“Fall out!” the sergeant screamed at us. I didn’t know what he meant and feared that I was obligated to take that command literally.
It was September of 1967 at a military base near San Antonio, Texas. We were kept up all night to be processed into the military and were given our ill-fitting uniforms. We were “compassionately” granted two hours of sleep and then marched off for a hasty breakfast before a full day of intense training.
Throughout the history of the world, there have been challenges to classical science.
It took a couple of centuries for people to embrace Isaac Newton’s heliocentric model, developed in the 16th century, establishing that the sun – and not the earth – was the center of the universe. That the earth was displaced from the center of the universe clashed with the belief that we were “exceptional.” Galileo had proposed this very idea nearly a century earlier, but he recanted when his life was threatened by the Catholic Church.
As our country tilts menacingly toward a theocratic autocracy, the attacks on our public education system are becoming relentless. In some states, there is a determined effort to infiltrate school boards and administrative posts with supporters of an ultra-conservative, right-wing ideology. A traditionally conservative philosophy in our schools’ governance might be something society could tolerate and even negotiate, but this is different.
In certain states (not so much here in California), there is a troubling Christian nationalist facet of this movement that seems to be working to undermine traditional public education. Curricula and books in public schools are being unmercifully scrutinized. Anything that smacks of “wokeness” is discarded and replaced with a “patriotic” form of education. “Wokeness” is a euphemism for “liberal education,” and “patriotism” is a nefarious euphemism for censorship and distortions of history and science that are destined to warp our students’ understanding of the world and their place in it.
For the past two and a half years, I have tried every way imaginable to understand how election deniers think. Of course, I’m referring to those who are convinced, or have convinced themselves, that the 2020 presidential election was stolen from Donald Trump. Why do they so stubbornly refuse to accept Trump’s defeat despite the unambiguous evidence proving that he did indeed lose?
Before we attempt to answer that question, here are several noteworthy facts:
For some time now, I’ve written here about the difficulties faced by young people today in comparison with those faced by the baby boomers. The boomer generation grew up in relatively prosperous times after the Second World War. In retrospect, we may have had contentious issues to deal with, such as the lack of racial equality (once again a burning issue), but our democracy seemed secure. Transitions of power at the highest level of our government always seemed to take place seamlessly.
Among people of Mexican heritage, there exists a wide variety of cultural backgrounds that determine their place in the social order. Some of them arrived in the U.S. as adults – possibly seeking work or other opportunities. Others arrived as children, brought into the country by adults who arrived without the proper documents. Some of these children who qualified for the politically controversial DACA program are now young adults (known as “Dreamers”) living in a maddeningly indeterminate state of limbo. And of course, there is a portion of us of Mexican heritage who have the blessings and privileges of having been born here, enjoying all the benefits of U.S. citizenship. Our parents or more distant ancestors made the trek to “el otro lado” (“the other side”) before we were even born.
Which brings us to the Spanish language. Many Anglos assume that if we have a Spanish surname, then either we speak Spanish or should speak Spanish.
Aliso Elementary School in Carpinteria is a “California Distinguished School,” according to its website. It proudly proclaims itself the “Home of the Lions” and appears to be a school enthusiastically dedicated to “STEAM” – Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts, and Mathematics.
I occasionally saunter past the school grounds when I explore Carpinteria on my walking expeditions. Aliso is an unassuming school with nicely maintained lawns, trees, and plants on the premises. Signs on windows and doors of the school tell me that Aliso welcomes students from all strata of society with open arms and is unabashedly determined to give them, from kindergarten through fifth grade, a high-quality education. Aliso’s stated mission is to help students reach their full potential.
However, there is no “History” tab on the website, and that may be just as well. Like many schools in California and throughout the country, Aliso’s early history is a bit “murky.” Nonetheless, that history does not appear to hinder the fine job that this acclaimed school has been doing throughout the latter half of the 20th century and up to the present day.
On top of the ongoing, seemingly never-ending pandemic, we have several epidemics taking place in our country: opioids, guns, voter apathy…
Over and above these scourges, we now have inflation, soaring gas prices, supply chain disruptions, and political unrest that threatens the foundations of our democracy, which until last year we had taken for granted.
As a result, many of us are angry. We’re angry at Big Pharma, the gun manufacturers, the “liberals” who allegedly want to rip people’s guns out of their hands.
Last week I was studying a map, looking for hiking trails in the Ojai area. As my eyes wandered across the map of the region, I randomly noted the various paths, highways, streets, communities, and cities in this part of Ventura County. Something caught my attention: a community labeled as “Ojala,” north of the city of Ojai and near Lake Matilija, just off Highway 33.
Those of us who speak Spanish are very familiar with the language’s most aspirational word: Ojalá. It is a magical word with deep roots in the history of Spain. It sounds very “Arabic” because in fact it is derived from an Arabic expression for hope and longing (inshallah, or ma sha alla), which translates as something along the lines of “God willing,” or “should God will it.”
Beware the impending chaos in our schools.
As conservative politicians make inroads to our local governments, they will be charged with the political duty of acquiescing to parents who demand “control” over school boards and other educational entities. Ostensibly, parents on the far right of the political spectrum want to ensure that their children are taught only what are deemed to be “American” or “Christian” values. Unfortunately, this is often code for the elimination of lessons and discussions that investigate our troubled racial history. Anything that barely grazes age-appropriate matters of sexuality will also be off the table.
Several years ago, I invited my eldest grandson, around 10 years old at the time, to take me around the go-kart track at a local Golf ‘n’ Stuff. He greatly enjoyed feeling the power of the vehicle and the control he had over it.
Last week, he took his DMV driving test (he passed). He had been taking driving lessons. Before he took the test, he asked me to let him practice driving around the streets with me so that he could accustom himself to my car with which he would be taking his driving test. We all know how we celebrate young people’s independence and at the same time fear for their safety at these critical moments in their lives. Regardless of our reluctance to allow them such formidable freedom, which carries an enormous amount of responsibility, we must hand over the keys and hope that they are lucky, smart, sensible, and safe on our highways.
Throughout our history, Native and African Americans have been disrespected and despised. That was obvious to our entire country as recently as last March during the confirmation hearings for the nominee to the U.S. Supreme Court, Ketanji Brown Jackson, an African American woman. During the hearings, several senators disrespectfully and contemptuously grilled her almost as if she were a criminal on trial.
Last week I wrote about the treatment of Native Americans at the California missions. Although it is rarely admitted, we may as well accept that Native Americans were in fact treated as slaves for the sake of the glory, power, and expansion of the Church.
Over the past 20 years, a stealthy health risk has been creeping up on our youth. Parents need to be made aware of prediabetes—and even diabetes if the disease has already advanced to that stage—so that they can help their children deal with the threat.
As it turns out, prediabetes is frighteningly common among U.S. adults. A disheartening 80% of those with the precursor to diabetes are not even aware of the significant risks to their health.
For children, the threat over the horizon for them is equally ominous: some 9.4% of people in the United States have diabetes, but one in four of them don’t even realize that they are afflicted with this dangerous condition. At the same time, the rate of prediabetes in children has more than doubled just in the past 20 years.
The U.S. Senate recently approved a bill, enthusiastically and innocently named the “Sunshine Protection Act,” which would end the annual ritual of “falling back,” i.e., setting our clocks back one hour each fall. If it passes, we will permanently conduct our lives in Daylight Saving Time.
As can be expected, there is both enormous support for, and strong resistance to, the idea.
Last week was National Library Week, “a time to celebrate our nation’s libraries, library workers’ contributions and promote library use and support,” according to the American Library Association website.
Libraries are not the places we boomers knew as children. In the late 1950s, computers and the Internet were just a twinkle in technology’s eye. We may not all have walked to school uphill in neck-high snow, but we did work to get information.
There is so much we have learned from birds, and there is much more to learn as we unlock the secrets of their magnificent abilities.
By observing birds over millennia, we finally figured out, just over a hundred years ago, how to emulate their flight and soar through the air—first in propeller planes, and now in jets. Birds gave us a solid starting point for developing our ability to fly.
One of the memories I have from my childhood in the 1950s is the sound of the glass milk bottles in a small crate being delivered early in the morning on the side porch of our home. The “milkman,” a friendly, jocular, “older” man (who was probably in his 40s) always had a friendly greeting for my mother when she opened the door to retrieve the fresh milk.
But then just like clotheslines, answering machines, and typewriters, the milkman’s role faded away from our lives. Technology’s slow advance began accelerating and then, like an avalanche, seemed to suddenly overtake most facets of our lives. The milkman’s visits were no longer necessary in a world that now provided refrigeration and plastic.
On December 12, 2019, I finished teaching my last mathematics class at a local community college. I announced to my students that I was saying good-bye to my life as an educator. I was completely retiring after teaching for more than 40 years as both a full- and part-time math instructor. We were all looking forward to 2020 and beyond, with the kind of promise that only a new year can offer.
I walked out of the classroom thinking about the possibilities. I reflected on the many decades of work that I always had to come back to, even if I took a few days off for a vacation. Now, finally, I could consider more time with my family, longer trips, and the ability to pursue interests for which I never had the luxury of time.
Much of that was not to be—for several more years, at least.
In years past, American companies that sell items such as cars, military weapons, food, gasoline, airplanes, baking supplies, and items for personal use found that using Native American words in their product names was good for business. Now, however, some of these companies are taking a second look at their choices. In the current age of cultural awareness, appropriating words from Native American languages is deemed “unseemly,” and in some cases just plain bad for the bottom line.
The vast majority of Republicans believe Trump’s Big Lie about last year’s election. They support the “alternative fact” that the election was “stolen” and “fraudulent” and that Trump indeed “won.” They cling to this belief despite the mountains of evidence and reams of data to the contrary. There are thoroughly fact-checked, credible reports about the 61 courts, including the Supreme Court, that struck down lawsuits claiming election malfeasance. This means nothing to the “True Believers” who consider themselves “real Americans” and “patriots.”
“Trump won.” That’s their belief and they’re sticking to it.
As I sit down to write this article, the Russian army is waging war on its neighbor, Ukraine. This is of enormous concern in Europe and around the world. But there is a different kind of war in our own midst that threatens to undermine the very foundations of our country’s success as a nation.
Until recently, education of our children and young adults was something that we valued – something in which we took pride and strove to provide for them. We thought it was important that our children were learning math and history and music. We used to admire young people who chose to go to our colleges and universities. Now we also recognize that higher education is not the only path to financial and personal success.
A mortified and remorseful priest who served the Diocese of Phoenix in Arizona for more than two decades resigned from his duties this month. No, he was not embroiled in a sexual abuse case. He had not pilfered any proceeds from contributions to the church. He was not accused of having a flagrant affair with a female parishioner. He was a good man who made an honest mistake. But in the eyes of the Bishop of Phoenix, that error carried huge implications that will reverberate through the congregation for years. The shock waves are no less unsettling than those of a convulsive earthquake.
During his tenure as pastor at St. Gregory Parish, Father Andrés Arango performed thousands of baptisms. However, in all those baptisms, he had replaced one itsy-bitsy but crucial word with another. The formulaic “I baptize you in the name of the Father, etc.” became “We baptize you….”
David, this is your older self writing a letter to you from nearly 70 years in the future. I have a perspective that people acquire only after having lived through several decades, watching their own children and grandchildren navigate the rivers that are their lives.
At your five years of age, you are living in relatively prosperous times. The world is ten years down the road from the end of World War II, and people are still rejoicing as they build back their lives in a booming economy. The adults around you are creating their families, and that Baby Boom bulge will travel down time like a rodent travels down the gullet of a python. Take full advantage of the opportunities that are going to be laid at your feet. As you become older, you will see that the young people won’t have what your generation takes for granted.
Several years ago, I was shopping for sliced bread at my favorite local supermarket. I headed over to the aisle where a cornucopia of breads, cookies, crackers, jams, and nut butters burst into view. The innumerable choices at American grocery markets are legend throughout the world.
And before I digress too far, let’s return to my quest for bread. I almost never buy the same kind of bread twice in a row because I enjoy experiencing the flavors, textures, and the very essence of “our daily bread.” Bread, after all, is an ancient food representing the life force. It possesses deep religious—even sacramental—connotations.
Millions of Americans have come to depend on credentialed online pharmacies outside the U.S. for their prescription medications. These pharmacies have strict guidelines. They will sell only to adults who are able to produce a legitimate doctor’s prescription for a particular drug or medication. Quality control of their products is of utmost importance. Quantity limits are imposed.
For the struggling masses of Americans who would normally be unable to afford highly inflated prices for these vital pharmaceuticals, these online vendors based in Canada and other countries are a godsend. They offer a legitimate service that allows untold numbers of people to purchase lawful, medically prescribed drugs for a considerably discounted price. People shouldn’t be forced to decide which they can afford to pay in a particular month: food, rent, heat, or prescription medications.
Last week, the new mayor of New York City, Eric Adams, quickly found himself embroiled in a self-inflicted controversy. At a press conference, he casually referred to cooks, dishwashers, messengers, shoe shiners and fast-food workers as “low-skill workers.” That got the attention of some powerful and influential people.
Liberal U.S. State Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez fired back via Twitter. She claimed that calling workers “low-skilled” plays into a “myth perpetuated by wealthy interests to justify inhumane working conditions, little/no healthcare, and low wages.”
But looking past the outcry over the mayor’s remarks, we might want to pause and consider the implications of the issues at hand.
We are all traversing this time that will remain in our memories the rest of our lives. If we are old enough, not only we but also our children and grandchildren are experiencing the disorientation, stress, and anguish of the COVID-19 pandemic. Someday, these children and grandchildren will be telling stories of the Great Pandemic of 2019 – 2022 (hopefully not longer than that) to their descendants, possibly including our great-great-grandchildren. We cannot begin to guess what technology will be used to record those stories for posterity. Some of us may even have venerable photographs of immediate ancestors who suffered and died during the Spanish Flu of 1918 – 1920.
I never forgot a story I read in a college English Literature class about wealth, privilege, and compassion. The title of the story, The Garden Party, is simple and plain. Nonetheless, this narrative, written by Katherine Mansfield, encompasses a range of emotions ranging from the indifference of the wealthy to the suffering endured by the less fortunate. As seen in this story, the two groups often live side by side, hardly aware of each other’s existence. This is happening more frequently here in California as the state seeks to build more affordable housing, even if it happens to be adjacent to moneyed neighborhoods.
“I’m not going to see a doctor. Why should I? I feel fine!”
I’m willing to bet that we’ve all heard this line, or variations of it, from people we know. Or perhaps we ourselves have this belief that if we are feeling well, then visits to doctors’ offices are futile, a waste of precious time, and a fool’s errand. Admittedly, for many people, visits to their doctor could also very well feel like a waste of their money if the test results indicate, over and over, that “all is normal.”
As one example of the cost of ignoring routine medical tests, let’s consider one “silent disease” that often goes undetected: glaucoma. According to the Glaucoma Research Foundation, over three million Americans have glaucoma, a disease that seriously affects vision over time, but only half of them are aware of their condition. However, early detection can prevent the otherwise inevitable loss of vision.
Unbeknownst to most people some 20 years ago, a great war was being waged in our country. Only a small slice of the population, consisting mostly of educators, was actually involved in the battles, but the outcome of that war determined the academic fate of millions of students in our classrooms.
The Great Math Wars of the 1990s pitted the “reform advocates” against the “traditionalists.” It wasn’t until 2008 that a form of “cease-fire” was called, and cooler heads prevailed as compromise between the more extreme positions was hammered out.
Which brings us to today. A recent article on the front page of the Ventura County Star published on November 23, 2021, exposed the “shot across the bow” announcing the stirring of a new conflict. Unfortunately, that clash could merge effortlessly into the broad river we know as the “culture wars” that are shredding the fabric of our society and the very basis of our democracy.
Much of the world regards the United States with either admiration, envy, jealousy, anger, mistrust, or outright hostility.
I have a cousin in Mexico who frequently mentioned the U.S. with rancor and a hint of animosity. She disdainfully described her own country as “Third World.”
However, I’ve come to understand that the term “Third World” is now considered derogatory. It’s no longer “politically correct” to refer to a country as “Third World.” The term is a relic of the Cold War. It was originally meant to designate countries that were not aligned with either NATO or the communist bloc. At the time, Mexico fit that description, and the term stuck.
Last week I wrote about the importance of being informed. But as I mentioned in the article, it is even more important that we be properly informed and not misled by heavily biased news sources with ulterior motives.
So then the question we could ask ourselves is, “How can I stay adequately informed about news that matters?” What matters to us could be, for example, subjects such as politics, health, legal decisions, science, religion, family issues. We could also have a particular interest in specific regions of the world such as Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Africa, or the Americas. It would be best for us to be aware of local issues, especially when they have a direct impact on our lives.
Let’s look at a list of twelve things we can—or should or shouldn’t—do:
For me, keeping abreast of the news is a lifelong habit. For some reason, I tend to think that everyone keeps up with the news at least as much as I do. But then not everyone is as obsessed with the news as I am! And there are others who are far more diligent than I am about analyzing the affairs of the world.
I often talk with people I know about something in the news on the national, state, or local level. I mistakenly assume that “everyone” knows what I’m talking about, but I’m often faced with a blank stare. They may be interested but not aware of the circumstances that make something newsworthy. They may be embarrassed that they don’t know what I’m referring to. Or they flat-out may not care.
And then again, sometimes I’m the one with the blank stare.
In a few days, on November 2, we of Mexican heritage will be celebrating one of our most cherished traditions: honoring the departed souls of our family members on “Día de los Muertos”—the Day of the Dead.
This day is one of our cultural treasures. Our observance on this day is the culmination of the blending of three powerful influences: 1) the Aztec obsession with natural cycles, including life and death; 2) the medieval Spanish practice, brought by the conquerors of Mexico, of honoring the dead; 3) the Roman Catholic belief in the everlasting life of the dearly departed. The Aztec final resting place, Mictlán, was transmuted into the Christian heaven.
Last week I wrote about the demise of Chávez Ravine, originally a neighborhood of primarily Mexican American families and its metamorphosis into the world-famous Dodger Stadium. But initially this transformation came at a cost to the Dodgers.
Mexican Americans resented the disrespectful treatment that the inhabitants of the early Chávez Ravine had received at the hands of government. They had been on the land for generations, yet the City of Los Angeles appeared to dismiss their concerns, rights, and sense of dignity when the land was earmarked for “redevelopment.” The families were told that they had to move, but they were promised “first choice” of the new units in the proposed housing project.
During the current National Hispanic Heritage Month, we might note that the discussions regarding the proper label to be affixed to “Latinos” are often animated, if not contentious.
This cherished “month” extends from September 15 (the anniversary of several Central American countries’ declaration of independence from Spain) to October 12 (“Columbus Day,” which has morphed into “Indigenous Peoples Day”). That this special month was instituted in 1989 by a Republican president, George H.W. Bush, makes it all the more significant.
I used to read story books to my grandson. I would entertain him with action heroes, wooden cars and board games. Suddenly (or so it seems), he is asking me questions about colleges and career choices. My grandson is, after all, a high school senior. So he should be asking those kinds of questions and seeking guidance, and I am grateful that he is doing so.
His growing awareness of the urgency to make some of his life’s most impactful decisions is welcome. I would like to see him avoid the scenario in which so many other college students find themselves. Too many students have no clue whatsoever regarding their choice of career or even area of interest, which of course determines their program of study in college. My grandson still has not nailed down any clear choices, but we have narrowed down the list to two or three possible pursuits.
A number of years ago, I was pursuing a college degree in liberal arts at Oxnard College (OC). I wanted to soften the sharp edges of the decades of technical education that I had acquired up to that point. The classes that I took at OC imparted to me a vision of the world that no physics, math, or engineering class could ever have given me.
Some of my most cherished classes in the liberal arts program taught me to appreciate poetry. Those classes in poetry were taught by one of my colleagues, English professor Shelley Savren.
One of the poems that deeply impressed and mesmerized me was Mary Oliver’s Wild Geese. It conveys sheer, unvarnished truths—the ones that are not easy to confront and that we don’t want to admit are relevant to our lives.
I have a family member who works at a fast-food restaurant. Several in my extended family work at medical offices and retail stores. Several others who were from the “old country” (Mexico) worked in agriculture. Some in the family drive trucks for a living. My brother worked at a warehouse, manually tracking inventory. A sister’s entire career was dedicated to serving as a grocery cashier. My father was a linotype machine operator. In her first working years, my daughter was a bank teller (relatively few people work as bank tellers anymore). I myself worked in the college classroom as an educator.
What do all these jobs have in common?
Answer: they have either disappeared, are being judged as less essential, or are about to exit stage left.
Sometimes we reach for an artifact, a bauble, a seashell, or a book because something—we don’t know what—attracts us to the object. It’s almost as if the object chooses us.
I’ve often randomly reached for books or watched a movie or documentary. For reasons unknown to me, they caught my attention and ended up giving me a new perspective that helped me understand more about the world around me. These sources of information have pulled my life into different orbits, and at times even changed the course of my existence completely and irrevocably. One of my latest book choices certainly had me reconsidering some of the things that I had observed and learned throughout my life.
There has always been a certain degree of distrust toward science in this country—sometimes justifiably so. But over the past year and a half, that distrust has been amplified to literally dangerous levels, mostly via social media (many people’s only source for “news”) and extreme right-wing hysteria on the news channels.
The severe lack of science education in this country has fomented the massive paranoia that brings many of our fellow citizens to misunderstand, misinterpret, despise, and deny scientific information. National and state leadership that plays into the hands of an insidious disinformation campaign are decimating conservative bastions throughout the country with completely preventable illness and death.
Several months ago, I was sitting in a doctor’s office waiting to be called in. Facial masks are required. After all, this is a medical building. Given our circumstances over this past year and a half, medical staff is intensely focused on maintaining an atmosphere in which patients can feel relatively safe.
I was reading a book as I waited. I didn’t notice that my mask had fallen below my nose. The receptionist kindly reminded me to lift the mask up so that it covered my face properly. I apologized and immediately took care of the problem.
The infrastructure bill passed by the United States Senate last week has been hailed as a bipartisan victory. It was passed in the face of fierce opposition from a considerable number of Senate Republicans, regardless of how much the bill stands to benefit their constituents. After all, why make President Biden look good when you can make him look bad?
But enough Republican senators saw an opportunity to make things better for the country despite the usual threats from a certain former president. The bill is not yet signed into law, but it is expected to end up on President Biden’s desk for his signature after further discussions.
I was calmly reading an article in my favorite newspaper one morning when I came across the term “pregnant people.” I nearly choked on my coffee. Words get my attention, and I had never in my life seen those two words together.
I started to mumble about “liberals” (although I am one, with conservative leanings). I wondered if this was some far-left conspiracy to ignore womanhood or reduce it to “peoplehood.” Before I went off writing letters to the editor and state representatives or clamoring to appear on talk shows to rant about liberalism gone amok, I thought I had better investigate. I needed to find out what this nomenclature was all about.
At the time, it was hard to imagine that patiently spitting into a plastic tube would unlock some of the secrets of my ancestry. But such is the process that allows 23andMe, a “genetic service” that provides DNA testing, to provide ancestral information to their customers.
The results of such genetic inquiries can range from shocking to embarrassing to simply confirming what we may already know—or at least suspect—about our family background.
I thought I would try something new and different this week. I’m pretending that I don’t have a car. I have had a car ever since I graduated from high school, so I knew this was going to feel “different.”
Several weeks ago I started studying the bus routes in Oxnard and saw that, except for the harbor area, I could take a bus just about anywhere I want to go within the city of Oxnard from my home in Port Hueneme, provided I was willing to walk a bit. But I walk or run just about every day of my life, so that’s not an issue for me.
Once upon a time, there was a little Black girl who used to compose music in her head as she read stories about Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. She “heard” music as she gazed upon the lyrics of Peter’s morning song. She thought that everyone could compose music in their head like she did.
Last year, Emily Wilson interviewed the gifted African American composer Nkeiru Okoye (click on the link to read the interview and for YouTube videos of her work), who as a girl did not recognize her formidable gift. Her story, in more than one sense of the word “classic,” is a classic American story that spans a full range of human experiences: giftedness, discouragement, prejudice, encouragement, recognition, and ultimately triumph. As a young adult, she studied at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music and earned a doctorate in music theory and composition at Rutgers University, one of only nine “colonial colleges.” These colleges have deep roots, as they were chartered before the American War of Independence.
The news media and the health establishment continually preach to us about the importance of eating a healthy diet (substantial portions of fresh, seasonal, raw fruits and vegetables, whole grains, and limited red meat intake). A healthy diet, in turn, enhances our lives, allowing us to be more active and productive.
This is all well and good for those who have access to foods that are rich in nutrients and low in fat and calories. But many of us living in this part of California amid agricultural abundance may take for granted the food that is available to us. We may not be fully aware of the “food deserts” [NOTE: not “food desserts”!] scattered throughout many of our neighborhoods. “Food deserts” condemn many of those living in impoverished communities to poor health, sinking them even further into poverty.
In 1949, George Orwell’s novel, “1984,” was published. What was predicted to happen in “1984” in a fictionalized Britain came about for us in the U.S. quite recently. “Orwellisms” seem to be guiding our country into a dark forest from which we seem unable to emerge, and possibly never will. Just as in “1984,” truth at this time appears to be amorphous, fluid, and often inverted.
Politicians of the rightist persuasion often attack their Democratic opponents with round condemnations of their “socialist” platforms. The word “socialist” drives hard-right conservative voters into paroxysms of rage and disgust. Its impact is much the same as the label “commie” was in the 1950s when “Communists” were being pursued under every rock and wooden plank. There are aspects of socialism that should be of concern to us, but it is not an ideology to be feared without understanding what it is and what it is not.
