Life and Death

Since the puppies arrived, I've been sleeping less. When they get restless they start yelping, and I’ve always been a light sleeper. The puppies do settle down and sleep from about midnight until dawn, but that’s not quite six hours of sleep. I’ve been dragging.
In some cultures sleep deprivation is linked to spirituality. Now, I'm not going to go get my shaman's license just yet, but my recent experiences with both life and death have left me in an interesting mental space.
The life experience is all about the puppies. They keep getting bigger. They’ve developed distinct personalities. They’ve become little escape artists. They’ve grown attached to both Dóra and me.
There’s the pup we plan to keep. We call him Villi (it’s a working title, short for the Hungarian word ‘light’). He’s the biggest, and his personality is the most nuanced. He’s mellow most of the time, but he’ll aggressively defend his space in the puppy pen. When he’s out and about, he will sometimes approach my feet and tumble onto his back for a belly rub, but he’ll just as often wander off on his own and drop to the ground to sample a corner of the rug.
Most of the other pups have been claimed. One was even taken away last weekend. So we’re trying to stay emotionally distant. It’s hard. The good news is that one of the pups is going to stay in the family. She’s going Stateside to live with my folks. We picked Columbus for the trip. Funny thing, that name came about before we decided to send her across the Atlantic. Columbus was the first puppy to demand freedom from the puppy pen. She squirms her way out whenever she can, and we often find her poking her nose into the most distant nooks and crannies of the apartment. Lili was going to claim Columbus for herself, but she’s decided her lifestyle won’t allow for demands of puppy-care.
Through observing Dóra’s and my own trials, Lili is aware that taking care of a number of small animals has an effect on a person. There are all the precious moments, and the cuteness, and the big eyes with the longing looks. But there is also a lot of piss and poo to clean up, a lot of meaningless barking, and the total lack of reasoning on their part. They have no capacity for critical thought, these puppies. The catch phrase of Triumph the Comic Dog is much more poignant to me now than ever before; that is how a puppy thinks: ‘Oh, this is nice. I’m out of my pen, and the floor is full of different smells, and I am walking around, and this is a nice sandal… for me to poop on.’
I’ve never been much for Hallmark sentimentality, but having puppies has ripped any romanticized view of small animals right out of me. Don’t get me wrong. I still love the puppies, but they are complicated little creatures. Which makes them more interesting than a phrase like “puppy-dog eyes” can ever hope to relate.
They are simultaneously selfish, playful, dirty, curious, aggressive, friendly, whiny, hungry, cute, disgusting, and adorable.
Now, I won’t compare dog puppies to human babies here. That gets a little weird if you ask me, but I will say that adult humans exhibit this same kaleidoscope of characteristics.
This is easier to illustrate with literature (because the finite nature of art is easier to understand than the infinite nature of reality). Think of the most interesting character from a book you recently read. I’m going to go with Ahmad from Updike’s Terrorist. What makes your character interesting? Is it that he/she is strong or weak or honorable or is it something more? My thoughts are that the characters most worth reading about are full of conflicting characteristics. They are a closer approximation to what we know as life. It is our need to impose a narrative on how such conflicting characteristics move with us from one day to the next that makes living life the selfish, playful, dirty, curious, aggressive, friendly, whiny, hungry, cute, disgusting, and adorable experience that it is.
So, that’s what puppies have taught me. I warned you, I’m not sleeping well.
As for my recent encounter with death, that took place in a tiny ethnically Hungarian village in southern Slovakia.
Dóra and I went to a traditional pig-killing this month. We arrived at 7:30am and were rushed back to the little sheds that housed the animals: chickens, pigs, dogs, and pigeons (pigeons?). They killed the pig right away. I didn’t have much time to process that. There was a bunch of smiling strangers pointing the way. We stepped onto a 20’x20’ cement slab where there was a crowd of people standing beside two wood fires burning inside a pair of oil drums. I didn’t know what the rush was all about until I saw the pig.
She was being pinned down by two good-sized men in flannel and overalls. When the men were told to proceed, a third man step in with a pressure gun. He pressed it to the pig’s neck and fired. There was a lot of squirming as the men wrestled the pig further out onto the concrete. A knife was produced and the neck was slit open.
Pig’s bleed a lot.
Two pigs were killed this way. Over the course of the next eight hours, a dozen people, myself included, cleaned the pigs with a blowtorch and brushes, butchered the pigs (Dóra has a crush on the butcher), hauled the meat into the shed, divided the fat from the meat, pulled out the useful organs, boiled the fat, ground up the sausage meat, mixed and stuffed sausages, mixed and stuffed liver-sausage, and all the while took in a steady flow of pálinka.
The event left me exhausted, but I was struck by the tradition of the affair. I how it turned food production into a kind of ritual. I think it’s fitting. After all, the pig didn’t want to die. Had you been there, you would understand how much an animal struggles to stave off death. It is a violent and painful fight. It didn’t make me dislike meat or the killing of animals for food, but it does give one pause.
I think the animals we consume deserve a send off, and this countryside tradition fits the bill for me. I care about animals enough to birth a litter in my apartment. Shouldn’t I care enough to see that we send them off with a bit of respect?

Whelp! Whelp!

I like keeping up “Hogs in Budapest.” It’s an attempt to keep me writing even when things get hectic. So, when I let time slip between posts, I often feel guilty. But not this time.

This time, the ‘other things I had to do’ all felt considerably more important than this blog.

This time I was kept from posting by Szóda and her litter of eight healthy puppies.

Szóda whelped the puppies on the 11^th of January, and this is the first chance I’ve had to write about it. And I’ve been dying to write about it.

It was a life experience, and I don’t use that phrase lightly here. I have lived to see a dog give birth. Like psychedelics, sex, or salsa lessons, you’ve either been through it or you haven’t.

There are those who may chastise me for allowing Szóda’s accidental pregnancy, but…

Well, you’re right. This is normally the kind of thing you want to plan – in detail. So I’ll be the first to admit, I screwed up a little bit. But we did want puppies eventually, and it’s not like Szóda will have to drop out of school and study for the GED while nursing.

Still, I knew that I had dropped the ball when I caught Szóda and the sire – who I like to call Mitt – in the act on the lawn outside the house in Leányfalu. Mitt is a neighborhood dog who has shown some affection for Szóda in the past. He’s a medium sized muscular black dog – looks to be mostly Lab. When I stepped outside, Mitt was on top of Szóda, and all the equipment was firmly in place.

In my defense, I thought Szóda was finished with the receptive stage of her cycle. She was not. She was receptive… or receiving or whatever you want to call it. Both her and Mitt knew, however, that I didn’t like what I was seeing. Mitt quickly changed his mind about what he was doing, and turned to run down the hillside.

Now, I’m no dog-breeding expert. I don’t have me one of them fancy degrees in dog-breed-ology, but I saw something right then that I don’t think many lay-people are familiar with. Dogs can’t simply pull out (you’ll forgive the phrase). When Mitt went running down the hill, he took Szóda with him. Szóda, for her part, was trying to run toward me, but Mitt had the hill and a bit more towing capacity. It was an odd sight, to be sure.

Over the next few weeks I watched Szóda for any signs of pregnancy. I didn’t really know what to look for, but I figured her appetite would change or her energy level would fluctuate. Nothing. So five weeks later, when we left for the holidays and had to board her, I didn’t think to mention anything to the kennel. The only reason that (poor) decision didn’t end in disaster is that our kennel is run by the kindest, most wonderful animal lovers in the whole of Hungary. They contacted a vet and got Szóda an ultrasound. Pregnancy confirmed.

We returned from Florida on a Sunday. First thing, we got the name of a good vet who does house calls, picked up the dog, and got ready for the big day. While we waited, we read up on whelping puppies. We didn’t have to wait long.

Szóda stopped eating on Thursday. We knew from our reading that was a sign. The next day she was sniffing around the house. That was the next sign. Then at about 5:00pm, she started panting. It would be soon. I was alone in the apartment, but when I called Dóra, she told me she’d be there right away.

The first puppy was whelped before Dóra got home. Initially it looked like Szóda wanted to do this on the floor near the heater. She was whining a little and seemed confused about what was happening. She shifted between lying down, sitting, and the different poses she strikes while going to the bathroom. Her ears were pinned back. She seemed afraid I was going to scold her. I started petting her and reassuring her that she was a good dog, and that’s when I saw it. From between her hind legs there was a foggy translucent bubble pushing its way out.

I started panting. I had read about what I would have to do if things went wrong. It all sounded very complicated. I just kept hoping Szóda’s instincts would do the job. My hopes seemed misplaced when Szóda moved from her spot on the floor to her ottoman. (Yes, we bought Szóda an ottoman. She likes to sit how people sit.) She jumped up and got situated.

I didn’t like the look of things. The way she laid down meant the puppies would be born into this world only to tumble off the side of a piece of IKEA furniture. So I squatted down beside Szóda and held out my hands. I felt like I was behind home plate.

The first puppy fell into my palms around 6:00pm. It was still inside the placenta, but Szóda got to licking and nibbling, and soon there was a wet puppy taking its first breath. While the puppy struggled out of my hands and onto the upholstery, Szóda ate the placenta and the umbilical cord. This was surprisingly less gross than I had thought it would be. She licked everything up and then went about cleaning the pup.

Dóra got home to see the second puppy arrive. The next five were easier than the first.

The seventh was on the small side, and somehow I convinced myself that the runt was always the last one whelped. I thought I must have read it somewhere, because it sounded so reasonable. You ever do that? Make up some kind of fact and then decide it’s true without any real world evidence? I do it all the time.

Anyway, I was wrong. By the time the vet came over, there was an eighth, and when the exam was over, he told us a ninth was on the way. By 10:00pm the whelping was over, and it was doggie day-care time. Nine puppies and one tired bitch.

The runt wasn’t strong enough to make it, but the other puppies are getting bigger every day. They are starting to walk – kind of. They wobble up into this bow-legged stance and stumble around. Of course it’s all unreasonably cute. We’re enjoying it. There are homes for most of the pups already. We’re going to keep one. That was the plan all along. When we decide which one, I’ll write something about that.

Opinions Suck

Yeah? Well... that's just -- like -- your opinion... man...

I'm still undecided on US elections. I can't say if living over here helps or hinders my decision making process, but this topic was on my mind yesterday when I was reading some news about my favorite band, Radiohead. After finishing the article I found myself perusing the comments left on the message board below the article.

Strange thing, those huge public message boards. I normally avoid them, as they have a tendency to make me angry at people who are as good as imaginary. But I have an unhealthy obsession with the aforementioned band, so I allowed myself to wallow in a bit of internet chatter.

Most of the comments came from people happy to hear about the upcoming US tour locations, but then I came to a comment by 'macseries' who said "Radiohead is boring."

That's all. Nothing more.

I got angry - but not because 'macseries' thinks Radiohead is boring. My wife kinda thinks Radiohead is boring, and I love her just as much as I would if she were a fan.

No, I got angry because the internet is encouraging people like 'macseries' to believe that their opinion is important in and of itself. Too many internet users like 'macseries' believe that their simple undefended opinions mean something to me and the public at large because their two-dimensional view of the world is not challenged in the one-dimensional space they inhabit. The places these people post messages are all "high-fives" or "fuck-yous." There is no nuance, no subtlety to anyone's statements. No one feels the need to back up their views.

I know that the internet is the most democratic method of mass communication ever in the history of whatever, but democracy does not mean that everyone's opinion counts the same. It means that everyone has the right to an opinion AND in a free democracy those people (should) have access to the facilities that can help give their opinion value. But people still need to work to give their opinions value.

As an instructor of composition, I find myself explaining the following to 18 and 19 year olds nearly every day: Until you can prove otherwise, your opinion holds no value whatsoever. I don't care if your parents and your teenaged years made you feel like the most important person in the whole wide world - you are not. Your existence does not make you special. You are just some kid going to school in Hungary.
But... but, if you think about it, that fact is pretty cool in and of itself, and I bet there are other aspects of your life that are interesting. You do have experience and knowledge others lack. The challenges you now face are 1) successfully communicating the value of your experience to the critical world around you and 2) gathering the right kinds of experience to make your understanding of the world even more valuable.

I think it is an important lesson, and I am happy to pass it on to young people. But if the iFolks like 'macseries' continue to spout their tripe and then congratulate one and other for simply having an opinion, then as the world ceases to be critical, experience and understanding will continue to lose meaning. While I'll admit this brand of relativism is not anything new, I believe the internet is giving it a new vitality. I feel like there are symptoms of it everywhere - as pundits dole out unfounded arguments on TV and politicians retreat into the bowels of partisanship in the capitols and the sacred damn the secular while in church and the secular scoff at the sacred from the Ivory Tower and so on...

And this all is hitting extra hard because we're at the beginning of an election year. The 'raise your hand' debates and the sound bites are beginning to grate.

I believe our leaders need to rise above the 'macseries' of the world. I want to hear someone - anyone - acknowledge the complexity of the world and attempt to communicate how their understanding can lead us to better places. Drop the empty phrases.
Don't tell me your the candidate with experience or the candidate for change or the candidate of security. Tell me how your experience will change the world and that will make me feel secure in casting my vote.

And now some Radiohead.

Gunslinging

Late last month I wrote about a man here in Budapest repeatedly slapping a woman in public. I wrote that I was disappointed by my own inaction. I went on to point out that my lack of initiative may stem, in part, from my time living here in Budapest.

Dan quoted these lines from the post before stating his reaction: "The idea that one person's fortitude can change the way of the world has been pissed on by both history and politics[here in Hungary]. This has left an atmosphere of apathy that is hard to overcome."

Dan then went on to say, "Indeed. This is why-after the protesters have all gone home (or on paid holiday)-Europe needs the "American Gun-Slinger" after all."

The image of the American gunslinger is an interesting choice. As an icon, the gunslinger is forever taking the law into his own hands - but not necessarily because the law has failed. The gunslinger belongs to the semi-mythic untamed West, a uniquely American setting where the law has yet to catch up with evil-doers. This very American folk hero speaks to core beliefs that set the stage for one of the more interesting cultural conflicts between the US and Europe.

Since Antiquity, Europe has held that the government serves a vital role in the lives of its citizens, an irreplaceable role. Here in Europe, the idea that one person can step in to serve justice or offer protection to 'The People' is viewed as an American concept, as an overly-optimistic idea, and as somewhat silly. Even England's most famous outlaw was serving the establishment - protecting the Crown in the name of the true King.

Last week, when I failed to step in and stay the hand of that man, I noted that I was not alone. The tram was full of people, all of whom couldn't be bothered to raise their voices in protest. And why? Last month I blamed Hungarian history, but Dan's point about the gunslinger adds an interesting dimension. Keeping the peace on the streets of Budapest is someone's job. More specifically, in the case of the incident on the tram, it is someone else's job. You see, I pay an obscene amount of taxes so that the government will keep this city clean and safe enough for me to go about my business.

Budapest is struggling after a difficult half-century. We'll call it a work in progress.

Paris is an better example. Parisians are allowed to litter. Their dogs can defecate wherever they please. The Parisian government built a tremendous sewer system with open drains on every street; all day and night street-sweepers march through the city sweeping filth down the drains. The city is fantastically clean, but not because of the citizens. It is because of the government.

When I lived in New York, if your dog took a shit on the sidewalk and you left it there, you were likely to hear from one of your fellow New Yorkers. "Hey, fuckhead, clean up after your god-damned dog." Ah, New York. Good times.

But that concept, that it is a citizens' right to stand up for civil justice, that strikes me as an American conviction.

We love our gunslingers. We love the individual who will stand up against injustice when the establishment is corrupt, absent, or powerless. We can't get enough of our Dirty Harrys, our Martin Luther Kings, our Billy the Kids, or our Thomas Jeffersons.

They come in a range of beliefs and values, but their conviction that one person is enough to change things for the better sets them apart from what I witnessed last month on that tram.
I hope in jotting down these reflections I remember to hold onto some of that gunslinger justice.

Uncomfortable Realization

I was riding the tram home from work today when I witnessed a man beating his girlfriend in public.

When this happened I was listening to "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me" on my brand-non-specific portable listening device. "Wait, Wait..." is a show that not only keeps me smiling, it often gets me to laughing out loud. I take an extra bit of pleasure in listening to this show while riding BKV (Budapest Public Transit). It is uncommon to see a person over the age of twenty smiling while riding public transit in Budapest. The Hungarians are not a smiley people. So when Peter Sagal and the gang get me to laughing, I am reminded that while I have been living here for some time now, I still maintain some of the hope and optimism that history has robbed from so many Hungarians. I'm different from these people, and - at least in some ways - this is a good thing.

But when the raised voice of a twenty-something Gypsy intruded into my enjoyment of NPR's humorous news quiz, I was forced to face an uncomfortable truth. I wasn't looking when the first slap landed.

The woman stood next to me, but I took no notice until her boyfriend started yelling. He said something along the lines of, "Who the fuck do you think you are?" I looked up in time to see the follow through.

My blood started to boil.

Her grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the nearest door. And as everyone on the tram waited for the next stop, he gave her two more open handed smacks.

I wanted to act. I had at least twelve centimeters on the guy. Even if he was strong, I had physics on my side. But I stood, and I waited for the uncomfortable violation of human decency to get off at the next stop.

I've been kicking myself all day, and while I can't blame anyone other than myself for my own inaction, I can't help but feel that my time in Hungary has left me less likely to act in such situations.

So many of the people here fail to see the point standing up against what’s clearly wrong. The idea that one person's fortitude can change the way of the world has been pissed on by both history and politics. This has left an atmosphere of apathy that is hard to overcome.

Now, I realize that if I had stepped in today on the tram, I wouldn't have made that man a better person. He wouldn't have seen the light simply because someone stayed his hand this one time. But I would have shown him that such behavior cannot be tollorated in public. I would have shown him that for so many people to live together is such a tiny space, we must draw a line. I just wish I wasn't writing this in the subjunctive. I hope that next time I will act in the moment.

Post on Protests at Pajamas Media

I've been buried at work, and my folks have been here for visit. So my writing took a back seat for a bit, but I did find time to write up an article about the protests from the end of last month. It was published at Pajamas Media, and a few high profile blogs linked to it. I'm happy about the exposure.

Are you ready to MOCK?

Sony Bravia - Play Doh Ad
Uploaded by tvspot

Did you watch it?

I know, it's a load of consumption propaganda disguised as art, but it was still fun, right? Are stop-motion bunnies on the streets of New York any less cool because the artists who animated them are getting a check from Sony?

I do know people who will say yes - deeply cynical people who see everything through irony-colored glasses. To a certain extent, I count myself among such people, but...

Well, I think I may be growing cynical of cynicism - and it's hipper counterpart snark. The need to lash out against anything and everything with witty sarcasm has left my generation with little to value aside from sarcasm itself. And it's even worse among those in the upcoming generation. I see it in my classroom, on message boards, and with my peers; if anyone tries to get behind a cause or stand up for an ideal, those who see themselves as hip will condemn such efforts as either commercial marketing or government disinformation or bleeding-heart agendas or partisan hackery or whatever other faceless engine of distrust in en vogue at the moment.

Those who are plugged-in are ready to mock everything, but they are incapable of doing anything.

My students, for instance, are reluctant to believe in anything.

Story:
I have asked my class to preform a group research project on ecotourism. There's a bit of hand-holding involved because the class is meant to be an introduction to research. So, I'm walking them through the initial stages: concepts, definitions, background, and previous research. This is the stage when they start to wrap their heads around the idea of ecotourism. It all leads to this infuriating discussion where one of my students actually says, "It seems like these ecotourist people just want you to spend more money." Another student jumped on board with, "It sounds nice, but you're not going to solve the world's problems just because you don't litter while on vacation."

Now they're only 18 or 19 years old, so I would forgive such obtuse comments if they were coming from a naive place (If you don't see the comments as obtuse: everyone wants tourists to spend more money + ecotourism is trying to change more than one person's behavior). These students, however, aren't naive. They are some smart kids. They learn quick. They have learned to see everything as a ploy or a gimmick. They've also learned that the first person to shoot down an idea with the appropriate level of sarcasm becomes the cool kid.

I understand that my parents' generation didn't exactly deliver on the whole "We can change the world." thing, but when did that translate to, "We can't do a damn thing, so let's sit back and poke fun at the people who try."?

I realize this issue isn't helped by the increased level of radicalization in today's world, but let's face it; the two issues are in a codependent relationship.

A dialog:

Cynical Youth
I don't care about patriotism.

Potential Radical
What if someone from another country took your job?

Cynical Youth
Maybe they deserve it if I'm so lazy.

Potential Radical
If you're too lazy to defend our country, maybe I need to do more.

Cynical Youth
I'd like to see you try, nutso.

Potential Radical
While maybe I should take up arms and form a militia to protect our borders?

Cynical Youth
(Sarcastic)Yeah, that's going to work.

Potential Radical
All right, then. I'll do it.

A gross oversimplification? Sure, but you get the idea.

I believe my growing distaste for cynicism stems from my geographical location (and perhaps my age, but less stick with geography on this one).

You'd be hard pressed to find a region of the world populated by a more cynical group than those over here still recovering from the collapse of the Soviet Union. While I'll admit the people here have plenty of cause to be cynical, the global pop culture's current existential funk has fueled the fires of sarcasm while squelching anything resembling confidence or hope. This has helped make politics more ugly and divisive. It has bolstered nationalists. It has reduced the public's already-weak faith in governments. It has helped to legitimize corruption. The list goes on.

And so I'm left asking, has the public fallen so in love with cynicism that it believes itself impotent? Have we become convinced that the world is so corrupted that only the powerful have any kind of control? Because if that is the case, isn't such cynicism just a pathetic surrender?

I won't be buying a high-end plasma TV, but I still think the rabbits were cool. I think whatever beauty, magic, or mischief we can believe in helps to make this life a better one. I hope I'm not in the minority.

Bin Laden and Snake Oil

A friend wrote me yesterday and offered some food for thought. I've edited to protect the innocent, but here's the essence of it:

Two quotes and a question. The 1st is from The Chicago Tribune, the 2nd from the Sun-Times, both dated 8 Sept., and both are about bin Laden's new video-- 1) "Addressing economic globalization, he [bin Laden] says, "The reeling of many of you under the burden of interest-related debts, insane taxes and real-estate mortgages, global warming and its woes, and the abject poverty and tragic hunger in Africa--all of this is but one side of the grim face of this global system." " 2) "He said "warmongering owners of the major corporations" would rush to appease voters who showed they are looking for an alternative, "and this alternative is Islam." Bin Laden frequently criticized capitalism, calling its leaders the real terrorists and threats to human freedom." My question this 9-11 is, "Why is bin Laden sounding like Bono?" And no, I'm not taking a cheap-shot here.

I don't think it's a cheap shot. I think this gets closer to the core of the issue than most people are comfortable with.

Bin Laden is exploiting a weakness of his enemy - his enemy being every sane person in the world. The weakness he's exploiting is simple: people's perception of the world is currently on some very unsteady footing.

Jason's comment on last week's post actually has had me thinking about this a lot recently.

The fight Bin Laden is engaged in should be familiar, but people can't figure out where the battle lines are drawn anymore. Global communication, global trade, and global economies have demolished the boundaries we were previously accustomed to. The world is changing faster than many people would like; faster than social conservatives, radical Islam, socialists, populists, traditional media, or even Lou Dobbs can deal with.

I think Bin Laden has got a few good points (I'm cringing) when he rattles off that list of problems in the developed world, but to say Islam is the best alternative? It's the same faulty logic employed by the anarchist who suggests we go back to hunter-gatherer days (there are anarchists who suggest this).

To me it sounds silly. That's right Mr. Bin Laden, I called your reasoning silly. What do you think of that?

However, I have to remember this Bin Laden guy is a well educated and talented rhetorician.

We know Islam is not the logical alternative to the woes of a society enduring the pangs of globalization, but not everyone has the knowledge needed to reach that conclusion.

Bin Laden is intentionally constructing his straw man out of the issues bandied about by prominent people. It's a clever ploy, and in a world where the conventional media, politicians, experts, extremists, academics, pop stars, and hotel heiresses are all competing for credibility, it's a ploy that will likely work on a few unwitting souls.

But Bin Laden's faulty logic shouldn't undermine the legitimacy of the issues he spoke about. Nor should it undermine the legitimacy of those who rally behind causes aimed at mitigating those problems.

I'll admit, I think Bono and DeCaprio are both a bit obnoxious. I also think, however, that poverty in Africa is a problem. And sure, I think climate change is an issue that needs to be addressed. These people are legitimately concerned about the aimlessness of corporate globalization. They are worried that if Milton Freedman wins the day, the world will become less humane. Remembering some of what happened at the begining of this decade, I believe they've got a point.

Your Bonos and DiCaprios may sometimes ride a horse a bit too high to stomach, but they aren't calling for fatwahs. They are actually trying to find solutions to the problems Bin Laden is exploiting in an effort to steel his followers and increase their number.

We won't win this by ignoring our enemy, but we can make progress if we listen critically.

And to remind us of how painfully complex our world has become, ladies and gentlemen, The Onion:

'Students First In Line' Program To Offer Job Training At Needy Schools