Archive for the ‘society’ Category

Some Thoughts on American Terror

December 4th, 2015

Reading Isabel Wilkerson’s magnificent anecdotal history of the Great Migration, The Warmth of Other Suns, one of the things that is falling into place for me has to do with gun violence and gun control in America.  I want to avoid oversimplification and reductionism, but it seems to me that in order to understand the peculiar nature of gun violence in America you have to understand the history.  And I think there is more to understand than what the Second Amendment meant to the Founding Fathers, or the role of hunting and home defense in colonial and frontier society.

One huge thing gets overlooked when we talk about American gun culture. For about a hundred years after the Civil War, an entire section of our country was ruled by terrorism.  It was a peculiarly American form of public/private partnership. The entire American South was governed by private terrorism in league with government terrorism.  This is not hyperbole.  It is a plain statement of fact.  Black people were oppressed through a public-private collaboration in terrorism.  Whites were kept in line by the same means.  Until you absorb the meaning of that, you can’t begin to understand the meaning of guns in our culture.

Let me pause on this a moment. President Obama recently memorably observed, with regard to the seemingly endless series of almost daily mass murders by firearm that occur in the United States, it doesn’t happen in other places. Well, in fact it does, but not in very many places. Not very many places share a similar, recent history of such severe repression of such a large proportion of the population over such a large extent of the nation’s territory by such a seamless partnership of governmental and private terrorism. One thinks of South Africa during apartheid. Nicaragua, in the death squad era. Usually government reserves for itself a monopoly of violence. In the Jim Crow South, that was not the case.

This means that such technical gun control measures as limits on magazine capacity, banning of private ownership of military style weaponry, and universal background checks – all of which seem like commonsensical, good ideas to me – are somewhat beside the point. It is a form of swimming against the current.  The NRA, I am sad to say, is partly right.  Guns only kill people when people use them for that.  But the NRA’s take on this is a lie, because the NRA wants you to think that people act as isolated individuals.  The lone crazed gunman or the vicious outlaw, what can you do about that?  But that’s not the whole story.  People are social beings.  We live in a society in which, for broad swathes of its members, guns are an ancient and accepted tool of social control.  There’s a reason many Americans tend to think you can solve a political or social problem by shooting at it.  They’re not crazy.  It’s a strategy that worked for them for a hundred years or more.  And of course the poison spreads.  You don’t have to be a lineal descendant of Nathaniel Bedford Forrest to be infected.  I am fairly sure that the first-generation son of Pakistani immigrants who perpetrated today’s San Bernardino mass murders will be found to have well acculturated himself to this. The Southern model of terrorism will have found many students, even unwitting ones.

The Jim Crow terroristic state arose after the South was rid of Reconstruction and Southern whites once again seized exclusive control of the apparatus of government.  The nongovernmental terrorists, such as the KKK, were ready and waiting for this.  Since federal power had destroyed the ability of southern government to re-enslave blacks, and private actors did not have the power to accomplish re-enslavement without at least the acquiescence of the state, it was necessary to form a private/public partnership to exert totalitarian control over blacks and to suppress white dissent.  For the period of Jim Crow, government terrorism and terrorism by private groups were mutually permeable phenomena, linked and in service to the same cause. This worked at least until the 1960s, when the machinery of government began to be pried loose once again from the hands of the white supremacists, and the private arm of the Southern terrorist machine was driven underground.  But cultures do not change as quickly as laws.

The private actors in the public/private terrorist state had lost their investment in government.  The government was no longer theirs. Through the experience of their own collaborative efforts, they knew what government can be turned to, and they had reason to fear that it would be turned on them. Since the line between official and non-official terrorism had been, in their experience, so indistinct, they had little or no conception of government as an entity apart and separate from the classes that controlled it. That is the root of the otherwise difficult to explain meme that “gun control means the feds are going to take our guns away; we are the bulwark against tyrrany.”  It seems laughable when the gun interest claims that private gun ownership is a counterweight to overwheening government power.  We rightly scoff and say tell that to the marines.  No sane person thinks that an unorganized mob of gun owners is going to be able to combat the U.S. armed forces.  It wasn’t even true in the age of Jefferson and Madison, as Daniel Shays learned to his chagrin, let alone today. But that is not the point.  The point is that the terrorist state’s private partners, having lost control of the state, are thrown back upon their own devices.  Their society, evolved in a pervasively terrorist regime, had little experience of a government of laws, a government relatively free of corruption, a government grounded in civil liberties.  These are all meaningless abstractions to them.  What has meaning to them is the knock on the door in the middle of the night, because that was their society’s reality for so long. Now the government is no longer theirs, who knows when that knock might come. All that remains to them is their guns; and if their government could be taken away, why not this other source of power? What will they be left with, then?

In sum, in order to reduce gun violence in America we must first directly confront and somehow heal the effects of our nation’s history of massive terrorist totalitarian control over large sections of its people and territory.  We must rid our culture of the complex of notions that legitimate the use of firearms in private hands as a means of social control.  Such an understanding in itself won’t do the trick, because American gun violence has many causes.  It is necessary, but not sufficient. But it will go far.  Unfortunately, this complex of notions is deeply ingrained, having ruled so large a part of our country for so long and having been renounced by the organs of power only fifty years or so ago, and that renunciation having been rather less than thorough and sincere, as so many police shootings of black men demonstrate.  It’s a long road to go.

It occurs to me that one way to get at this would be to take seriously the call for reparations to black Americans for the oppression they suffered under slavery and continue to suffer in its aftermath. The point would not be to “make them whole” in the sense of legal damages – what could? – but to engage the entire society in an open and concrete debate about how we got to where we are. It would be a much more concrete, down to earth matter than a mere airy “discussion about race.” Even relatively token compensation is, after all, compensation. Such a discussion, aimed at the intersection of justice and history, would serve a function equivalent to that of the “truth and reconciliation” initiatives that often follow a transition out of dictatorship. We have had our unacknowledged transition out of a terrorist totalitarianism. I am afraid that until we make some real effort to acknowledge what that meant and what it now means, we will continue to murder each other because among its legacies is this: that murder is the way that much of our society learned to govern itself.

Memorial Day 2015

May 25th, 2015

“It’s Memorial Day. What’s on your mind?” Thus asks Facebook.  Okay: I am sad to think of all the young men and women who have been sacrificed to their leaders’ avarice, stupidity, anger and pride. On Memorial Day I remember all those young lives thrown away for nothing. I am saddened by the so-called patriotic urge to pretend that all those sacrifices had “meaning.” Their meaning is that they were meaningless. I am angry at the manipulation, deceit and coercion used by those gangs of well-dressed thugs who run the world to get our young people to make these sacrifices again and again.

Tamasha

May 23rd, 2015

I am reading Amitav Ghosh’s River of Smoke, second volume in a trilogy of historical novels about the Opium War. One of the characters is a Zoroastrian. In that religion, Ahriman is the chief spirit of darkness and evil. The book uses a lot of language borrowed from hindi and other Indian languages, including the word “tamasha,” meaning a great show or performance or celebration. Towards the end of the book, the character muses that Ahriman’s kingdom (which we would call hell) is “An unending tamasha in a desert of forgetting and emptiness.” And reading that, I thought, America.

Juxtaposed Without Comment

August 17th, 2013

I had been planning to write a post contrasting the hundreds of millions of dollars the State of Vermont is lavishing on the development of HealthConnect, the glorified web site that will be the local incarnation of ObamaCare, and the legislature’s mean-spirited nickel-and-diming of relief for the homeless.  Then I found this.  Here are two items from this week’s Seven Days, Vermont’s alternative newspaper.  I found them in a column titled “The Scoreboard: This Week’s Winners and Losers.”  See if you can tell which is which:

Anya Rader Wallack — Two weeks after stepping down from the Green Mountain Care Board, Vermont’s health care czar is close to signing a $100,000, no-bid contract with the state to oversee a $45 million federal grant she helped obtain. Good work, if you can get it!

State workers — To save $2.5 million, the Shumlin administration is cutting overtime, travel expenses and temporary staffing.

land of chickenshits

April 18th, 2013

Some thoughts on the U.S. Senate’s failure to do anything about gun violence today, in the face of a filibuster.  The following came tumbling out of me in a comment on  Facebook, and I thought it worth repeating here:

As any thinking and feeling person must be, I am appalled by the intellectually threadbare, morally barren, opportunistically craven attitudes that give the gun lobby its political ascendancy. I’m not convinced that the gun control measures currently under discussion will actually do much to provide relief from gun violence, but if they could save even one life, they would be worth it. Against that, however, is counterbalanced the vast fearfulness that has made a lie of the claim of this country to be “the land of the free and the home of the brave” for longer than such a claim has been made. Fear of god, fear of indians, fear of black people, fear of brown people, fear of yellow people, fear of white people, fear of irish, fear of germans, fear of jews, fear of catholics, fear of communists, fear of working people, fear of government, fear of women, fear of men, fear of children, fear of adolescents, fear of illlness, fear of death, fear ultimately and most deeply of each other, whoever we are. Fear of losing their guns, which for so many of our fellow citizens are the fetish items that they use to hold these other fears at bay. We’ll know this is truly the land of the free and the home of the brave when that changes. It doesn’t really have all that much to do with filibusters.

Nothing New Under the Sun

January 25th, 2013

Truly, there is nothing new under the sun.  I’m sure you will remember the law recently proposed and nearly enacted in Virginia that would have required a woman seeking an abortion to undergo an involuntary invasive ultrasound procedure.  The other day, a friend of mine shared on Facebook a satirical proposal that men’s penises should be similarly probed.  Bearing that in mind, Sherman, set the Wayback Machine for 1759, and chapter 20 of Book One of The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman.

Just in case you cannot immediately recall to mind exactly what transpires at that juncture of Mr. Laurence Sterne’s novel, let me assist you.  Tristram, the narrator, is busy instructing the reader that said reader should have deduced that Tristram’s mother was not a Catholic (or, as Tristram would have it, a “papist”), from the fact that Tristram’s mother said that it was necessary for Tristram to be born before he could be christened.  Not so for Papists!, says Tristram.  He cites – well, quotes in full, actually, in French – a purported 1733 opinion of the Doctors of the Sorbonne, then a Catholic institution, that in certain extreme cases an unborn infant could be baptized sight unseen “par le moyen d’une petite canulle… sans faire aucun tort à la mere.”  Mr. Shandy, speaking one presumes for Mr. Sterne, goes on to suggest that a similar operation might benefit the “Homunculi” which were at the time supposed to be the male contribution to conception, “par le moyen d’une petite canulle… sans faire aucun tort au pere.”

I hasten to add that I am unable to verify the authenticity of the Sorbonne Doctors’ opinion.  Sterne might have made it up.  In any case, I am sure it does not represent present-day Catholic teaching regarding baptism!  It’s comforting to know that at least some things change.  It gives one hope that some day all men will respect women’s bodies as they do their own.

Help! I’m stuck in this box!

January 7th, 2013

Listening to the radio the other day, I heard a man being interviewed about his income.  He was a bit coy about the amount, but allowed that it was over $450,000 per year.  When asked if this made him wealthy, he said no, he considered himself middle class.  My reaction was a compound of emotions: disbelief, amazement, anger, contempt.

Last night I watched the opening episode of the third season of Downton Abbey.  It revolved around Lord Grantham’s discovery that he had squandered the family fortune through an ill-considered investment in Canadian railway shares, with the likely consequence that his estate and manor house would have to be sold.  Considering this possibility at the dinner table, Lord Grantham’s mother, wonderfully played by Maggie Smith, envisions her future as a member of the impoverished nobility.  “I could keep a shop, I suppose,” she says, expressing her character’s sense of the utter unthinkability of any such thing actually happening and her simultaneous wise, rueful recognition that in a long life the unthinkable will be encountered from time to time.  My reaction was one of empathy for her predicament.

Interesting, the many directions in which the mind would like to run off, given this fuel.  The particular constellation of feelings with which I greeted that upper-class yob’s misestimate of his socio-ceconomic standing is one with which I have become boringly familiar, ever since Ronald Reagan acceded to the presidency in 1980 and forcibly made me aware that this nation is governed far more by mean-spirited greed than by the ideals I had learned about in elementary school.  So I responded to the interviewee, a living person, as an abstraction, an annoying manifestation of obnoxious political tendencies.  By contrast, safely removed by time and circumstance from any actual acquaintance with the type of hidebound parasite so charmingly and ably represented by the actress Ms. Smith, I responded to her fictitious impersonation with warmth and sympathy.

I think that the moral here has to do with the limited ways one responds when one’s responses are faithful to the context in which they occur.  As a wise man used to say to me when I would make an undeniably true but overly definitive statement about myself, “Yes, and so much more!”  May you and I greet the new year and all it brings with the untrammeled freshness of our open hearts.  Maggie Smith’s dowager countess may charm and appal us all at once, as may that poor deluded two percenter who thinks himself the common man.  Oh, poor thing, I wish I had said when I heard him.

Lincoln

December 4th, 2012

Here, in no particular order, are some thoughts I had after watching Steven Spielberg’s movie Lincoln last night.  It assumes you’ve seen the movie or have some idea what it’s about.  Warning: there may be some spoilers here.  My son disclaimed interest in seeing this movie, saying he already knows how it turns out.  But there are many surprises along the way…

Shabbiness.  This is not a clean and sparkly costume drama like Anna Karenina.  They’re going for gritty period authenticity here, not fairyland.  Lincoln visits Grant’s field HQ, a nice white house in the country with a pillared porch, and there’s mud all over everything.  The rooms in the Capitol and the White House are smoky and dingy. No vacuumed wall-to-wall synthetic carpet, no gleaming linoleum, no sterile cubbies.  No sterile anything.  At a hospital, they dispose of amputated limbs by trundling them in a wooden wheelbarrow covered with a dirty sheet to dump them in a shallow pit out back.  The wheelbarrow drips puddles of blood all along the way you wouldn’t want to step in.  At the movie’s closing scene, Lincoln’s second inauguration, he is surrounded by a crowd of people standing in front of the Capitol, listening.  They all look unkempt, their clothes ill fitting and probably not too clean.  Nobody looks too well washed.  The rich and powerful don’t look a whole lot better dressed than the hoi polloi.  No orange tans and pink scrubbed faces and sleek suits like you see nowadays – not on the floor of the House of Representatives, not in the President’s offices, nowhere.  Almost the only exception is Rep. Atkins, the dapper floor manager in the fight for the Thirteenth Amendment on the House floor.  He stands out for his dapperness, meaning his cheeks look scrubbed, his clothes reasonably well tailored and well fitting.  This was a time when there was no shampoo as we know it – getting your hair really clean was next to impossible.  Lincoln’s hair takes on an almost independent life, practically deserves its own place in the credits.

Unadventurous old-fashioned film-making and story-telling.  Straightforward narrative, for the most part in simple chronological order, from a single detached point of view, the omniscient observer.  Not much fancy camera work or framing of scenes.  Score reasonably restrained, but still – at times obtrusively – constantly commenting, telling us what to feel.  Sense after about half way through that a LOT of scenes are set pieces for Lincoln’s oratory, for him to expound his agonized or eloquent or homey or whatever thoughts while other characters sit around and listen with varying degrees of appreciation.  From these standard, hoary Hollywood materials, Spielberg has fashioned a masterpiece. There’s life in the old girl yet!  Movie rides on the intelligence of the screenplay, the quality of the acting, and the scrupulous craftsmanship of the director.

Moral complexity.  The movie has been criticized for the way that blacks are mostly in the background.  I don’t think these criticisms are justified.  The movie’s very first scene is an ugly, hand-to-hand melee in which black soldiers fighting on the Union side gradually overcome and kill all of their Confederate adversaries.  Men are stuck with bayonets, strangled, held under water, stomped on the head into the mud.  The next scene is an interview between Lincoln and some of the victors/survivors.  A black soldier takes him to task for not going far enough in the cause of racial equality.  It is almost the only scene in which Lincoln seems ill at ease and inadequate to the task; a magnificent framing device, at once powerful and subtle.   For the rest of the movie, blacks are mostly in the background of the film’s action, because, with regard to the actual events depicted, that’s where they were.  Much later, Lincoln rides through a battlefield, picking his way through heaps of dead, grotesque piles of corpses from a battle that he knows did not need to take place except that he –Lincoln – has made ending slavery a priority over ending the war.  At the end of the movie, when we hear him speak those amazing words from the Second Inaugural Address about requiting with blood for every stroke of the lash from the bondsman’s two hundred years of toil, we know what personal pain those words carried for him, and it elevates them from the realm of mere oratory, however magnificent, to a cri de coeur.  Meanwhile, Lincoln struggles against his eldest surviving son’s desire to join the army, allowing him to do so at last but making sure he has a relatively safe job, and knowing that another father’s son may die for that decision.  And at the same time Lincoln is fighting to preserve the Republic, which in his mind stands for preserving democracy and the rule of law, he plays fast and loose with the Constitution and engages in the flimsiest forms of legal pettifoggery to bamboozle Congress into ending slavery.  If he is a hero, it is not because he was pure as Galahad.  Far from it.

Representative Thaddeus Stevens, the great abolitionist from Pennsylvania, sleeping with his  housekeeper.  I will admit to a small frisson of unmerited pride in my chosen home state when I learned that Mr. Stevens was born in Vermont, although he represented a Pennsylvania district in the House.  After the antislavery amendment is passed, and the day of celebration is over, Stevens goes to bed.  The camera pans across his creaky old body releasing itself into the mattress, to his bedmate, a black woman.  It’s played a little for shock effect, and for the effect of adding to Stevens’ heroism.  Whereas Lincoln, asked by his wife’s maid what he thinks will happen after the war when all blacks are free, says we’ll have to learn how to get along, which makes him seem a man thoroughly of his time,  by contrast Stevens’ loving interracial relationship makes him seem a man way way ahead of his time.  But even he keeps it a secret so as not to create scandal; and it inevitably echoes of less laudable sexual relationships between powerful white men and the domestic help.

Level of personal vituperation in politics.  Our latter-day politicians are virtuosos of euphemism, innuendo, dog-whistles, code-words; but these guys reveled in name-calling.  They indulge exuberantly in verbal mud-wrestling.  There’s a scene where Stevens, goaded almost beyond his limited endurance, borders on the scatological in describing in detail the lower orders of life to which he claims his contemptible interlocutor belongs, ending by observing that the fellow should be smashed underfoot.  It would be even funnier if we hadn’t seen somebody doing just that in the movie’s opening sequence.  There are many such examples of high fluency and verbal inventiveness used as assault weapons.  Part of that is probably just the playwright, Tony Kushner, having fun with language.  Some of the glee with which Thaddeus Stevens describes an opponent on the floor of the House to his face as disgusting slime is probably due to the fact that it’s Tommy Lee Jones who is playing him.  But it’s also true to the times. It was a period when educated people deployed spoken language with more potency and sophistication and in some ways – despite our freedom with fuck and shit and so on – with less inhibition than we do now.  Anyway, those who decry the lack of civility in modern political discourse should take note.

Lincoln outsized compared to the other characters, literally and figuratively.  In every dimension, physical, spiritual, intellectual, psychological, he is simply larger.  Only the volcanic Thaddeus Stevens comes close.  Of all the many vividly drawn characters in the movie, Lincoln’s wife Mary alone is depicted as fully in the round as he, a woman of surprising resilience and combative intelligence, but even she is a much smaller personality.  This is partly a function of the film’s focus – it’s entitled Lincoln after all – and partly a (probably) accurate vision of what it is like to be around a truly great man.  Great means big.  He dwarfs us.  So when a room full of ego-driven, aggressive, powerful men falls silent while he spins out one of his befuddling parables, it’s psychologically plausible.  It’s not that he sucks all the oxygen out of the room the way a histrionic narcissist does, it’s that when he takes action there’s simply nothing else to watch.  Sometimes they rebel – Sec. of War Stanton fulminates I can’t stand another one of your stories and hustles away – but the rest stay and listen.  There’s an elephant in the room, and it’s him.

Lincoln’s weariness.  His gait like an exhausted plow horse plodding home after a long long day in the field. The visible effort he puts into bending and unbending that long body standing up or sitting down.  The default mode of his face – brooding exhaustion.  The horrible personal cost of being him.  He gets more stooped and hunch-shouldered as things go on, as if he is literally being dragged down by the weight of his burdens and also by the continuing need to meet his fellow beings on their level.

Lincoln’s mode of thought – narrative, analogy, metaphor.  Oh, he’s capable of powerful legal and political logic. His explanation of why the Emancipation Proclamation was not enough to do the job of ending slavery and might be legally wrong, coupled with his explanation of why the Thirteenth Amendment has to be passed through Congress now now now before the war’s end, is an almost breathtaking exhibition.  This is a guy who Thinks Things Through.  Somebody once said of the great jazz pianist Art Tatum that he was almost impossible to play with in a duet because nobody else could think that fast.  One gets the idea Lincoln was like that, as a lawyer and politician.  But: his default mode of thinking is essentially via image and metaphor; dare I say it, poetic.  Nearly every time he is called upon to make a considered response to something, whether it is a question, a situation, an interpersonal problem, the first place his mind goes is to a story, an example, a concrete reality.  It is this ability to find a bridge of resonance between one set of circumstances and another, and thus between one person or group of people and another, that is his most characteristic mode of thought.

Not just an exercise in antiquarianism.  Given our very recent history, it is jarring at first to have the party of civil rights be the Republicans, and even more jarring that the Radical Republicans are the most progressive ones, while the Democrats are the party of white racial solidarity.  But then people of my generation may remember that it was in fact more or less this way well into our childhoods, until Nixon struck his deal with the devil in 1972 and Reps and Dems switched places.  But what kept striking me over and over is how we still are repeating the same essential conversation over and over, that everything in American politics either harkens back to race or is fundamentally about race, and that all the basic attitudes we encounter today are pretty much the same as those expressed in the debate on the Thirteenth Amendment in 1865.  Instead of talking about slavery, we’re talking about affirmative action and voter suppression and discrimination and minority rights and immigration and so on.  But the things we (I mean mostly white people) are saying about these subjects, although couched in radically different language, are mostly things that might have been said 147 years ago.  But there is a difference.  In the debate on the Thirteenth Amendment, the Democrats tried to force Thaddeus Stevens to say what he in fact believed, that the point of ending slavery was to promote equality of the races.  Such a bald, radical statement might have scuttled the project.  So he swallowed hard and pretended that he was only interested in equality before the law.  To the extent that he would not have to mount such a pretense today, that is the measure of our progress.

Paging Dr. Kubler-Ross

February 16th, 2012

Due to current events in my personal life, I have been thinking again about how poorly our culture prepares us to deal with death and with people who are dying.  Not strange, I guess, for a nation founded on the pursuit of happiness.  People wonder why I put Thomas Jefferson in hell in To Join the Lost.  Mostly, it’s because of his hypocrisy as a slave-owner who not only knew that he was doing wrong, but knew the degree of evil that it involved.  But I could have put him there for this seemingly benign phrase as well, which shackles the body politic to a warped, limited vision of the human condition, easily subverted into greed, lust, and the quest for satiation.  A people dedicated to the pursuit of happiness is not going to have a lot of time and thought to spare for such unpleasant things as death.  They’re going to shove it aside into hospitals and nursing homes; prettify it in funeral parlors; hide it in closed caskets that no one is allowed to welcome home from Afghanistan and Iraq; have broadcast journalists censor it from Syrian twitter feeds as too upsetting for the average viewer.  We have no emotionally satisfying

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Finger on the pulse

December 14th, 2011

The Tea Party's Bitch

On public radio this morning, I heard three stories whose rapid juxtaposition seems to illustrate perfectly this moment in our society’s life.

First, congressional Republicans were playing politics with extension of tax breaks for the working classes.  The version they passed would have paid for the tax break by freezing federal employees’ wages,  instead of the funding mechanism proposed by the Democrats to increase taxes slightly on the highest income earners.  The GOP bill also contained a “poison pill” provision that they knew would be unacceptable to the Senate Democrats and the President.   The poison pill would, if enacted, force the President to decide quickly whether to allow construction of an unnecessary and environmentally questionable oil pipeline from Canada to Texas, rather than wait until after the election.  I guess the idea is to divert attention from the GOP’s unwillingness to increase taxes on the richest of the rich for any purpose whatsoever, and to allow themselves to say the Democrats oppose both working class tax breaks and “jobs creation.”  As an added bonus, in this age of climate change they get to continue the pretense on behalf of their corporate masters that protection of the  environment conflicts with economic development.  Of course the cynicism is breathtaking.  To add to the bizarro world flavor of our national politics, later today, a Senate vote on the bill was blocked by… Senate Republicans playing politics!  But read on…

The second story was about testimony before a legislative committee by a woman in her eighties, concerning the cuts to the federal home heating assistance program proposed by the Obama administration.  Funding to help poor people buy fuel for heat would be cut roughly in half.  She was talking about what a reduction in this assistance would mean to her, this winter.  Last winter, she kept her thermostat at 60 to save money on heat.  This winter, she’s wondering what she has to give up in order to keep from freezing – food? medications?

The third story was about a local arts center, the Flynn Theatre.  It has just received an anonymous $1,000,000 donation to help replace its  squeaky seats.