, electronics) and give it a try. The risk of overdoing it is low. Sooner rather than later something is sure to intrude on the moment and demand attention. There are so many things to do.
 

The Donnas – Nothing to Do

Underpopulation

Elon Musk confirmed rumors that he had fathered twins with Neurolink exec Shivon Zilis with the remark that he was “doing my best to help the underpopulation crisis.” Though Elon, currently a father of 9, plainly was making a quip to deflect a question, he has worried publicly about underpopulation before. Back in 2017 he tweeted, "The world's population is accelerating towards collapse, but few seem to notice or care." Last year he called falling birthrates "potentially the greatest risk to the future of civilization."
 
I have a lot of respect for Mr. Musk’s outside-the-box thinking and admire his acumen at turning visionary ideas into remarkable and successful companies. But that doesn’t prevent him from saying the occasional wacky thing. It is wacky to say that earth is underpopulated. There is no underpopulation problem. There are nearly 8 billion people on earth, which is more than 3 times the world population when I was born, a time when no one thought the world was too empty. (The US population was 152,000,000 then; it is 332,000,000 now.) Global population is rising by 83,000,000 per year, which is about equal to the entire current populations of the UK and Netherlands combined.
 
Let’s acknowledge the non-wacky underpinnings of his comments. Fertility rates are falling everywhere. (The fertility rate is the average number of children per woman in her lifetime: a rate lower than 2.1 will lead to a falling population in the absence of immigration.) Wealthier countries, especially in the West and in East Asia, have seen them drop dramatically in recent decades. Singapore, presently the second wealthiest country per capita in the world (after Luxemburg), is a good example. Back in 1972, fearful of a rapidly rising population and a fertility rate of 3.04, Singapore instituted a “Stop-at-Two” policy with economic penalties for a third child, including higher hospital fees and denial of maternity pay. The fertility rate then collapsed, probably for unrelated reasons since the rate also dropped in countries with no such penalties. By 1986 Singapore’s fertility rate was 1.43. In 1987 the government, with fears reversed, not only eliminated remaining penalties, but adopted the slogan “Have Three or More (if you can afford it).” Large families are now given economic benefits but they haven’t helped: the current fertility rate in Singapore hovers around 1.2. Similar, if less dramatic, trajectories were and continue to be repeated across the developed world. This has major demographic consequences for the affected countries, notably a rise in the average age in national populations. This has obvious implications for the labor market, for health care, and for social welfare costs.

 
Nevertheless, the developed world is not the world. According to the World Bank the global fertility rate in 2022 is a solid 2.4. With very few exceptions the countries that have fertility rates below replacement level also have large scale immigration that keeps their populations rising anyway. The exceptions (e.g. Japan, Russia, Hungary, and South Korea) discourage immigration either by intent or just by their cultural insularity, but all could be more open if they chose; so far the current residents simply don’t favor this. For most of the developed world, however, immigration continues apace or is rising. The US population, for example, despite a below-replacement fertility rate of 1.78 is expected to grow from its current 332,000,000 to over 450,000,000 by mid-century. This is based on immigration rates of the past decade, but this may be an underestimate if the surge in immigration in 2022 continues going forward. Underpopulation is not an issue. It was not an issue as long ago as 1968 when earth’s population was a mere 3.5 billion and Paul Ehrlich wrote The Population Bomb. It won’t be an issue in the unlikely event 22^nd century demographic trends return the earth to its 1968 level.
 
All that said, billionaire Elon Musk is well able to afford his 9 children, and I wish him and their mothers joy of them. But no one needs to self-sacrifice just to help the underpopulation crisis. The crisis doesn’t exist.
 

The Unknown Hinson – Pregnant Again

Nostalgia for the Unexperienced

 A curious thing happens when I watch a film or read a book made or set in the 1940s. I get nostalgic. This is curious because I was born the following decade so the nostalgia is for a time I never knew – not first hand. Yet all of us have experienced it second or third hand whether we are conscious of it or not. Even if you’re a GenZ who has never watched Out of the Past or read Raymond Chandler, the tropes from them and their ilk have been recycled time and again in subsequent popular culture. The myths of modern American culture are largely tied to the 1940s and are better for it. Our values and self-images still have roots in the decade. How many of us still identify with Rick in Casablanca: cynical and egoistic on the outside but sentimental under the surface and ready to do the right thing when push comes to shove? Also, the era’s music (which played in my house when I grew up) is pretty good.
 
The flaws of the actual denizens of the 1940s were not subtle or minor – at their worst they were truly awful – but most folks were well-meaning at the core. The generation that experienced the 1940s as adults is almost gone, but those of us who knew it intimately as our parents (or less intimately as grandparents) miss the sheer competence and common sense it brought to the table – a competence born of necessity from Depression and war. Even though we didn’t know our parents in their youths, we are familiar enough with their older selves to know when the “feel” is wrong about fictional characters set in the ‘40s in modern books and movies. We also appreciate it when the feel is right.

 
James Kestrel (a pseudonym btw) gets it right in large ways and small in his noir detective/historical novel Five Decembers, which is better than one might expect from the pulp-ish cover. Just before Thanksgiving in 1941, a Honolulu detective Joe McGrady is assigned to investigate a double homicide. The victims turn out to be Admiral Kimmel’s nephew and a young woman from the Japanese consulate. As a reader one doesn’t need to be very much of a historian to see the implications of a relationship between those two, and even McGrady (without the benefit of hindsight) has a hint of it due to the diplomatic situation. Kimmel overrides jurisdictional and budget issues, giving McGrady (to his chief’s annoyance) a blank check to pursue the investigation. McGrady follows his best suspect (possibly German) across the Pacific by Pan Am Clipper to Manila and then to Hong Kong. The timing is inauspicious. The Japanese attack Pearl Harbor and take Hong Kong. McGrady is shipped to Japan with other Western prisoners where more intrigue follows involving relatives of the murdered consulate girl. The case doesn’t end with the war. (I normally wouldn’t mention that, but the title of the book tips it off anyway.) Kestrel, who has resided in Taiwan and Oahu, did solid historical research for his book and visited sites he mentions on the ground. There is romance along with the action, and it is both seedy and innocent in that peculiar 1940s way. If you like noir-ish detective fiction, I can’t recommend this book enough.

The next novel I picked up (by no coincidence) was Razzmatazz by Christopher Moore. This is a sequel to his novel Noir, which was published a few years ago. It is possible to read Razzmatazz as a standalone but I wouldn’t recommend it; there are far too many callbacks to the first book. In Noir, set in 1947 San Francisco, the protagonists aren’t special. Sammy is a bartender and Stilton (“the Cheese”) is a waitress. When they by happenstance become embroiled in murder, corrupt police, renegade federal agents, and a secret organization of one-percenters, the two must punch seriously above their weights to survive. To throw a characteristically Moore-ish absurdity into the mix, behind all the commotion is a mysterious event that took place in Roswell, New Mexico.
 
In Razzmatazz we are back with Sammy, Stilton, and side characters from Noir. The plot this time centers on murders in two of the city’s lesbian drag king bars (based on two real establishments of the time), the recovery of a dragon statue to settle a debt with a Tong gangster, and flashbacks to pre-1906 China and Chinatown. Moore again captures the ‘40s patter, taking it over the top just enough to be enjoyable without falling into outright parody. Moore warns us up front of the book’s era-appropriate un-PC dialogue. Again there are absurdist elements. The opening line to Chapter 9 (“There was a lot more tap-dancing involved in the shoot-out than I would have expected”) is the tamest example. “Scooter” (from the Roswell incident) makes a reappearance along with elements that really would be a spoiler to mention.
 
It’s a fun read, but read Noir first. Really.
 
So now I’ll somewhat reluctantly leave the ‘40s behind for a while (to the extent any of us ever can) but not before slipping some ‘40s tunes in the stereo cd disc tray – maybe some Ella Mae Morse who was always five-by-five in a better sense than in her song.

 

Ella Mae Morse – Mr. Five by Five (1942)