Things We’re Enjoying XI

We’re going to change things up a bit here at SGap. Instead of presenting our weekly endorsements on Friday afternoon, we’re going to shoot for Mondays instead. There are other changes to the blog on the way too, so stay tuned. But in the mean time, here’s what three of us have been enjoying recently.

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Some of us are still trying to finish our dissertations. That makes graduation season really anti-climactic – or worse, yet another excuse to succumb to crippling writer’s block. For those of us facing the unique blend of urgency and paralysis that is the PhD candidacy, there’s Pomodoro. Schemed up in the first place by a student trying to improve his study habits, the Pomodoro Technique is a strategy for cutting work time into discreet, bite-sized units – effective especially for large, unruly projects like a dissertation. The technique is named after the tomato-shaped kitchen timer that Francesco Cirillo first used to compel himself to work nonstop in 25 minute stretches (each stretch is called a “Pomodoro”), punctuated by 5 minute breaks. Work hard and without distraction for 25 minutes – that’s one Pomodoro – and you’ll feel enough sense of accomplishment to enjoy that quick break, the thinking goes. Stack three or four Pomodoros in a row, and you’ve now put in close to two solid hours of work. Something about setting the timer – the ticking, the watching the minutes disappear – can serve as a powerful motivator. If you don’t have an old-fashioned timer at home (but those are the best, aren’t they?) there are now apps and basic websites where you can set your Pomodoro timer virtually. Here’s to finishing that thesis (or novel, or any other daunting project) twenty-five minutes at a time. Continue reading

History and Scandals

I’ve been away for awhile – grades and students and graduations! – but while away I’ve caught faint hints of bleating cries emanating from our esteemed Beltway commentariat. See, said commentariat is all aflutter with news about The Scandals that Will Wreck the Second Obama Term.™ First there was Benghazi; then there was the IRS; and finally there was the AP shenanigans.  Ezra Klein has a great rundown of these “scandals,” if you, like me, have been living under the metaphorical rock. But it’s Klein’s larger point that I want to highlight today: there are scandals afoot, but they’re not the political scandals that typically get the Politico minions worked into a tizzy.

Rather, they’re policy-oriented scandals. Or perhaps I should say they’re those issues which Beltway pundits routinely ignore. Hiding behind the shrieks of hysteria, Klein explains, are a litany of “other problems Congress is ignoring, from high unemployment to sequestration to global warming. When future generations look back on the scandals of our age, it’ll be the unchecked rise in global temperatures, not the Benghazi talking points, that infuriate them.” Abso-fucking-lutely.

It’s worth taking a moment to reflect upon how Americans usually remember administrations and the “scandals” they wreak. Continue reading

Things We’re Enjoying X

Cartoons, choral music, dispatches, and speeches: here’s what we’ve been enjoying over the past week.

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This is a double endorsement. The first is the FX show Archer, a cartoon about a secret agent with all of James Bond’s skills and talents but none of his class. The second is “Rake’s Progress,” by Charles Bock, in the March issue of Harper’s, which is ostensibly a review of Archer but is in fact a history of the adult cartoon (“adult” as in level of humor, not as in sex, although there is a lot of sex in Archer); what Bock calls “anticomedy” (a punchline that undercuts its own setup); and a particular joke that pushes the limits of repetition (for Bock, pioneered most notably by The SImpsons in October, 1993, when Sideshow Bob steps on/is smacked by nine rakes in a row over a span of thirty seconds).

The Simpsons, Bock suggests, is the first anticomedy cartoon and the first cartoon to feature high cultural fluency. That’s a pretty reasonable claim, although a case could probably be made for The Rocky And Bullwinkle Show too, which preceded The Simpsons by twenty years. From there Bock traces the grown-up, pop-culture savvy cartoon through Beavis And Butt-HeadDr. Katz, Professional TherapistSouth Park; and the emergence in the late 1990s of “Adult Swim” on the Cartoon Network, a late-night bloc of programming which resurrected cartoons from decades earlier and dubbed smart, funny dialogue over the original, earnest back-and-forth – most famously with Space Ghost, Coast To Coast.

Bock relates not just the history but also the relative funny of these shows well. Crucially, he explains that a few years after the relative success of Adult Swim came a cheap knockoff that took the basic premise of all its precursors and dumbed them down considerably: Family Guy, which is basically one part The Simpsons, one part South Park, and five parts a twelve-year old who likes fart jokes.

Archer is, according to Bock, the first really good grown-up cartoon in over a decade. It’s no The Simpsons, but it’s probably one of the better cartoons on air right now. And Bock’s review is a smart take on a phenomenon that is under-commented-on, despite the pop-cultural obsession with comedy nowadays.  Continue reading

The NY Times Doesn’t Get Structural Racism

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Sometime in the mid-1990s, the head of the National Black Farmers Association, John W. Boyd, Jr., went to his local branch of the Farm Service Administration’s loan office in Virginia, to try to obtain a loan for $7,500. For generations, the FSA has overseen loans to American farmers to help insure stable income between the planting, harvesting, and selling of crops. Helping farmers through seasonal difficulties and bad years has been a focal point of USDA responsibilities since its inception in 1889. (Abraham Lincoln established the Dept. of Agriculture in 1862, setting in motion the federal government’s increasing involvement with farmers.)

John Boyd didn’t get his $7,500. Rejected by his local USDA officer, Boyd watched the officer hand a check of $150,000 to a white man who, the New York Times reports, “had not even filled out an application.” When Boyd confronted the loan officer, the federal employee spit at Boyd. It was, Boyd told the Times, “the most degrading thing that ever happened to me.” This information comes from a recent Times article by Sharon LaFraniere. Oddly, LaFraniere’s long and well-researched article argues that decades of racial discrimination, lawsuits, settlements, and public ire are not as important to her report as the 10-15% cases of fraud that have accompanied the billions of dollars of government payouts since the 1999 Pigford v. Glickman settlement. (Suing in 1997, Timothy Pigford settled for $50,000, establishing a precedent for the government to reimburse thousands of blacks who had been denied loans since 1981.)

Bookshelves are filled with stories of deliberate racial discrimination in the name of the U.S. federal government. And more books are being researched and written right this moment (in my house) about the difficulties minority farmworkers face in the U.S. due to racism, white farmer privilege, and government officials. Yet LaFraniere chose to title her article, “U.S. Opens Spigot After Farmers Claim Discrimination.” She seems to be incensed that the government has wasted money trying to fix problems it started. It’s a bit hard to understand. It’s not that LaFraniere is wrong about what she unearthed—the Pigford settlement created serious problems of accountability and definitely could have been handled in a more pragmatic way. It’s more a matter of emphasis—had the Times been diligently reporting on racial discrimination in the USDA on an annual basis (or even irregularly), LaFraniere’s revelations would be significant additions to the complexities of the case. As it is, though, because systemic racism from the top down is rarely news in America, one reads LaFaniere condemning tens of thousands of Mexican-American, Native American, women, and black claimants—some of whom have taken advantage of the USDA and Justice Department’s mis-steps. Most haven’t. The tone of the article is well known to American historians: lazy, undeserving minorities shilling the government for billions. Luckily historian Pete Daniel knows what’s up. Continue reading

MOOCs, Part II: This Time It’s Personal.

This has not been a good month for MOOCs. A couple of weeks ago Amherst College faculty members voted down an invitation to join edX, the nonprofit MOOC platform. A few days later, Duke University withdrew from a contract it had signed with 2U, a not-quite-MOOC operation (2U offers online courses that are smaller than MOOCs and that are conducted in real-time, but that still risk displacing instructors and promoting some universities at the expense of others).

Then San Jose State University’s Department of Philosophy decided not to use a MOOC created by Harvard University’s Michael Sandel, despite a request by San Jose State administrators to do so. Instead the Philosophy faculty wrote an open letter to Sandel:

“It is in a spirit of respect and collegiality that we are urging you, and all professors involved with the sale and promotion of edX-style courses, not to take away from students in public universities the opportunity for an education beyond mere job training. Professors who care about public education should not produce products that will replace professors, dismantle departments, and provide a diminished education for students in public universities.”

The letter is worth reading; it outlines many of the chief objections to Massive Open Online Courses. (Also worth reading is Sandel’s not entirely satisfactory response). Continue reading

Things We’re Enjoying IX

After another hiatus, our weekly endorsement column is back. Here’s what we’ve been enjoying over the past few weeks.

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Sarah Polley’s made two fantastic features to date. Away from Her (2007) and Take This Waltz (2011) both revolve around the dissolution of romantic relationships:  the former chronicles the effects of Alzheimer’s on a geriatric couple’s marriage, the latter depicts how a young wife handles falling in love with another man. Together, they are two of the most emotionally honest and beautiful films I’ve seen about letting go. But her latest film (a documentary, no less) may be her best yet.

In Stories We Tell, she turns the camera inward and explores a deep-seeded family secret. I won’t say too much more about the plot because one of the pleasures of the film is how it handles revealing information (and there are a number of pretty great reveals). But I will say that it shares a number of commonalities with her two features and is an amazing film on a number of levels. First and foremost, it’s a riveting story told by a confident storyteller at the top of her game. It somehow manages to be both intensely emotional – I teared up during several scenes – and incredibly reflexive, often stepping back and asking larger questions about subjectivity and the nature of storytelling. If you’re at all interested in narrative, the ways in which we tell our own family histories, or if you like a good story, I urge you to check it out when it’s released later this month. Continue reading

On Trial by Ordeal, Obama, and Game of Thrones

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In a recent New Yorker article (March 18, 2013), historian Jill Lepore outlines a concise genealogy of state torture and capital punishment. Lepore begins with Attorney General John Ashcroft’s shock in 2001 after reading an early draft of George W. Bush’s military order, “Detention, Treatment, and Trial of Certain Non-Citizens in the War Against Terror.” “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ashcroft reportedly said after reading that military law, international laws of war, and existing U.S. legal structures would be withheld from post-9/11 combatants. Lepore ends her study with President Obama’s drone killings of recent years, drawing bi-partisan connections between recently-formed “legal” (or extra-legal) U.S. precedents and the current state of military affairs. But for proper historical context, Lepore traverses backward in time from the twenty-first century, through the Enlightenment, to the Middle Ages, when justice was a metaphysical consideration and punishment was decided by God.

Trials, as in “and tribulations,” meant “ordeal” throughout medieval Europe, between 500 and 1200 A.D. Prior to the advent of the trial by jury, before legal systems, science, and forensics, malbehaviors were regulated through the courts of monarchs and churches. When there was neither witness nor proof, trials were decided by acts of God or, at least, flimsy, seemingly-portentous asymmetrical contests of will power, physics, and, ultimately, biology. “Trial by fire,” Lepore writes by way of example, “involved grasping an iron bar. A plea was offered to God: ‘If this man is innocent…he will take this firey iron in his hand and appear unharmed.’” You get the idea; these are the juridical roots of the witch trials, the righteousness of mob zealotry.

The Church, in 1215, outlawed trial by ordeal, substituting it with court-ordered torture, a form of truth-finding that assumes guilt or, at least, guilty knowledge. Lepore: “Because people who are tortured will confess to anything, many laws required that a confession extracted by torture include details that ‘no innocent person can know.’” When we think about Guantanamo Bay, the U.S.’s proven record of torture, and Americans’ historic rejections of such measures as presumed guilt, extra-legal and extra-prisoner status, and state-sanctioned torment, it’s good to have a sense of history. For a historical gaze reminds us that change over time is not “progressive,” that things do not necessarily get “better,” even as nations, societies, and justice systems get older. Americans, perhaps more than anyone, need this reminding, and although it’s not preferable that our elected officials and their cronies are the ones who remind us, as voting citizens, we deserve what we get (this, of course, does not mean that the poor souls in Guantanamo deserve what we give them). If our presidents and congress-folks don’t remind us thoroughly enough of the uneven path of history, though, we always have diversionary entertainments. Continue reading