Archive for April, 2007

as easy to make war as to make love, without considering the consequences

Monday, April 30th, 2007

Many years ago, it was very unusual to see me without sunglasses on. Specifically, mirrored and reflective sunglasses that ideally wrapped around and covered my eyes, completely. I would reluctantly take them off indoors if I had to, and my penchant for wearing them day or night left me open to many Corey Hart-related comments.

Flipping through April’s issue of Discover magazine, I’ve come across an explanation for the behaviour that maps well onto my own insights into my character at the time, and it’s from an interesting source: Philip Zimbardo. You might recognize this name; he’s the social psychologist behind the infamous Stanford Prison Experiment. He has spent the time since making his career on the study and its fallout, and talking about what it means to be evil, and where is that line between being good and being, well, not.

According to him, part of that line is when we deindividuate one another, and transform our character into that which we are not, through the use of props, uniforms and actions. They specifically used mirrored, reflective sunglasses in the experiment because of their ability to hide the eyes, and the power it gave the “guards” to hide their reactions, maintain impassivity, and the powerlessness it gave the “prisoners”, who were missing the very natural and normal interaction and ability to see facial expression and mood modulation via the eyes.

Reflective, mirrored sunglasses as a way of securing a small bit of power in a situation – that sounds like the person I was those many, many moons ago.

But interestingly, I think that Zimbardo’s comments about deindividualization is applicable quite a bit more broadly than he might necessarily realize, or be applying it. His interest, of course, is prison/guard binary scenarios; he was most recently spending quite a lot of time talking about Abu Ghraib, for obvious reasons. But take this following statement, from the magazine:

Situational forces mount in power with the introduction of uniforms, costumes, and masks, all disguises of one’s usual appearance that promote anonymity and reduce personal accountability. When people feel anonymous in a situation, as if no one ia aware of their true identity (and thus no one probably cares), they can move more easily to be induced to behave in antisocial ways.

Remind you of anything – say, the internet? This is, I believe, one of the reasons we have people like O’Reilly advocating a code of ethics or behaviour for bloggers – a hopeful, but ultimately misguided notion. And it’s misguided for the very quote above: so you ban anonymous comments in the hope to force people into more civil discourse. What, then, prevents someone from creating an alter-ego online, someone who can do and say whatever because it’s not tied to “who they really are”? Absolutely nothing, save the hope for honesty. I feel pretty confident saying that if someone is going to be a twit anonymously, they’re going to be a twit with a false name that gives them the same anonymity as the anonymous username will.

The internet has been celebrated for being a place where you can escape the constraints of whatever social injustice you feel is perpetrated on you in, as my former adviser would have called it, meatspace. You can become whomever you want, leave your limitations behind, explore being whomever you dream of or desire being. And in some cases that might be a very good thing, but in others it’s not – and there’s no real way to balance the extremes, or at least to force people to balance those extremes, because it is built into the very nature of the medium.

People will always take advantage of the medium – any medium – to express their antisocial behaviour, if they’re so inclined. If we’re going to reduce the antisocial behaviour of the internet, we need to figure out a way to reindividuate people – and while the goal behind a code of behaviour is, indeed, noble, it’s not going to succeed in curing the problem it’s attempting to address.

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Everybody Lies

Monday, April 30th, 2007

My good friend and ex-officemate (so you know he’s got to have high tolerance levels – we shared a very close, confined space for well over a year, and instead of killing each other, went out of our way to work at the same time so we could do things like watch CSI and BSG whilst fighting our respective platforms) sent me what at first seemed like an utterly random text message last night – until I loaded the URL. What an awesome t-shirt! One of the most truthful House-isms (which in itself is funny), and for a great cause.

As soon as I have money again, that’s on my list of things to buy. It suits my misanthropy well.

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chemo brain

Sunday, April 29th, 2007

When you’re in a house with two academics, the stereotype of an absentminded engineer, and my mother, who has always had her own special brand of space case, the question of chemo brain turns in to not wondering if it exists, but wondering if it can affect all of us, even if only one person is getting the chemo. And our conclusion was yes; for Mom, chemo brain might have been caused by the chemo, but for the rest of us, it was the manifestation of the severe stress we (especially my father) were under.

And let me tell you, we did some precious stupid things. I would find keys in the fridge or freezer – both mine and others – and an assortment of items were found frozen over the months. And I, I have always been of the extremely absentminded academic type (something that may surprise those who know me more recently in my role as supremely organized, but that’s just an illusion, trust me); I went from my normal levels of distracted to an entirely new realm I had never imagined, where I would pause mid-activity, trying to remember what I was doing (even though everything was in front of me as a massive clue), I would leave important paperwork sitting outside in the rain, and eventually had to leave detailed notes to myself in order to stay on track.

Of us all, my sister is the only one who seemed only minorly affected – she’d do the same stupid misplace things, and get sillystupid at night. But I suspect her long experience with cancer simply inurred her to what Dad and I were dealing with.

But it turns out that for a long time, what we joked so casually about, all of us having chemo brain, was actually considered an illusion, a fake symptom by women who wanted more attention. This baffles me, not from my normal standpoint of “but the mind and body are one, and if you do something massive to the body, like say flood it with toxins, you can’t honestly expect the mind to escape unscathed, can you?” but from the standpoint of someone who has seen the actual chemical chemo brain effect in her mother, and experienced the stress related version that afflicts caretakers. Having experienced both first-hand, I wonder how doctors ever become so isolated from their patients that they could ever be so dismissive of so obvious a problem.

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Posted in Duct Tape and Prayers |

the value of breathing

Friday, April 27th, 2007

Several years ago, I found myself in Costa Rica, going down a Class IV rapids…without a raft. They had given us all a safety lesson before we got on the water, and explained how our life vests had a special pillow on the back that was designed to protect and cushion your neck from rocks, if you got tossed out of the raft. Because of this, it was important to make sure, if you found yourself in the river, that you were going down feet first, to allow the flow of the water to keep the pillow where it belonged.

We all listened attentively, and we all thought it wouldn’t apply to us. I certainly didn’t expect it to apply to me.

The river started out calm, with baby rapids to acclimate those of us who’d never been white water rafting before. It was a jovial, happy bunch in my raft – me, my ex-husband, the guide, a few other people our age. Everyone got along, and worked well together as a team. The ex and I got several compliments on how seamlessly we worked together, and we all quickly fell into a routine of laughing and teasing one another – and especially the other raft, which wasn’t functioning nearly as well as we were.

Then it happened. The river narrowed, canyon walls went sheer, the water picked up, and our raft slammed into side wall. We rocked, we nearly flipped, we righted, stabilized, wobbled, and as I wobbled, my ex-husband reached out to steady me, but missed, and instead of grabbing my life jacket to pull me towards him, pushed me right out of the raft and into the swirling fast rapids.

The water swallowed me, I sunk and spun and broke the surface, gasping for air and in shock. The raft was off to my side, and I could vaguely hear my name being called, in thick accent and in the panic of my ex-husband. Swim, swim, to them – I pulled my way through the water, fighting rocks and waves, to get back. A paddle reached out for me and I grasped for life, spitting water, trying to breathe without drowning, trying to move with the river and the raft.

They started to pull me in, joking about pulling beautiful mermaids from the water, and then I saw the look in the guides face. In a flash, he went from jovial to panic, and a moment later I understood why. The rapids sucked us in and swept us around; instead of being to the side of the raft, I was suddenly in front of it, being pulled under by suction and force.

They had warned us, during the safety orientation, that if we were sucked under the raft while we were in the water, we would drown. Period. We would be pinned under, and the weight of the raft would make it nearly impossible for us to get out. If we got in front of the raft, our only option was to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

I could feel the suction pulling me under. My feet, my knees, waist, torso. Within the blink of an eye, my arms and head were barely above water, in front of the raft, fingers locked in a death grip on the several ropes, the rest of me below, under, stuck. The laughing in the raft had turned to shrieking panic as they tried to pry me out from going under, and began to realize they were failing.

Over the din of the rapids and water, I heard – maybe just saw – the guide telling me to let go, let go. Telling me he was sorry. My memory goes white; I think, I remember, looking for my ex-husband, looking at his pale face, whispering I was sorry, but maybe that’s just a false memory, maybe it’s just intent. What I do know is that I let go.

I took a deep breath, and I let go. And like a hand had reached from the depths, I was pulled down and under. I could feel the raft against my skin, my face, I could feel the bumps that I realized were bodies above me, pressing down, and rocks below pressing up. Opening my eyes, I could see nothing but the yellow raft through water.

There was such an impulse to breathe.

And then the river turned, the raft lifted just slightly, and without thinking, I pushed off and shot out from under the raft, several feet away and off to the side. I oriented myself feet first and went into a dead-man’s float, looking up just long enough to waive to the raft and to note I was about to go down the worst of the rapids without the protection of the raft.

I closed my eyes, sun on my face and water around me, and relaxed into the experience. If I was going to do this the hard way, I was going to enjoy as much of it as I could – and I did. There is nothing like feeling the power of the river and the water around you, just you and nature, alone yet so caught up in a greater whole.

I bounced and bobbed, but always kept my feet pointing down river. The rocks took their toll, bashing and bruising and slicing me open; wounds I only noticed later. And just as suddenly as it all began, it was over, and I was floating lazily on my back on a still, smooth, quiet section of river.

A moment later I heard the splashing, frantic paddling, and the raft reappeared, everyone pulling towards me, pulling me in, touching me, hugging me, making sure I was alert and oriented, had not hit my head, was not seriously injured.

That I could breathe.

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Spitzer hits the national news – again

Friday, April 27th, 2007

Well, I’ll give it to Spitzer – he knows how to keep himself (and by extension, the city I live in) in the national spotlight. This time, he’s unveiled a bill to legalize gay marriage. Of course, Senate Majority Leader Joseph Bruno (R) has accused Spitzer of having his priorities wrong, saying that instead of overhauling the state’s campaign finance laws and promoting gay marriage,

Spitzer should be worried more about bringing back the death penalty for those who kill police officers and creating jobs.

Of course, as Bruno was saying this, Spitzer was off to talk economic development, so… take his objections as you will.

Personally, I think anyone who wants to get married in a state that doesn’t have no-fault divorces is insanely optimistic, but that’s just cynical moi.

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Posted in Politics |