Failing to Pass the Political Correctness Test with “The Green Book”

What a drag it is to feel I have to confess to the powers of political correctness, that I really liked the movie “The Green Book”. I have found several of the rather snide reviews that seem to abound, both snobbish and condescending. I saw the film today and in it I saw people changing inside and with each other. I didn’t feel self-congratulatory as a white person, or that all was well in the world of race. Just because people have some moments of humanity together doesn’t mean we white folks have to congratulate ourselves or think all is now okay.

It isn’t. Racism is sadly still very alive and was never solved. However that doesn’t negate the fact that sometimes between human beings hatred is interrupted and even transformed. I resent anyone implying that my liking the movie makes me stupid, insipid, easily seduced or just wanting to think I’m wonderful.

Racist? I know I am, I have gotten to know that part of me better over the past years and still have to work it. The movie didn’t make me feel good about myself; it just made me equalize the playing field of life for a couple of hours, as happens in any good film, or good novel, or real authentic human encounter. I liked it a lot. I empathized with the white driver and the black pianist (both played exquisitely by way by Viggo Mortensen and Mahershala Ali). I liked the fact that the relationship they had seems to have changed each of them.

I tend to resent critics in general because with the turn of a hand, whether by pen or computer, they can ruin the run of a work of art that might have taken great pains to come into existence. When I was blogging for Huffington Post I interviewed James Earl Jones who was then starring in the Broadway version of “Driving Miss Daisy”.

As described in that piece, I found something very deep in the play and in the performances. At the same time I noted that the New York Times critic minimized the play as “slender”; it was a kind of kiss of death for its popularity.

As a white liberal I have also suffered from what Robin Di Angelo has called “white fragility”…

I had been raised on the idea that as a Jewish liberal who was “for” civil rights I was immune from the tag of racist myself. That, I am seeing more and more, is not the case. I assumed I was not one of the bad guys taking advantage of my white privilege. I was wrong and want to bring whatever increasing awareness I can, to the table.

America in general had not been a place conducive to reparation. Sometimes it has not been conducive to an awareness of how much cruelty and brutality there has been towards many kinds of people and minorities. At the same time I do not want to be treated cruelly because my heart was moved by a movie. I do not want the critics to assume that I am any more racist, because I saw the two protagonists as in need of some knowledge and genuine bond the other could supply. I suppose that I’m saying I want to rebel against the easy categories. And I want to be less bruised by critiquing that can seem so absolute and fancy: I want to take it less personally as well. I want to question the authority of anyone dictating taste with such apparent ease.

A propos of “fancy” I have this term I use as I refer to “ceilings and basements” to describe this. It means that much advice, criticism, standard setting, is done on what I call the ceilings, where many of us live much of the time in the messier arenas I refer to as the basements. I don’t think the airy ether of ceiling judgments helps anyone. I think we need the room to examine our loves and hates, our prejudices and to admit when our hearts are tugged at (I know, don’t end a sentence with a preposition).

Instead, I want to wonder out loud at the glib superiority of some critics, and the harm they do in making the readers and viewers cringe in shame rather than becoming freer in their own honesty. Okay, I mean freer in our own honesty, freer to feel the true feelings that we have.

We need richer dialogues about racism in America– where there is real listening and real learning and owning of difficult emotions and experiences, and history. For now, I don’t think a dialogue about race in America will be helped by glibness on any side at all.

To Life and Hope, to the Birth of a Book on the 18th



Ok, you’re right. It’s not just any book; it’s my book. And my free—ish association goes to the song lyrics, “It’s my party I can cry if I want to”. And maybe this says something about the connection between joy and sorrow, at least in my life, and in ways, my book as well.

I like the association, and it’s a bit like my idea of “talking out loud” (I have a whole chapter on this subject). Talking out loud, internally or externally, can lead to new thoughts, or old thoughts that become available, and much more. And for now the notion that I don’t have to have just one set mood is freeing.

Okay, so you ask, what is the title of the book? Okay, already, I’ll tell you. It is The Human Climate: Facing the Divisions Inside Us and Between Us; and Dignity Press is publishing it. Another point that has proven important to me is the number 18 in the date of publication. At first I hoped it would be the beginning of 2018. What a kick, to have a book come out on January 18th of 2018. And I admit, it might have even been a thrill to have a book be out by 2008, since I was already at work on it. But alas, even if the book is small (130 pages if you’re asking), the process and progress went in fits and starts, the latter day vision and version as much a shedding of other books and manuscripts that had to be discarded if not forgotten, as anything else.

I am coming to the number 18. The website Thought.Co says something about the number 18 in Judaism, and yes, you’re right, I use it because I am Jewish, but perhaps you could already tell by my way of talking—at least in this particular missive. Written there is the following: “Because it means ‘life,’ the Chai is consequently a symbol that captures an important aspect of Judaism. For Jews, Chaim (the plural form of the word) symbolizes the value of life and the hope that supports it. It also represents the will to live and serves as a reminder to the Jews to live and protect life.”

There is a reference to the use of multiples of the number 18 used as money gifts for Bar and Bat Mitzvahs and other occasions which in some way merit or call up the association. And I am pretty sure many of you are familiar with the term “L’Chaim” whether from a toast or from “Fiddler on the Roof”, or both. It has a happy connotation, the idea of toasting to the positive, to the possible.

I probably have more superstitions than I even know of and I can’t exactly claim the good luck of 18 being one of them. This is because I think of it as more of a wish than any assuming of good luck. The luck feels more something present in the doing, the having– the owning of the experience.

There are so many things that no book will do, certainly for me. This book, for example, is shorter than I thought it would be. It took me longer than I thought it would (I confess I just typed in “older” instead of “longer”) and yes there is the fact that I would have wanted to be younger when my one big (emotionally so) book would in fact come into being.

And yet maybe I can take advantage of the momentum of that number 18 coming up any second to wish myself some of the aspects of life that can be good. For one, I can wish for the book (and myself in so doing) that it be what it is, who it is. I can wish that I be who I am as much as possible in what I write about the book and its content, and what I say about it as well. I can admit to the book being a reflection of how I think and feel and write, even if it will not meet the criteria of those more studious than me. And I can admit to the fact that I put lots and lots of blood, sweat and tears into this, even if at moments it feels too thin for that to be true.

I can thank the book and the process for reinforcing the limitations of any and all of us, in realizing that any book—to me at least—that I would write, would be bound to be a beginning. I didn’t know this really, at the book’s beginning but I’m compelled to realize it now. I can only write what I can, as the person I am, in the context in which I live, bound by my prejudices even as I work to modulate them with more awareness and the capacity and will to pause in the middle.

I hope you will join me in partaking of coming to know what lies in this book, but at the very least I thank you for looking at these words that testify to the dignity of my attempts.

Truth or Bullshit: A Look at the Movie “Vice”

When I saw the movie “Vice”, about Vice President Dick Cheney, it was a few hours before the Golden Globe Awards in which Christian Bale, who played Cheney, won the award for best male actor in a musical or comedy. Aside from the misguided nomenclature (“Vice” being neither a real comedy or a musical), what happened after the award included fits of rage and righteousness indignation by voices of the right, related mostly to Bale thanking Satan for his inspiration for the role. The knee jerk conservative reaction was to be offended, defensive and hardly interested in whether Cheney had done as much damage to America, Iraqi civilians and detainees as the film suggested.

While I was watching the movie, I felt sickened by the rampant manipulation of data and information shown by the George W. Bush Administration, though Dick Cheney seemed in the film as he seemed in real life to be calling the shots at the Capitol. The film, while not telling me much that was new, did reinforce what I had known. And I say this, not as a liberal in any kind of vendetta, but rather as someone who was reading about torture since Abu Grahib, about the role of the American Psychological Association in America’s torture policies, as well as about the decimation of any regard or trust for America in much of the region of the Middle East.

A major issue for anyone who sees “Vice” has to do with whether the viewer has real interest in the truth of what happened during Cheney’s reign as Vice President and his political life before that. In other words I’m raising the question of whether we have in fact an ethical obligation to revisit history in general and the years of the Iraq War, even if what we find makes us uncomfortable. There is of course an alternative, one that would simply declare the innocence of any chosen American, just because that person is American; or declare a given policy above suspicion just because it is American. In one example of the latter phenomenon, Dick Cheney, with help from his buddy Donald Rumsfeld, stated that there was no torture done by America, because America doesn’t torture. No criminal investigation was deemed necessary regarding continued abuses of Iraqi detainees; after all they were suspected terrorists, right? Geneva Convention standards didn’t apply because Cheney said they didn’t, case closed. To me this sounds like the distraction of a huge part of the American public. In fact it kind of sounds like bullshit.


There is a very small book by Harry G. Frankfurt called Bullshit (Princeton University Press, 2005). He explores the differences between truth, lies and bullshit and also between a truth teller, a liar and a bullshitter. One of his points is that while the honest person says what she/he believes to be true, for the liar it is important to consider statements as untrue. Frankfurt continues: “For the bullshitter, however, all bets are off; he is neither on the side of the true nor on the side of the false. His eye is not on the facts at all…except insofar as they may be pertinent to his interest in getting away with what he says. He does not care whether the things he says describe reality correctly. He just picks them out, or makes them up, to suit his purpose. “(p. 56)

Now, when psychology is used against us–either by politicians or business people—or lovers and friends– or anyone looking for influence and not honesty– we are under the sway of bullshit. And one of my own concerns is that we may be so manipulated by those who love the polarization that exists among us, so as to have this constant tension exacerbated, without some of us even knowing.

I have been trying to question the assumptions of my own liberal self-identification. In my work on the shadows—the parts where we unconsciously bury feelings and thoughts unacceptable to our conscious minds—I have felt increasingly obligated to question my own bouts of moral superiority—if mostly imagined ones. I have found my capacity to identify with acts of violence, with people who are much tougher than me. And I have been exploring my own prejudices, whether they are racially or politically inspired.

It would be such a challenge to see the movie “Vice” and discuss it from the point of view of sharing experiences of the movie, and experiences and memories of the days in which they take place.

It would need so much discipline, but my main question is not about the discipline but rather about how much we can conjure up genuine motivation for knowing the truth. I am assuming not everything about the period—like whether Saddam Hussein had weapons of mass destruction, or whether torturing prisoners is both illegal and ineffective—is merely subjective.

What would happen if we let down our quasi-addictive appetite for judging and assuming we are right, and agree to learn from whatever truth we find? What a concept! I think it could be fascinating. We might even decide to question the easy truths—really the easy assumptions and accusations that bombard us. With increased empathy for one another, something that can only come with the desire to hear each other’s stories and walk in each other’s shoes, we might substitute increasing trust for automatic antagonism.

What I Want for President

So I’m reading about Elizabeth Warren and how she shouldn’t be underestimated. She’s as tough as nails, really, and to prove it there are quotes of her demolishing the one and only Donald Trump. He is small, she has said, and obviously there is more where that comes from.

So the competition is starting, but we know it had already started before the beginning of 2019. I think of Hillary Clinton’s gaffe in 2016 when she called Trump supporters “a basket of deplorables”. I was sitting in Italy on my computer reading the news—the American news that would be—and I stood up, so much was my disbelief. I said out loud, “This is cuckoo and so bad. She is talking about people she wants to vote for her.”

It might seem silly to worry about tone of politicians in our country that is so used to polarization. And at the same time I feel that if we don’t find ways to know each other better as human beings, we will continue to demonize—not only people of different colors and continents, but also our neighbors at home. Not that the demonization of people who seem strange and/or exotic is okay. It is just that we may be oblivious to the price we pay in general for demonization of anyone at all.

We may have gotten used to the politics of violence and exploitation so that we limit our focus early on to watching where the major Super Pacs will put their money. And oh yes, where will Russia be situated? Since that too has become something so many seem unconcerned about, that a foreign state should influence our elections.

I know, I know. Politics has always been dirty and you should have seen it back in the day, or the day before that. But the point may be that we need to evolve, to grow up, to grow beyond dirty fighting and winning based on tricking the public and humiliating the opponent.

I have recently thought a great deal about the war in Yemen, about America supporting and initiating much of the genocide going on there, and it being all too easy to detach from the toll of actual lives and in terms of our own humanity. At a time when there is so much danger to the physical climate and so much famine, war, inequality in our world, how can we expect to take any of it seriously when we are drawn against each other into the fray, feeding off of sheer adrenalin?

Psychology is but one tool that is terribly underused here. What I mean to say is that there are plenty of people who know how to use our proclivity to fear and distrust against us, to seduce us into warring against each other. And all the while, there is little mainstream attention to what forces are at play within us, forces that make us susceptible to hatred, to blame and to detachment.

When we are not in touch with our deepest emotions, we unconsciously relegate them into the nether land of the shadows. They can hurt us all the more the less we know about them. They can cause us to project onto others the hate and blame for what we in fact harbor inside. They, hidden from light, cannot be integrated; they cannot morph into the signals for anxiety and worry that are real warning signs of danger. As such we do not see the predator at times also because we are ignorant about the predator and predator potential inside of us. We do not know this part of us so we cannot spot it on the outside.

I have the notion that part of our job as people is to grow up the best we can. This would mean we don’t settle for the worst of human potential, but that we try to get to know the deepest parts of ourselves enough so we can formulate genuine discipline that is based on awareness and not on terror.

Cooperation, in anything close to a democracy, is obligatory and not merely an elective subject. Cooperation in a world that demands giving a damn is something we need to learn in order to survive constructively, with the capacity to care either intact or in the midst of growing.

For now I don’t want a President in my own country that can douse all the other candidates with gasoline and light a match to them. I want the candidate who has the integrity to get beneath the divisions between us and set up dialogue that is based on real understanding of the stories we all have that describe how we got to our present lot, politics and values in life. I want psychologists and people who have some awareness and who care, to help us figure out more about the power of knowing ourselves, so that we are not seduced by tyrants on either side.

And then I want a President who is a leader. And that would mean a President who can challenge and guide the public into decision-making and collaboration based on curiosity, learning and empathy. It would also mean a President who cares more about our well-being than about his/her own agenda—his/her own power.

I know, it’s asking a lot. But then again: why not?

“Fair Game”: Seeking Clear Memory and Truth

This piece was just made more relevant, perhaps worthy to more people of concern and attention due to the popularity of the film “Vice”, about Dick Cheney. It was first published in Huffington Post, 12/30/10, as

“Fair Game”: Seeking Clear Memory and Truth

We are creatures of habit, more than many of us would like to admit, and in the realm of the movies and theatre we can be scripted into our orientations sometimes more than we know. Rather than seeking exposure to new material by way of conversation, we often have our opinions dictated to us by the media rather than seek anything that would challenge our views or change our minds. Psychologically speaking, without permitting our emotions to be fluid enough to allow for a necessary jolt to our orientations, we stick pretty much to the same old same old.


When I found out about the movie “Fair Game“ dealt with the true story of Ambassador Joseph C. Wilson and his wife Valerie Plame, the former CIA operative who was crushed and spitefully outed by Vice President Dick Cheney’s armies of unknown proportion, I thought it would be a repetition of what I already knew. I was wrong, and I was blown away. Until now, I have refrained from begging anyone in plain or virtual sight to see it, to meet and discuss it.


I must admit that “Fair Game” gave me back my memory of those events, but even more so, it reminded me of those things I had forgotten in spite of my assumptions. It reminded me of the famous Santayana warning that if we don’t learn from history we are doomed to repeat it. It also reminded me of the fact that our emotions play with our thoughts and cover them over whenever the memories are not only painful but controversial. This is the state of America today.


On the surface, this story is about a marriage, a family, a forceful and passionate man who couldn’t stay quiet after his wife was defamed and after her covert C.I.A. contacts were burned and even killed as a result of her outing after they had been promised a safe haven by our government if they assisted her on top secret American security information. To my mind, this movie is primarily the story of how we have all allowed a war in Iraq based on lies and the will and wants of one single man and his troops to allow the murder of the reputation of anyone in their path.


The film heads towards closing with a speech by the Ambassador to a group of students where he warns that war has to be the last resort in a democracy, that it is our right to have the truth. Wilson’s speech emphasizes our obligation to speak out, to participate.

In our America where a cacophony of causes claim to yell the truth out loud and are in competition with each other rather than collaboration, we remain as distracted by those who fight for justice as we are by those who would render us deaf and blind to any truth at all. And because many of the progressive forces have been led by people praising their own goodness, we are all so very ill equipped to begin to recognize the aggression in ourselves and to begin to tackle the resistance to being taken over, in this case, by the single-handed army of Dick Cheney who got his war, has had it largely forgotten and roams the earth smiling.

We who witnessed Vietnam and did our protesting then were less than kind to recruits, to the voluntary soldiers who heard President John F. Kennedy’s cry to give to our country what it asked as a call to battle for our military. We had little respect, compassion or curiosity towards the veterans who came home with their own nightmares and passed those on to generations and remain unhealed. Who were we to protest the first Gulf War when yellow ribbons replaced peace protests? And then September 11th. After that how could we be so egregious as to say out loud that a democracy is compelled not just to “do something,” as so many people said. After all, we had to trust the words of John McCain on the Letterman Show (how does that even happen?) that the anthrax being used to kill and scare people, was likely made in Iraq which meant we might have to invade there. How many of us have even followed the anthrax thread to know that in August 2008 the one single suspect was a respected scientist employed by the U.S. military to develop an anti-anthrax vaccine? He was indicted and after eight long years committed suicide. The case quietly closed except for a few stubborn seekers who insist on loyalty to the truth.


Memory, when amputated, equates to odes to authority, nostalgia or fairy tales that become the fuel running most of our lives. We are all complicit, not just because Carl Jung said so when he spoke about The Shadow, but because when we agree by commission or omission to sit with lies, we blithely send our kids off to wars where we decimate countries and leave the scene of real crimes. “Fair Game” shows us Wilson’s Op-Ed piece in the New York Times, of July 3, 2003, called “What I didn’t Find in Africa“, where he spelled it all out, along with his warning about the dangers in Pakistan. Wilson’s points are made even more poignant when one realizes that it was published the week that we celebrated American independence.


I have no illusions about the ease of independence or of even its value in a society where we need the ecology of interdependence and collaboration. To seek for our own authenticity of opinion, we have a need for information. We can no longer afford traditions that tell us to if we dare to question the rule of our nation then we do not love our country, that to honor our parents or children or planet is not to question the accepted procedures.


This means getting off our high and low horses and loving our prejudices too tightly, and seeing a film with Sean Penn even if you are arrogant enough to hate his alleged arrogance. As we find ourselves mired in a decade-long war with no apparent end or design for victory, we don’t have the time or the luxury to tear down anyone who gives us a piece of real truth and the inspiration to re-connect with our memory and our sensitivity.