The Things You Learn

One of my favorite books is William Manchester’s The Arms of Krupp.  I have it in paperback and it’s been read enough that my copy is falling apart.  Once day I suppose I’ll hunt up a hardcover copy on Amazon, but that’s a priority that’s going to have to wait.  I have a few of Manchester’s other books, including his now-completed (posthumously, by his hand-picked editor) biography of Churchill — The Last Lion — and the last book, I think, that he ever wrote himself, A World Lit Only by Fire, a book about the world and plane of human understanding shattered by Magellan’s voyage.

At the risk of understatement, in the Krupp history Manchester avoids the pitfall of falling in love with his subject.  Rather the opposite; in fact, at least some contemporaneous reviews — here, for example — took him to task for erring too far in the other direction.  A few years ago, a Harold James published a new history of the family and its company, Krupp: A History of the Legendary German Firm (here I am violating one of my informal rules (hey, it’s my blog, right?), namely that of not linking to books that I have not read), which has been favorably contrasted — here and here, for example — to what is now perceived as Manchester’s lop-sided portrayal of the family and its doings.

All that is as it may be, as the English say.

I wanted to focus on a person who figures prominently in the latter part of Manchester’s book, a boy name of Berthold Beitz.  Beitz was brought in as the front-man of the firm in the 1950s.  He’d been head of an insurance company after the war.  Here it is helpful to understand the outsized role that insurance companies play in the German economy and in society.  Let’s just say that insurance occupies a much more honored niche in both than is the case here.  Manchester portrays Beitz as being almost a cartoonish wanna-be American.  Using first names.  Glad-handing.  Everything big, loud, and overdone.  Very much contrary to how the family and firm had done business before.

The family and firm had need just at that time (1953) of a front-man.  Alfried Krupp, the last sole proprietor, was then still somewhat in bad odor, he having been caught with a large number of dead slave laborers about his person.  Manchester’s book is in fact dedicated to the nameless dead children in the cemetery at Buschmannshof, in Voerde-bei-Dinslaken, who were born to Krupp’s slave laborers, died, and were buried there.  His father, Gustav Krupp von Bohlen und Halbach — who was not even a born Krupp; the Kaiser himself gave Gustav the Krupp name upon his marriage to Bertha (for whom the Big Bertha siege gun of the Great War was nicknamed) — was to have been one of the defendants at the first Nuremberg trials, sitting in the dock with Goering, Heydrich, Sauckel, and the rest of them.  That’s how egregious their behavior was.  But by the end of the war Gustav was a drooling imbecile and in fact had in 1942 (I think; it may have been the next year) given the entire firm to his son Alfried.  For whatever reason the Allies never tumbled to that fact, and so Alfried, under whom the worst of the firm’s wartime atrocities occurred (Manchester even cites to an occasion on which the S.S. complained of how Krupp was treating its slave laborers), escaped a hanging court.

So Beitz was brought in as the first outsider to have a decisive voice in the firm’s running.  Manchester portrays him has more or less running it into a ditch, over-extending it with questionable dealings with Third World countries and Warsaw Pact countries, the abilities and willingness to pay of which were all dicey at the time and proved to be the firm’s undoing.  Again, according to Manchester (it’s been several years since I re-read the book), the firm began doing an ever-greater percentage of its business in places where a prudent vendor would have given serious thought to the merits of up-front payment.  And then of course those same “developing” (a misnomer: they didn’t “develop”; the West developed them, and paid through the nose for the privilege) countries welshed on enormous contracts, which drove the firm from private ownership.  Ended up going public, a step which the Founder, Alfred (his parents gave him the English spelling of the name) had vehemently opposed.  Of course, to complete the irony, Krupp and Thyssen have now merged (look at the next elevator Gentle Reader rides in).  Thyssen was Alfred Krupp’s arch-enemy back in the day.

The merger, by the way, was Beitz’s doing.  He stayed with the firm for 60 years, and died July 30, 2013, just shy of his 100th birthday.

What I didn’t know until I read his obituary in the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (sorry, their archives are pay-walled) was that he was inducted into Yad Vashem for his actions in saving Jews during the war.  He’d been in charge of a large petroleum facility in the Ukraine, sufficiently high up that he had the power to designate workers as critical war workers.  He also was sufficiently lofty to receive advance notice of proposed round-ups and liquidations.  And so he began using his critical-worker designation powers willy-nilly.  In favor of all manner of people, including children.  He and his wife also hid Jews in their home.  According to the Wikipedia write-up here, he was eventually credited with saving on the order of 800 Jews from extermination, for which he was honored by Yad Vashem as Righteous Among the Nations.  It is, I understand, the highest accolade that the children of Abraham can bestow upon a Gentile.

I can think of no higher recognition than to be recognized in one’s own lifetime as Righteous Among the Nations.  Has a biblical ring to it which sort of chokes one up, upon reflection.  I think what impresses as significant is the mental image of the individual standing on his own, alone, among the nations of all the earth, all acknowledging his virtue and courage (part of the selection criteria for Yad Vashem is that the person must have acted as he did at peril of his own life, and for the purpose of saving the lives of Jews).

I don’t know whether Beitz’s war-time rescue activities were widely known when Manchester was writing (his book dates to the late 1960s, which means it would have been researched and written towards the middle of the decade).  Would knowledge of that have altered how he was portrayed in the book?  I’d sure hope so, given how negatively he is shown.

The take-away from all this is that it’s going to be a long, long time before the last is written or spoken upon any of us.

Farewell and rest in peace, Berthold Beitz, Righteous Among the Nations.

Perhaps not the End of Days

But certainly more than slightly reminiscent of the latter days of the Roman Empire.

The other day I went to a first-run movie, a thing I seldom do.  In fact, I’ll go farther: a thing I pretty much studiously avoid doing.  But my father, who adores movie popcorn and has few other pleasures left in life other than his dog, likes to go and I go with him.  He likes to get the exact middle seats of the very top row, and grouses if there are more than four other people in the theater.  Same thing with restaurants, by the way.  Part of me delights in the magisterial disregard of the basic logic of the thing:  If it’s worth seeing, or worth eating there, people are going to go.  If you want it to yourself you more or less have to confine yourself to places and things that are not desired.  Part of me gets very fatigued with the expression “jammed up” to refer to any crowd in excess of ten.

Be all that as it may, we went to see Spy, a fairly harmless and mindless comedy vehicle for the lead actress, Melissa McCarthy (who came close to stealing the show in Bridesmaids).  If F-bombs tossed about like confetti upset you, it’s probably not a movie for you.  It certainly isn’t for younger children.

Enough of the feature.  Getting there as early as we did — and do, considering my father’s morbid fear of not getting the Right Seats — we got to see the trailers.  Among them was a trailer for what seems to be a television show, which these days is, as I understand, equivalent to saying “reality” television show.

I have very few accomplishments in life I can point to.  Among them is that I’ve never seen an installment of Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo, or Jersey Shore, or Swamp People, or Real Housewives of East Jesus, Arkansas, or even much of Duck Dynasty.  All the Survivors and their interminable spin-offs have also left me serene in my pop-culture ignorance.  I now have another to add to the list.

Gentle Reader, we are about to witness a show identifying itself as Little Women: LA.  This show is about midget and dwarf women, in Los Angeles.  When one is an abnormally small female in Los Angeles, apparently the thing to do is behave trashy.  People will film you, and then (shudder) a country full of people will watch you behaving trashy.

Consider how many ideas for television shows get pitched every day in Hollywood.  Consider how many people in how many roles and with how much money and influence must all sign off on the concept, the financing, the production details and budget, the marketing strategy, and on and on and on.  Consider how few of the ideas pitched ever see so much as a minute of production.  Consider how many of the ones that actually do get so far as having a pilot filmed get canned before ever being shown.  What I’m getting at is that the tripe that makes it onto your television screen on a daily basis, Gentle Reader, is the surviving remnant of not just a mountain, but an entire mountain range of Stuff That Didn’t Make the Cut.

All of which is to say that, while we might not know their names (I’d hope they’d have enough self-respect to give false ones in the credits: “Executive Producer:  Vyacheslav Molotov; Casting Director:  Richard M. “Bingo” Little.  Editing:  Boris Godunov.  And so forth.), we know by the tracks they are about to leave across the smoldering remains of American pop culture that they do exist.  They are all the people who thought this was a Good Idea.  Stop and ponder, Gentle Reader what must have been the ones they thought too silly, too degenerate, too uninteresting to the breadth of the American television consuming public.

Many years ago, while I was stationed in Charleston, South Carolina, the state legislature felt called upon to outlaw a sport, self-explanatorily identified as “dwarf tossing.”  I understand it involved, other than the physical actions which gave it its name, a great deal of beer.  I assume the dwarves were willing participants (never so familiarized myself with it as to know how they were compensated).  Can’t say that I ever saw an evening of dwarf tossing advertised on any venue I drove past (maybe I just wasn’t driving through the right parts of town in the right parts of the state), but I’m not sure how the Scourge of Dwarf Tossing came to be viewed as such a crisis.  Again, this sounds like the sort of function where one gives a false name at the door, just in case there’s a raid and your picture appears on the front page of the local paper.  Caption:  Leon Trotsky, 43, of Spartanburg, is arrested after police raid dwarf tossing den.

Iran is getting the Bomb, the U.S. Supreme Court is re-writing statutes for the express purpose of saving them from the drafters in Congress, Greece has wheedled the EU, which jolly well knows better, into handing over another several billion Euros while they pass empty reform measures they have no intention of ever putting into effect . . . and we’re watching Little Women: LA.  I’ve read several books on the end of the Roman Empire, all the way from Gibbon to more recent re-examinations, but a common theme is that those responsible for keeping Rome shiny side up and rubber side down just finally gave up on it.

As I ponder Little Women: LA, I have to ask myself whether we’ve given up on this peculiar experiment in self-government.

The Stars and Bars

Among the things going in the world while I was buried up to my eyebrows in trials was this bigot fellow sat down with the pastor and several members of the congregation at one of the most historically significant black churches in the United States, engaged in “bible study” with them for over an hour, and then shot nine of them dead, leaving two surviving for the express purpose of telling the world what he did.

This actually was a “hate crime,” if by that term you mean a crime whose underlying motive was animosity towards the victims based on something other than their actions or freely-chosen affiliations.  Like what happens to Jews all over Europe and elsewhere on a daily basis.  Like what happened to the manager of that French factory who got his head sawed off by one of his employees who propounds the Religion of Peace.  Like what happened to the dead and wounded at Fort Hood at the hands of a madman screaming Allahu Akbar! while gunning them down.

While the people of Charleston — a magical city where I was privileged to live for four years, many years ago — both black and white, showed the rest of the country how it’s done, in coming together in their grief, their outrage, and their demonstration of the very Christian virtue of forgiveness, the opportunity to strut and preen was just too tempting for the usual suspects.  Dear Leader of course chimes in on cue with the call to ignore that pesky ol’ Second Amendment, which he lards up with a slap at America and Americans.  “‘This kind of mass violence does not happen in other advanced countries,’ the president said. ‘Wedon’t have all the facts but we do know that once again innocent people were killed in part because someone who wanted to inflict harm had no trouble getting their hands on a gun.'”  Of course, this month Europe is observing the 20th anniversary of the massacres at Srebrenica.  We know Dear Leader can’t count (“all 57 states,” anyone?), but just to make it simple, this scum bag in Charleston gunned down nine people because of the color of their skin.  In Srebrenica they gunned down 8,000 men and boys because of how they worshipped.  Or how about the Christians paraded on the beach and then beheaded?  Remind me again how many that was?  Bit more than nine, as I recall.  And wasn’t it just recently that a satire magazine’s office in Paris got to experience some of that ol’ “workplace violence” courtesy of the Religion of Peace?  Twelve dead, weren’t there?

But back to the title of this post.  In the weeks since the Charleston shooting everyone and his cousin has been falling all over himself to expunge all traces of the Confederate flag from public spaces and even from commerce.  Apple, for example, has discontinued a video game app of Civil War combat . . . because the Confederate flag is depicted in it.  You don’t say?  Have they discontinued all the World War II games because you can see the insignia of Nazi Germany in them?  In South Carolina the (Republican-dominated) legislature voted massively to remove the flag from the state house, where (Democrat) governor Fritz Hollings put it in 1962.  Think about that:  The cradle of secession somehow managed to soldier along for nearly a full century without waving that flag.  Amazon and Wal-Mart do not sell merchandise depicting the Confederate flag any more. Around here where I live I can’t say that I’ve noticed either greater or lesser display of it (although I’d be guilty of over-statement to say that I’ve really been looking).

Certainly opinion in general on the flag and its symbolism doesn’t seem to have shifted much.  Fifteen years ago 59% of people surveyed (I think it was a Gallup poll, but don’t hold me to that) allowed that they did not perceive it as being principally a symbol of hatred.  In the aftermath of the Charleston shooting that’s down all the way . . . to 57%.  I suppose you can read that either of two ways: (i) Proof positive that America is an inherently racist country which isn’t willing even to give up the visible and historically undeniable symbolism of racial oppression and exploitation, or (ii) All this hand-wringing and posturing (see: Apple) is vastly over-blowing a non-issue.

I confess to ambivalent feelings about that flag.  As the reader of this blog will have observed, I’m not terribly apologetic about the South or being from the South.  I kinda like it here (as do the tens of thousands of my black fellow citizens who are moving here from the O! so Tolerant North).  So far as I know none of my Southern ancestors owned any slaves, and among my Yankee ancestors is at least one veteran of the Army of the Tennessee (excellent history of that amazing army here (I think, in fact, that my ancestor’s name even appears in it, but that’s not been confirmed); Victor Davis Hanson treats of the army’s march through Georgia in a wonderful book that — alas! — because it was borrowed, I had to return).

Did my Southern ancestors profit from the existence of chattel slavery in their society?  Well, possibly so, although I’d like to see someone try reliably to measure how much better off a small, non-slave-owning farmer in this part of the South really was because of slavery as such.  I will point this much out:  It wasn’t the destruction of slavery that wiped out such large swathes of Southerners, but the physical destruction of the war.  Before the war they’d been more or less scraping by; after the war the people whose homes and farms weren’t burnt to the ground were still more or less scraping by, and the ones whose homes and farms had gone up in smoke to make Sherman’s neck-ties were wiped out.  If slavery as such was that much the foundation of prosperity for any significant portion of the population, then you’d expect to see vastly more disruption just from abolition.

In point of fact at home I actually have a full-size, flyable (it’s of real bunting, with brass grommets) Stars and Bars.  Haven’t laid eyes on it since about 1991; it’s packed up in a box somewhere.  I have a print of a Civil War painting depicting fraternization between the lines (a genuinely common occurrence); back in the day I folded the flag carefully so a single star showed in the center, then draped it across the top of the picture frame.  So sue me.  So far as I know that flag has never actually flown or been displayed so as to be visible from outside the room where that picture was hanging.

Is it a symbol of hatred and oppression?  It sure is for some people, like that shit-bird in Charleston.  It sure is for American blacks (in contrast to that 57% figure cited above, something like 85%+ of blacks perceive it to be inherently a racist symbol), and understandably so.  I’m equally sure that for quite a number of people it symbolizes something else entirely.  That’s the thing about symbols:  The viewer reads into it what he chooses.  But mostly I’m sure that for millions of people the Stars and Bars is a whacking great pile of Get Over It Already.  Like me.  It is neither inherently racist nor inherently innocuous.

Should that flag be flown over public buildings?  I don’t think that’s appropriate, even if only for the fact that for so many of my fellow citizens it in fact does, and on legitimate basis, speak to them of racial hatred, oppression, and the entire sad story of what has happened through the years to the descendants of the Africans brought here in chains (although, irony alert! those descendants are pretty uniformly vastly better off in every material sense than the descendants of those Africans who captured their forebears and sold them into slavery).  As a government we are supposedly all for one and one for all; you shouldn’t knowingly and gratuitously offend 13% of your population.

On the other hand should all these private actors get all hyperventilated about rushing to expunge all traces of the flag?  Well, that’s their privilege, of course.  But it savors of more than just a tiny bit of moral posturing.  They were perfectly willing to deposit all those sales receipts for all those years, and somehow their black customers and their white customers always seemed to survive the trip up and down the aisles.  They’re perfectly willing to flog communist chic apparel (Che Guevara very intentionally had his office overlooking the execution yard so he would watch his victims being slaughtered day by day . . . his picture is very much still for sale on Amazon).  I’d be wiling to bet not a single World War II video game is going to be taken down at the Apple (or Google) store, just because there happens to be a swastika waving somewhere in the background.

I forget who it was who first pointed this out, or where I first ran across the observation, but it’s true, I think:  Much of political correctness is about permitting one group of white people to feel morally superior over other white people, and to parade that superiority as conspicuously as they can.

Seems to me that’s what’s going on here.

I’m not getting rid of my Confederate flag, and it can jolly well stay in that box in the attic.

Of Elephants

Back in the 19th Century, it was rare for anyone living out in what is now generally referred to as “flyover country” ever to have seen an exotic animal.  There were pretty much no zoos, and back then the notion of loading up the family and going on a “vacation” didn’t exist for any but the very, very wealthy, and they didn’t live in small-town America.  About the only time that your typical 1840s child had a shot at maybe seeing something so outlandish as an elephant was when the circus came to town.  Back then, the circus company, in addition to setting up the big top outside town, would parade through town, with its dangerous beasts in cages on wagons, and invariably The Elephant being the star attraction.  The kids — especially the farm kids — would come from miles around “to see the elephant.”

The experience of “seeing the elephant” and making a special effort to do so was so common that “to see the elephant” became a metaphor for any Life Experience long desired and finally attained.  In the Civil War, the initial experience of combat — remember that thousands of young men had enlisted in fear that they might miss out on the fun — was universally known as “seeing the elephant.”  There is a very famous letter from a soldier to his family back home (it’s quoted in Ken Burns’s film series, although I first ran across its mention in Bruce Catton, if memory serves), right after his first battle.  At some point in the letter he allows, “Well sister I have seen the elephant, and now I don’t want to be a soldier no more,” or words to that effect.

These past two weeks I have seen the elephant.

I post under the nom de blog of Countrylawer because that’s what I do for a living.  Been doing it for roughly 20 years, give or take a bit.  I don’t do criminal defense and I don’t do either plaintiffs’ tort or insurance defense litigation.  Which is why I’d lasted so long without ever trying a case to a jury.  Such courtroom work as I have done, up until now, has all been bench trials.  Commercial contract disputes, eminent domain, deficiency actions, land title and boundary lines, business entities, and so forth.  I got started on a jury trial a couple of years ago and then the judge made an absolutely imbecilic evidentiary ruling which resulted in a mistrial.

Way long time ago — January, 2006, to be precise — I filed a bad house case on behalf of a couple who’d built their dream house and within less than a year of completion the thing was coming apart on them.  Massive water intrusion into the basement, exterior walls out of plumb, the entire brick veneer bleeding white all over, the dining room ceiling repeatedly leaking despite the contractor’s repeated statements that he’d fixed the problem.  And then the foundation walls started sprouting cracks; some vertical, but some horizontal, and it’s the horizontal cracks that are the more serious.  What a horizontal crack is telling you is that your basement wall is bowing inward from lateral pressure on the outside of it.  As things later turned out, the basement walls (concrete blocks) had been built eight feet below grade, with zero reinforcement of any kind in them.  The brick veneer had been largely put on in weather that was getting down below 24 degrees at night, with no protection from the elements.  What was supposed to have been a 1″ air void behind the veneer was partially plugged in large areas by enormous cakes of excess mortar, some of them three feet tall and ten or more feet long.  The windows had been flashed so that water would run behind the house wrap vapor barrier, which itself had been installed in part reverse-lapped, so that it would channel water into the interior of the wood frame.  And the wall penetrations had no through-wall flashing or weepholes beneath them so that water intruding would find its way back to the surface.  The chimney, the first time they lit it off, bled oozing, sticky, black creosote all over its surface (interestingly the heaviest concentration of creosote matched, on a 1:1 basis, the areas of strongest white leaching on the brick’s surface before they began using their basement wood stove).  And so on and so forth.

I sued their builder, who hired a lawyer who has a reputation for taking very aggressive positions on his clients’ behalf, even when that’s not necessarily in his client’s best interests.  As happened now.  We did depositions, we did discovery, we had petrographic examination of brick and mortar sections of the veneer (had to fly to Chicago to take our petrographer’s deposition), and on and on and on.  The case took forever, in no small measure because it took roughly a year to get them to make discovery.  We finally got the thing set for trial in early June, 2013.  That was continued at the defense’s request to October, 2013, which was continued once more, again at the defense’s request, to February of this year, which was continued by the court sua sponte (perhaps uncharitably, I cannot dispose of the suspicion that the last continuance came about because the judge before whom it would be heard was new to the bench and had never practiced civil law a bit, having been an assistant district attorney for 25 years).

So we finally had our trial date beginning June 22.  It took eight mortal days of proof, and over a full day of jury deliberations, but we got our verdict yesterday evening.  Although they didn’t give us everything we asked for, it was still a plaintiffs’ verdict, and the jury specifically ruled in our favor on every single count of the complaint.

Now I can say I’ve seen the elephant.  Here are some things I hope I have learned.

1.     Do as much of the work up front as you can.  I had done my requests for jury instructions and special verdict form two years ago.  Everything was just so and all I had to do was print them out, make service copies, and ship them out before trial.  By like token I had combed and combed and combed through all the parties’ and witness depositions, cross-indexing, gathering specific quotations with page citations into themes, and so forth.  While it didn’t completely avoid some late nights during trial, there was only one night I dragged back into my house past midnight, and that was the last night before cross-examining the defense’s star witness, their consulting engineer.

2.    Include not just citations to authority in things like requests for jury instructions.  Put in the actual quotations of the relevant language so the judge can see for himself that you’re not just making it up.  Also generate a “clean” copy of the proposed instructions, without citations; save them in as many different document formats as you can, organize them in folders on a CD, and include that with your courtesy copies of your motions that you send to the judge.  Judges and their assistants aren’t any less susceptible to letting someone do their work than anyone else is, and the easier you make it for them to use your work, the more likely you are to own more of the process.  Inertia is a powerful mental force as well as physical.

3.     Eat well, but not copiously, during trial.  This trial was a good 40 minutes away from my home.  So each morning I would grab a 24-ounce cola and have that, with two bananas, on my way to court.  I kept a granola/power bar or two in my brief bag, so that if I weren’t in a position to take lunch I would have at least some fuel.  On those days I did have lunch, it was never more than a 6-inch Subway sandwich, so I never got bogged down in the afternoon.  I’m a big ol’ boy (the less euphemistically inclined would describe me as “fat,” I’m sure), and one of my large concerns was hypoglycemia during trial.

4.     This ties in with doing as much work up front as you can, but get good sleep in adequate amounts.  Remember your body is used to X hours of sleep per night, and if you suddenly ask it to continue for longer stretches on less than that, it will rebel.  I made sure to come home as early as I could, take a shower, grab a modest supper, and then read something that had nothing at all to do with law, lawyering, or especially this case for a half-hour or so.  I’d take a melatonin tablet (never tried them before, ever, by the way) around 8:45 p.m. and by an hour later be turning out the light.  I was able to sleep and get up aware and ready to hit the decks running at 5:30 a.m.  Mental activity uses enormous amounts of calories, and in addition to the adrenaline of a full day in front of the jury, your levels of concentration are going to be ferocious and sustained for much longer periods than you’re used to.

5.     If you can, get your family out of the house.  Spouses and children, especially young children, are going to have a very hard time wrapping their minds around the notion that You Need to Stay Away From Daddy/Mommy until this trial is over.  They’re going to be knocking about the house, making noise, impinging on your dwindling attention energies.  I know it sounds heartless as all get out, but playing with the kids, or playing with the kids’ mommy, is going to tax a limited reserve of psychic energy.  They’ll still be there when the jury has come back; you can catch up with them then.

6.     Get to court early each day.  You need to get set up, get yourself calmed down, and focus in on the work you’ve got ahead of you.  Get there early enough and you should have the courtroom to yourself.  If you should need to finish up your morning business in the bathroom, you’ll be able to do so without risking a jury member strolling in and wondering what just died and can’t you give it a decent burial.  Take a breath.  If you need to set up any demonstrations or suchlike, you can tinker with the physical arrangements.  And if your projector blows a lamp, or your laptop won’t read a disk, or whatnot, you may have time to come up with a work-around.

7.     Google every last single witness.  I mean that:  Search Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, anything.  This especially applies to experts.  In fact, I am convinced that it’s why I got that verdict.  The defense’s testifying engineer was an accomplished liar (he’d screwed over some friends of mine 18 years ago, back when he was, in addition to his regular engineering gig, running a foundation repair service).  And I mean he was good; in some ways I think he could give Bill Clinton a close run.  Perfectly dishonest, of course.  He was perfectly willing to take a photograph of mold growing so thickly on a block wall that it cast its own shadow when photographed with a flash, and testify that was calcium carbonate efflorescence (even though a swab sample of it showed it to be Aspergillus/penicillium).  He did no testing or sampling of anything (or even asked to) in the house over the 9+ years of the suit, and then felt perfectly comfortable sliming the competence, methods, and integrity of a petrographer who not only followed the ASTM book in analyzing the mortar work, but in fact to some degree participated in writing that book, so to speak.

Our petrographer’s résumé listed two and a half pages of publications in all manner of masonry industry publications, as well as papers presented at international industry conferences.  I wanted to see if this opposing engineer had any publications out there, so I looked around.  I didn’t find any, but I did find his blog.  And on his blog I found a blog post.  And that blog post dealt in great depth with an issue that formed a central pillar of his testimony:  To what extent is it appropriate to use residential building code standards to evaluate the workmanship and quality of a house in a county in which no building codes have formally been adopted by whatever government authority would do so?  As you might surmise, on the witness stand he pooh-poohed the notion that the building codes were helpful.  “Out here where there aren’t any codes,” you see, you have to look into what are the “community standards.”  In other words, if every builder in the county builds a lousy building, then it’s perfectly acceptable that you got a lousy building, too.  And on his blog he in great detail and in unambiguous words (that last in marked contrast to his rambling, Cliff Claiborne-like trial testimony) gave exactly the opposite opinion.  As in 180 degrees out.  As in no way to reconcile the same.

Thus, at the bottom of my cross-examination of him, having previously got him to nail his flag to the mast of codes don’t apply here, I popped a print-out of his blog in front of him and then proceeded to read, one juicy snippet at a time, his opinion when he wasn’t being paid for it.

When the jury’s special verdict form came back, it was obvious that they hadn’t accepted any part of his testimony.

8.     Don’t play gorilla.  You’re not a gorilla, and anyone acting like a gorilla who is not, in fact, actually a gorilla only looks silly.  Chest-thumping isn’t likely to work on anyone who’s been doing this for more than six months, and all you’re going to do is convince the other guy that you in fact have that little class.  My learned opposing counsel kept making these just incredibly tacky remarks to me over the course of the trial.  On the first day, at the lunch break, he excused himself with the observation that “we’ve got trials to win.”  Well, dontcha now, buddy?  He kept busting on the minivan I drove to court.  It’s filthy, because for years now it’s sat under an oak tree in my driveway.  Well, what of it?  For starts, those jury members (this was a small overwhelmingly rural county) got to see me loading and unloading myself and my stuff from what was obviously a beat-up old vehicle.  At any rate, Dear Opposing Counsel kept making snide observations about the condition of my van, and at one point he said, “After I’ve won this trial, I’m going to come out to your office and wash your van.”  Knock yourself out.  He borrowed a laser pointer from his engineer, to use while he was taking his engineer through the pictures he took, and during breaks he’d keep shining it at my face.  Never in my eyes, but on my moustache (I do enjoy my soup-strainer), hair, etc.  He even called my attention to it and asked if I didn’t think it just hilarious.  I only observed that me must have been just an absolute prince on Halloween, back in the day.  As I said:  Tacky.  And now he gets to eat his words.

9.     Do not have your gas-bag of an expert witness explain each and every last one of 250-plus photographs to the jury, especially if many of them either don’t show anything that’s directly relevant to the claimed subject matter of the lawsuit, or show the same penny-ante detail from three separate perspectives and with as many different shutter speeds or contrast settings.  This Cliff Claiborne of an engineer just about put me to sleep, and I can only imagine what he did to the jury members, every one of whom could see that was a fucking water stain on a concrete block.  It took hours.

10.     Be very careful how you call a man a liar.  In my closing argument I explained to the jury that they had to decide whether to believe my clients’ engineer, who had not been hired to help in a lawsuit, who had not been hired to come up with any corrective action plan (they had a different engineer do that), but rather had been hired months before anyone lawyered up and only to help two distraught people figure out what was wrong with their house, or alternatively the defendants’ engineer.  Then I observed that if they were going to believe this other fellow, they needed to decide whether they believed the opinion he had when he was undeniably speaking just for himself and wasn’t getting paid for it, or alternatively the one he’d just offered to them on the defendants’ behalf.  And I left it at that.  I also had, after much consideration, decided not to bring out on cross-examination that the defendants’ lawyer was also this engineer’s personal business lawyer.  Two lawyers getting in a pissing contest and descending to personalities is the sort of thing that can put a stranger off, and prompt in him thoughts of a pox on both your houses.  In contrast, during Learned Opposing Counsel’s closing, he alleged that, in presenting the defendants with a detailed, written repair agreement (it even attached the most recent engineering report they’d received the week before) to be signed before they’d let the defendants back on their property to take yet another shot at getting the work right, that I — I, the lawyer — had “attempted to imposed [my] will” on these poor defendants.  Huh?  I just have a real hard time imagining that he scored many points with that theory.  I could be wrong, of course, but I doubt it.  And remember a jury member whom you’ve offended by your conduct is going to do your client’s case a great deal more harm than one who hasn’t formed a personal opinion of you one way or the other can do you good.

11.     Practice with your clients, especially if they’ve never been personally involved in courtroom proceedings.  Then practice some more.  Then some more.  If you have multiple clients (like a married couple), work them through actual outlines of their testimony, both yourself with them and them with each other.  Their answers can’t meander.  They can’t come across as either hesitant or as too-well rehearsed.  They can’t answer you in a questioning tone of voice, as if they were looking to you, the lawyer, for confirmation they’re correct.  They need to practice phrasing answers to include punchy, easily-comprehended visible images.  One of my clients, when I asked why they hadn’t gone behind this builder to check up on every last thing he told them, responded that that’s why they’d hired a licensed contractor; when their car breaks they go to a mechanic; when the husband had a hernia that needed fixing, they went to a doctor.  Avoid trying to script things, however.  It won’t work.  You’ll get a feel that a particular line just isn’t playing well, or something else will come up to knock your flow a little out of channel.  It’s a guide, not a script.  This is not for you and your client to memorize (it’s impossible to memorize proposed testimony anyway), but rather so that your client will feel comfortable with, because thoroughly familiar with, the substance and general phrasing of everything you’re going to ask.

12.     Ask as many of the other guy’s questions for him.  If your client has said something stoopid in his deposition, drag it out.  He might look poorly, but I guarantee he’ll do better at damage control if he’s taken through it by a friendly questioner.  Especially ask the other guy’s rhetorical questions for him.  My clients noticed their house’s moisture and mold problems gradually getting worse over the first summer they lived in the place.  They’d decided to get their contractor back out there in early September, and then a hurricane blew through, causing their dining room ceiling to leak a stream of water for the fourth time (the first three times had been during construction).  They got the contractor out there afterward and he looked at the saturated top-to-bottom basement block walls (including the two-plus courses of block above grade level), and allowed he couldn’t understand where the water was coming from.

So my folks got another contractor out for a second opinion.  That guy recommended a home inspector, who looked around, found indication of multiple other serious problems, and he recommended an engineer, who came, saw, and noted several major issues in a formal report.  My folks got that in early October and, in shell shock, they spent the next five or so weeks gob-smacked.  Then in mid-November they lit fires in their wood stove and the creosote came blooming out.  Beginning the first week of December their rear basement wall grew cracks so fast they were visibly longer from one day to the next.  So they got their engineer back out (he couldn’t make it until after the new year).  But between that early-September visit from the contractor and the second week of January, my people didn’t call the contractor.  The contractor alleged as a defense the failure to provide notice and an opportunity to cure.  And so repeatedly I worked my way back around, with my witnesses on direct, to the question of, “Well, why ever did you not call?”  By the time Learned Opposing Counsel got to cross, they jury would have been thinking This is Old News and They’ve Already Explained It Four Times; Now Move Along.

13.     If you know your clients’ case better than your clients, you’re both in trouble.  They’ve got to be able to articulate, in their own words, in coherent form, what happened, when, in what order, by or through whom, and What It All Means.  If they can’t do that, in painful detail, then they’re not going to be able to convince a jury to make some stranger (at least from the jury’s perspective they’re strangers) cough up money to your client.  Just not going to happen.  I once years ago tried a bench trial on an option to purchase commercial real estate.  The case had been pending for not quite four years when it went to trial.  My client spent seven hours on the witness stand that day, and under cross-examination she was nearly completely unable to explain to the court what she wanted by way of relief and why she thought she was entitled to it.  We won the case, but the judge ruled in a manner that cost my clients about an extra $250,000.  If your client obviously doesn’t know his own damned case, don’t expect your jury to spend much effort trying to understand it either.

14.     Don’t ask your witnesses to be any more positive than they genuinely are comfortable being.  If they’re basically honest, that stretching of their narrative will stick out like spines and the jury will conclude they’re lying.  If they’re basically dishonest (and you know, sometimes the only witness you have to something is one of your county’s notorious crooks; it just works out that way and if that’s the only way you’ve got to get your facts into evidence then you’re going to have to figure it out), you’re shooting dice that nothing will happen like happened to that engineer.  All through my case in chief Learned Opposing Counsel was cock of the walk, strutting about and playing Dutch Uncle to my poor little dirty-assed-van redneck self.  He acted like he had a massive bombshell in reserve, just waiting to chamber it up and send it down-range onto our target coordinates.  After I blew up his star witness in front of God and everybody that sonofabitch “sulled up” as we say around here and spoke scarcely eight words to me until late yesterday afternoon.  All that having been said, if your witness has a fact to recite, or an opinion to form, for God’s sake don’t pussy-foot around about it.  That comes across as dishonest as well.  Purge “I might have,” and “I think,” or “it could be that” or “it might have been” or “As I remember it” from the vocabulary.  This did happen.  So-and-such did not happen.  I saw whatever-it-was.  Don’t have your expert say, “My opinion is such-and-stuff”; you ask him if he has an opinion and let him state his opinion in the form of a fact:  “There was nothing wrong with this house that a little time wouldn’t have cured without spending a bunch of money.”  “There were no termites present on whatever-date-it-was.”

15.     Never, ever, ever, ever put on proof, unless the substance of the claims or defenses makes it absolutely unavoidable, of what your client is paying you or has paid you, especially if you’re a big-city lawyer appearing in front of a jury full of people at least half of whom either live from government hand-outs themselves, or have relatives or friends who do.  Our total claim for compensatory relief was for not quite $90,000; ol’ Learned Opposing Counsel had one of his clients testify that, exclusive of the trial, they’d already paid over $96,000 in attorney’s fees.  That didn’t even get to the engineer’s fees (and they’d paid him to be present for the trial from Day 1).  Think about it:  How likely is it that Average Jury Member is not going to ask himself the deadly rhetorical question, “Wouldn’t it just have been simpler for you to have built the house right in the first place?”

And so I saw the elephant over the past two weeks.  We have post-trial motions and then I am assuming Learned Opposing Counsel is going to file an appeal, which for several tactical reasons I’m all for, since it is likely to make my clients’ ultimate collection much more certain.  I cannot say I have enjoyed it, except to the extent that winning (assuming nothing blows up between here and the final order) beats losing all to hell and gone.  It was an 8-day adrenaline rush and I’m still coming down off it.  But at least the magic spell is broken.

I can do this.

If You Call a Calf’s Tail a Leg

How many legs would a calf have?  This was a rhetorical question put to his cabinet by Abraham Lincoln during a discussion that seemed to be running in circles.  They all answered, “Five,” at which point Lincoln corrected them.  Calling a tail a leg doesn’t make it a leg.

Nor can you credibly claim that fossil fuels are being “subsidized” by re-defining “subsidy” into meaninglessness, as a several authors affiliated with the International Monetary Fund seems to have done.  According to those sages, world-wide energy costs — by which they overwhelmingly mean fossil fuel energy costs — are being “subsidized” to the tune of $5.3 trillion annually.  The Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung has the articleHere’s the blog post.  The blog post relies heavily on an IMF working paper, “How Large are Global Energy Subsidies?,” available in .pdf here. The reader doesn’t get past the headline without tripping across the writers’ leftist bias splashed across the screen:  “Act Local, Solve Global: The $5.3 Trillion Energy Subsidy Problem”.  Isn’t $5.3 trillion a rather large number?  How did they get there?  Did they add up governmental hand-outs, direct or indirect, to energy producers or consumers?  Well no, no they didn’t.  What they did was define a calf’s tail so that now it’s a leg:

“We define energy subsidies as the difference between what consumers pay for energy and its ‘true costs,’ plus a country’s normal value added or sales  tax rate. These ‘true costs’ of energy consumption include its supply costs and the damage that energy consumption inflicts on people and the environment. These damages, in turn, come from carbon emissions and hence global warming; the health effects of air pollution; and the effects on traffic congestion, traffic accidents, and road damage. Most of these externalities are borne by local populations, with the global warming component of energy subsidies  only a fourth of the total.”

“Externalities.”  “True costs.”  And of course, “global warming.” The latter of which hasn’t been occurring for the past 15-plus years, and the extent to which it is anthropogenic is the subject of massive debate, despite what the acolytes of The Economist, The New York Times, The Washington Post, the television talking heads, and the rest of the left-extremist media repeatedly assure us is “consensus” scientific opinion.  Even on the assumption that, long-term, the earth overall is in fact warming up, as of right now there is little robust (in other words, non-manipulated) data to indicate that human activity is the dominant cause of it.  Looked at slightly differently, for the past 15 years, during which time everyone now agrees there has been a “hiatus” in warming, the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere has been steadily climbing.  By every one of the climate alarmists’ models the world should be cooking.  But it’s not.  Why not?  Well, there are a bunch of theories out there, all of which — hardly surprisingly — rely on naturally-occurring phenomena to explain “where the heat is being hidden.”  But what does that tell us?  What it tells us is that naturally-occurring phenomena can very easily overwhelm the anthropogenic component of warming trends, and that assumes that the computer models which are the source of our estimates of the magnitude of that component are accurate in the first place.  Which may or may not be the case.

These IMF writers are perfectly comfortable not only assuming that the world is warming and will continue to warm, but that it’s human carbon emissions that are the cause of it.  And then they pull a number out of thin air to slap a price tag on it, and call it an “externality” which must be accounted for in calculating the “true” cost of energy.

The health effects of air pollution are a genuine external cost of the use of fossil fuels.  And it’s not hard to put some pretty robust numbers on that cost.  Most countries keep pretty good track of mortality and morbidity, and the range of illnesses and diseases reliably connected to ambient air pollution is pretty well-settled.  So when they authors write, “In China alone, the World Health Organization estimates there are over one million premature deaths per year due to outdoor air pollution, caused by the burning of polluting fuels, particularly coal, and other sources,” that’s a number I can take at close to face value (ignoring the extent to which international NGOs have joyfully prostituted themselves to various left-extremist causes).

That million-premature-deaths-per-year data point really doesn’t take full account to the full consequences of China’s fuel consumption, does it?  Let’s look back a few decades to see what life in Red China was like before its economy took off.  China was a land of — in many provinces still is — dirt-poor peasants, without clean drinking water, transportation to keep the villages fed, reliable modern or semi-modern healthcare, or most of the other advantages of modern economies.  They died like flies.  What has happened to overall life expectancy in China as a result of its economic modernization?  Here are the charts: overall life expectancy went from 68.31 years in 1985 to 73.27 years in 2010.  These IMF folks are counting only one side of the equation.  If I increase life expectancy across several hundred million people by five years through generalized, wide-spread economic development — a development which would be utterly impossible without cheap, for which read “fossil” energy — but out of those hundreds of millions, 1 million annually die prematurely, then I’m not only still to the good, I’m massively to the good.  In India, one of the other major “sinners” in fossil fuel consumption, the increase is even more stark.  We see life expectancy going from 62.5 to 67.14 years between 2000 and 2012, five years’ increase over just twelve years.

By the way, despite the obviously Marxist leanings of these IMF wonks, general economic development and prosperity inures to everyone’s advantage.  Everyone’s.  If air pollution is an external cost, then general economic advancement is an external benefit, and it’s asinine — and dishonest — to include the one without accounting for the other.

“The effects on traffic congestion, traffic accidents, and road damage”:  These are likewise “external costs” that amount to “subsidies” of energy.    I’d love to see someone demonstrate that “too-cheap” energy prices result in traffic congestion and accidents.  What produces traffic congestion and road accidents are too many people trying to fit their vehicles onto a given surface of road at the same time.  And what produces that is geographically concentrated economic opportunity that grows faster than government’s ability to respond to it.  Unemployed people don’t drive to work, to put it bluntly.  Businesses that go out of business don’t run their trucks.  So if we just tamped down productive economic activity our roads would be safer and less congested.  Which appears to be the objective of these authors.

The kind of economic advancement which produces crowded (and dangerous) traffic condition arises from, and only from, relatively inexpensive transportation, and that requires relatively inexpensive energy.  By “relatively,” I mean, incidentally, relative to other mechanized and non-mechanized forms of transportation.  When you had to own and maintain a horse and wagon in order to “drive” anywhere, that was both highly inefficient and very restrictive.  As Paul Johnson describes travel in pre-railroad England in The Birth of the Modern, the vast majority of people walked wherever they went, because they couldn’t afford to ride, not because they wanted to stop and smell the flowers.  That’s still true elsewhere in the world.  Despite all the picturesque photographs in The National Geographic of swarms of passengers so covering rail cars that you can’t see the rail car beneath them, most people in the less developed world walk, and not from choice.

Non-mechanized travel is slow, it’s inefficient (how many horse-drawn wagons would it take to deliver the lumber and brick to build a single house? how many guys driving flat-bed trucks?), and it is, relative to fossil-fueled mechanized travel, horribly, horribly expensive.  Among forms of mechanized transportation, railroads are phenomenally inefficient in any sense of how much energy it takes to move X people or weight of objects Y distance, from any given Point A to Point B.  Those who extol the virtues of rail conveniently pay attention to the first component X over Y, forgetting that niggling little issue of where it’s being transported from and to: which Point A to which Point B.  There is not money enough in all the world to build and run railroads to everywhere that needs cheap transportation.  If I’m 30 miles from the nearest railroad point of embarkation (and many, many places, even in the Easter U.S., are), then it doesn’t really do me much good to ponder how much weight a train can pull per unit of energy, does it?

Once more, the “too-cheap energy” hand-wringers need to answer the question of precisely how they account for the overall benefit, in length and quality of life, provided by modern capitalistic economies operating through the inter-connectedness of inter-continental markets for everyday goods (and even services, although to a lesser extent).  These authors’ outlook assumes a pre-lapsarian paradise where an increasing population somehow has jobs that somehow enable its individuals to pay the bills and somehow live long, relatively-healthy lives, without a relatively inexpensive way to move people and goods, to heat, cool, and light houses and businesses, and to operate the machines which make the physical objects that make it all possible.

How do our authors propose to impose on consumers the “true cost” of energy?  Why, through taxation, of course.

“The fiscal gains from subsidy reform are sizeable and could be a game changer for fiscal policy in many countries.  This would give room, for example, for governments to reduce some types of taxes (such as those imposed on labor) that weigh down growth;  raise growth-enhancing public expenditure (e.g. for infrastructure, health  and education); and finance targeted cash transfers for the poor.  Furthermore, there would be appropriate incentives for investment in green technology because dirty energy would no longer be artificially cheap.”

In the working paper linked above you get a better idea of just how purely theoretical all these wonderful “savings” actually are.  Reducing a tax on labor sounds nice, but it really doesn’t answer the question where you are going to replace the money from all the income tax revenue lost from jobs destroyed or more importantly jobs never created.  Moreover, if you just read the above paragraph you’ll notice a curious contradiction:  Increasing energy costs will reduce energy consumption, and we’re going to use all that money flowing in to . . . build and repair more roads and bridges for all the cars and trucks that aren’t being driven any more.  It also assumes an infinitely linear relationship between economic growth and government expenditure on “education” (no such relationship has ever been shown above a certain level; if that were the case the United States would be a nation of Einsteins) or “health” (ditto).  And finally we get to the nub:  more money to hand out to our pet constituencies and “green energy” cronies.

On a more practical level, when has there even been a sustained pattern of government taking one tax revenue source and using it to reduce another?  That is a supposition that defies uniform experience of government since the days of the pharaohs.  For that matter, it seems to me that if most of the externalities of energy consumption are experienced locally, then paying a whacking great chunk of money to a centralized bureaucracy to siphon 40-80% of it off the top in “administration” costs and then dole the balance out to its favored constituents is precisely the wrong way to match externalities with those who must experience them in the actual lives.  I’ll give you a hint:  There aren’t a whole lot of “green energy” mooches in Atlanta, and yet there’s a boat-load of externalities to experience there (as anyone who’s tried to drive further than three blocks around there can tell you).  So the solution is to impose a tax on all those who live and work in Atlanta, so some firm in Silicon Valley can be handed $535 million in taxpayers’ money to get behind the major-political-donors’ equity position when the firm, which was already irretrievably broke when the money was paid, files its bankruptcy petition?  Color me uninterested.

Finally, other than using less energy, what do the authors’ suggested uses of this tax revenue actually do to reduce the externalities of energy consumption?  China could burn 17% less coal and it would still have lousy air quality in its large cities.  New Yorkers could burn 17% less automotive fuels and mid-town would still be a parking lot for most of the day.  Where the change would occur would be at the margin and in truth would largely occur in the form of lack of economic activity.  In any single year that might not be a terribly large number, but once you slice 0.5% off your annual rate of growth over several decades because energy is now so damned expensive, and suddenly the difference in overall societal condition is the difference between the American Midwest and rural India.

Also noteworthy is the authors’ pointing out that the “externalities” of “too-cheap” energy are very predominantly local.  Even assuming all the climate alarmist chatter to be true in every detail [It’s not; all these models and projections trace themselves to data held by the University of East Anglia, data so thoroughly corrupted by manipulation that the man they hired to recreate their original measurements gave up after about three years of trying; the source data has been so monkeyed with that it is unusable for any other than propaganda purposes . . . which coincidentally is what it’s being used for; useful entry points to understand what’s been going on here, here, and especially here.], something like half the total is accounted for by local air pollution.  Local.  All of which is to say that there are enormous swathes of every country on the face of the earth where the air simply isn’t all that bad.  Yet the taxes proposed will hit everyone in the country.  Seems like what they’re proposing is to shift the externalities from one subset of people (residents of dense urban pockets) to another subset (everyone else).  I’d also note that non-residents of dense urban areas tend to use — at least in their personal existence — more energy for things like transportation than their urban cousins.  Ditto businesses.  If you live or work out in the sticks, you’ve got further to move yourself and your stuff than if your customer base all lives within 25 miles of you or your business.

In fairness to the authors of the linked paper, they do come right out and admit that their conclusions rely on enormous assumptions that may or may not be true, especially on the benefit end of things.  This is significant, because we do know a great deal about the cost of suppressing growth.  Take a look at the life expectancies as of 1960 in — China: 43.47 years; India:  41.38 years; Brazil: 54.69 years.  Those truncated lives are the “externality” of allowing a bunch of coastal elites to feel good about themselves by taxing the rest of us into oblivion so they can have more of our money to play with.

I humbly suggest that willfully knocking the creation and aggregation of wealth back to an era when we didn’t have a million Chinese dying “prematurely” each year, but rather hundreds of millions of Chinese with over 20 years’ less life expectancy at birth, all based on pie-in-the-sky assumptions about all this magical government revenue that will roll in from a shrunken economy, is a suggestion that does not deserve to be taken seriously.

And those assumptions sure as hell are no basis to claim that energy is being sold at $5.3 trillion below its “true cost” annually.

California Goes to India

And from the Dept. of You Can’t Make This Up, we have a report from The Times of India of a judgment rendered by a court in Delhi, identified as the Delhi High Court.

Some Indian analogue to PETA had freed a bunch of birds from the cages in which a bird merchant was keeping them.  Legal proceedings ensued (the report doesn’t make very clear whether civil or criminal, and by whom initiated and against whom).  A trial court had directed that at least some of the birds be released  back to the merchant from whom “liberated,” and the animal rights folks had sought an injunction barring that release.  [I’m curious how the birds, who had after all been freed from their cages, were re-captured so as to be released back to the merchant in the first place.  I mean, if I’m a bird kept locked up and someone comes along and pops open the door to my cage, my country ass it outta there.  You couldn’t, as an old judge friend of mine says, find me with a search warrant.]

The animal rights group appealed that portion of the trial court’s action, and the appellate court bit down on their argument in toto, in language that seems alarmingly over-broad for a society which has some difficulty feeding itself.   Justice Manmohan Singh allowed:  “I am clear in mind that all the birds have fundamental rights to fly in the sky and all human beings have no right to keep them in small cages for the purposes of their business or otherwise.”  Really?  “All birds” have a “fundamental right” to fly “in the sky” and humans have “no right” to keep them for any “purpose” (how else can you read the “otherwise” in that sentence?).  “This court is of the view that running the trade of birds is in violation of the rights of the birds. They deserve sympathy. Nobody is caring as to whether they have been inflicted cruelty or not despite a settled law that birds have a fundamental right to fly and cannot be caged and will have to be set free in the sky.”

The breadth of that statement would sweep in chickens, geese, ducks, or any other bird raised for food or for their eggs.  According to Justice Singh, even keeping your chickens in a hen-house with an outdoor run enclosed by fencing would violate the birds’ “fundamental right” to fly “in the sky.”  The full opinion isn’t quoted in the article, but if the decision had turned on a law proscribing the birds’ being in the possession of the merchant — such as American federal law which criminalizes such private possession or trade (and I actually had a client once who’d recently been enlarged from Club Fed for precisely that offense) — you’d think the court would have mentioned it and the article likewise.  But there’s none of that, but rather only the categorical announcement of a “settled law” establishing a “fundamental right” to fly in the unrestricted “sky.”  The specific source for the right is not cited in the article, so I wonder whether it’s in India’s constitution or some statute somewhere, although the judge’s invocation of a “settled law” is a pretty strong clue that he’s just making it up as he goes along, the South Asian variant of black robe fever being presumably indistinguishable from its American strain.

Wow.  I mean, just wow.  Eating beef is severely constrained in India by reason of religious scruple.  Pork is considered by a sizable proportion of the population to be unclean, likewise on religious grounds.  And now an appellate court has decided that the only practicable way to keep domestic birds for eggs or food is as a proposition of “fundamental right” impermissible?  I guess the population living near the ocean or near rivers can fish, if the water’s not too polluted.  But what are the rest of India’s one billion-plus population to do for animal protein in their diet?

I guess it shouldn’t surprise us that Indian judges are just as susceptible to silliness as our own.

Because Impartial

Instapundit I think it was who formulated a very helpful rule:  In trying to make sense of what gets or doesn’t get reported in the U.S. mainstream media, and how is reported what does see the light of day, if you simply proceed from the notion that the reporter and the organization are Democrat Party operatives then you won’t go far wrong.

Notwithstanding we see the wisdom of that rule confirmed time and again, we are forever assured that there is no lamestream media bias in favor of the left.  Oh noes!  You can, of course, regularly and with depressing uniformity of result play “Name that Party,” in which reports of egregious wrong-doing by prominent Democrats either never mention party affiliation, or bury it in the third-from-last paragraph of a 25-paragraph story, over on page B-15 of the Saturday morning paper, while Republicans will have their affiliation mentioned in the lead sentence of the first paragraph, if not the headline as well.  You can read the whole sordid history of Journolist, the conspiracy hatched and run from The Washington Post’s offices by Ezra Klein during the 2008 presidential campaign, and the intent and effect of which was to coordinate among roughly 400 reporters and Democrat operatives what and how they were going to report in connection with that campaign.  You can go back and watch Candy Crowley (I think it was) jump into Mitt Romney’s shellacking of Dear Leader during their debate, to buttress a fraudulent claim by Dear Leader that he had correctly identified the Benghazi attacks as being of terroristic origin, when in fact he did no such thing for weeks afterward.  And so forth and so on.

Or you can follow the story of George Stephanopoulos, the Clinton operative who now masquerades as a “journalist” on ABC, and who interviewed the author who has described in detail the patterns of cash flowing from various unsavory foreign governments and operations to the Clinton family’s slush fund, while Hillary Clinton was U.S. Secretary of State, and which — coincidentally, we’re assured — achieved favorable results in the discussions they just happened to be having with the U.S. government and its agencies at the time.  Ol’ Georgie-boy kept asserting during his interview that the author had “no evidence” of any quid pro quo arrangements.  No “smoking gun.”  No evidence.  No evidence.  No evidence.  Well, of course not:  Hillary destroyed any evidence that might have existed after cherry-picking what e-mails to surrender to the U.S. government.  [N.b.  When the images of her private server’s hard drive are finally leaked, however, then we’ll see the evidence.  I am perfectly comfortable that those images exist in the hands of multiple parties hostile to the U.S. . . . and that their existence has been made known to Hillary, very quietly of course.]

The problem for George is that at no time before or after that interview did Stephanopoulos disclose that over three years — 2012, 2013, and 2014 — he had made annual $25,000 contributions to the Clinton Foundation or that he was an active participant in several of its functions.  When confronted, he first dismissed annually giving over half the annual median income of a household of four as chump change, and nothing we ought to worry about.  Moreover, it was just part of his larger charitable giving program, dontcha know, and he’s just such charitable guy and all that stuff.

There’s only one problem:  At the end of 2010, the Clinton Foundation spun off the vast bulk of its charitable activities and since then has concentrated on activities more properly characterized as Clinton campaign networking.  By 2013 the foundation spent less than 15% of its revenue on charitable grants; in contrast, over 60% of its expenses are characterized as just “other.”  So whatever else George Stephanopoulos’s $75,000 in chump change was paying for, it sure as hell wasn’t much charity at all.

ABC has already doubled down, vigorously defending their standard-bearer and declining to do anything more than promise he won’t “moderate” a GOP presidential debate.

If the GOP has a lick of sense about it, they’ll categorically refuse to permit this hack to come anywhere near a 2016 presidential debate.  Which means he’ll do ’em all, of course.

All the Old Nonsense is New Again

Twenty-odd years ago someone came up with the assertion that it was impossible for someone from a “minority” to be racist, because racism is by definition an aspect of a unidirectional power relationship, and not a mind-set, a frame of reference, or even a visceral animosity.  If I can exercise no power over you, then necessarily I am incapable of racism towards you.  “You,” by the way, is defined by group affiliation (an affiliation which I claim the right to assign, incidentally).  It thus follows that even though I can treat the guy bringing me my lunch at the restaurant like shit, if he’s a member of a group over which I deny the ability to exercise “power” (or “privilege,” the new and ill-defined term used in its place), then I can lord it over you to my heart’s content based on your skin color and all with a clean conscience.

I cannot recall if it was Leonard Jeffries, enjoying his taxpayer-funded gig at CUNY, who came up with that precise formulation of the idea, but if he didn’t he should have.  He peddles, among other notions, that of whites as “ice people,” who are genetically violent and oppressive, and blacks as “sun people” who are genetically peaceful and compassionate.  This is  one excrescence of something going by the name “melanin theory.”  Wikipedia describes it as a “pseudo-science,” and it gets the “pseudo-” part only because there is one tiny little grain of truth in it:  “white,” by which is meant “Caucasian” hued skin is in fact the result of a genetic mutation which seems, as I understand, to have occurred after the first humans left Africa.  All humans once had skin much closer in color to today’s sub-Saharan Africans.  And then at some point in the DNA history up cropped the “white” mutation.  Since having very dark skin was not a particularly helpful trait for those humans living outside of sub-Saharan Africa (and let’s recall for a moment that humans didn’t evolve all over Africa, but rather in that part of it comparatively near the equator, where the sun is at its most intense), the mutant strain didn’t select out of the population.  By the way, humans aren’t the only ones to evidence the dropping of a gene that is no longer of assistance; there is (I read this years ago in The Economist) a species of wild dog on New Guinea which used to be domesticated.  The gene for tail-wagging has sifted out of that species after it went wild again, and so they, like other wild canids, do not wag their tails as does your labradoodle.

I have to wonder how Jeffries accounts for, say, the Japanese, or the Amish . . . or the Hutu and Tutsi.  Imagine that:  In 1994 over the course of 100 days or so an entire genetically peaceful and compassionate ethnic group so revolted against its genetic coding as to slaughter 900,000 of its neighbors, whose skin is nearly precisely the same color as theirs.

Suffice it to say that Jeffries is enjoying his taxpayer-funded (and that’s New York City, state, and federal funds, since CUNY receives funding from all three sources and one dollar is fungible with all others) position to put out a load of “Afrocentric” clap-trap that is doing no one any favors but himself.

Demonstrating that one of the hallmarks of idiocy and fraud is recrudescence, we now have a point-blank statement of the principle from Great Britain.  Some weeks ago the student union at Goldsmiths University in London sponsored a function.  The university’s “diversity officer” (alas, that title is genuine; there really does appear to be such a person), perhaps not understanding the word “diversity,” posted on the union’s Facebook page a curious appendix to the event announcement:  If you’re male, or white, do not come to this event.  This is for “BME” (whatever the hell that means) and “non-binary” people (what-really-ever the hell that means) only.  Because diversity, you know.  Notice, by the way, that white women are also specifically uninvited; that’s important to recall in light of the quotation I’m about to share with you.

As anyone with enough to sense to make anything of his/her life other than become a “diversity officer” could have foreseen, the rational world exploded at this — well, frankly racist exclusion based upon skin color, and sexist exclusion based upon genitals.  Even the WaPo picked the story up.  The diversity officer in question then proceeds to dig her hole even deeper:

“I want to explain why this [people pointing out that her actions betray both racism and sexism] is false. I, an ethnic minority woman, cannot be racist or sexist towards white men, because racism and sexism describes structures of privilege based on race and gender.  And therefore women of colour and minority genders cannot be racist or sexist because we do not stand to benefit from such a system.”

She really said that.  She really used the expression “minority genders.”  Presumably she wasn’t talking about females, since they’re not quite 51% of the gross human population.  And we know that she’s not talking about males, since she hates them based upon their genitals.  Presumably there are multiple genders out there which are “minority”.  Now, she identifies as an “ethnic minority woman,” and based on that she’s on the wrong end of at least one “structure[] of privilege based on . . . gender.”  Of course, white women are also on the wrong end of any such “structures of privilege based on . . . gender,” but she specifically disinvited them as well.  On what could that disinvitation be based if not racism?  Oh, but they’re white, and so they cannot be victims of “structures of privilege based on race.”  I guess white women are to be left to sort things out for themselves in respect of the structures of privilege based on gender.  Notice that she only claims that she cannot be racist or sexist towards white men; do I sense an admission that she can be racist towards white women?

Oh dear, how does a human mind get so confused?  We cannot say for sure, but whatever the cause if you try to wade through her self-description you realize the rot has gone deep:  “I am particularly interested in looking at the gendered body in Japanese pornographic anime and horror through a Foucauldian framework in order to analyse the West’s gaze upon a world it attempts to categorize.  My politics are intersectional, queer, feminist, anti-racist . . . I am a working class, Turkish Cypriot, queer, disabled woman and activist.”  If by “disabled” she means “gibbering lunatic,” then I suppose that may explain some of it.

I guess it’s a good thing that no one outside the West — oh, say, for example, the Wahabis in Saudi Arabia or the Taliban in Afghanistan or the Hindu in India — attempt to “categorize” the “gendered body.”  No, in Saudi Arabia they just won’t let people wearing a vagina drive a car or hold a job.  In Afghanistan they’ll throw acid in the “gendered” face for the crime of exposing it to God’s sunshine and fresh air.  And in India entire gangs of men will enjoy themselves on some teenage “gendered body” before hanging her by the neck in a tree.  And in Southeast Asia they’ll sell pre-pubescent “gendered bodies” to brothels to be whored out to bus-loads of middle-aged Southeast Asian men (and Europeans and Americans who also travel to those places for precisely those purposes; at least in That Awful West we try to arrest them on their return if we can catch them at it).

Maybe Miss Mustafa can move to New York City and shack up with Leonard Jeffries.  They can “categorize” each other’s “gendered bodies” and condole each other that it’s all Whitey’s fault.

[Update 20 May 15]:  Apparently using Twitter hashtags like #killallwhitemen does not constitute racism, under Comrade Mustafa’s rules.  Problem for her is that the students at her university might not agree.  They’re gathering signatures for a vote of no confidence in her.

It’s Why You Don’t Paint in Primary Colors Only

The world does not come and never has come in exclusively primary colors.  Fact.  If you try to paint the world, either as it now exists, as it used to exist, or as it may in the future exist, solely in primary colors, you’re simply not going to produce a useful depiction of reality.

Thinking in a manner similar to painting in primary colors likewise does not permit you to form a usefully accurate understanding of the world.  I say “usefully accurate” because the world is just too complicated a place for anyone fully to comprehend everything important about it.  Not going to happen, not in terms of the present, the past, or the future.  Fact.  Every level of cognitive engagement with the world is a simplification.  Pretty much every last one of us uses — whether consciously or not — sorting mechanisms, decisional algorithms, categories of perception that are both under- and over-inclusive.  You can easily recognize the guy who doesn’t use those mental tools to navigate reality:  He’s the guy standing on the street corner who doesn’t know whether to shit or go blind, because every last impression he takes in, every last decision he makes, requires him to start from scratch.

So much for my daily statement of the obvious.  I’m pretty good at it, wouldn’t you say?

Race.  It’s like sniffing glue for the thoughtful and law-abiding.  We know that the preoccupation with race, the endless agonizing and hashing over its meaning, its history, its sociological, economic, and political implications, it is little more than poisonous to both our society and our polity, no matter what group the person contemplating or yammering on about it happens to be from.  And yet — that street thug, gun-running, perjurious criminal Eric Holder to the contrary notwithstanding — we can’t stop talking about it.  You’d think that race, either in the abstract or in its concrete setting here in the U.S., where the public discussion has dated at least since the 1780s, when the Quakers were presenting petitions to the Confederation Congress and that Congress was outlawing slavery in the Northwest Ordinance, is something about which there is bugger all new left to say.  For myself, I cannot recall the last time I heard anything said about race that was both interesting and true that I hadn’t heard countless times before.

This article strikes me as just another installment.  “What a Truly Honest Discussion of Race Would Look Like,” over at Townhall.com, is a good reminder that the subject of human bondage is much greater than the story of sub-Saharan Africans who got scooped up and carted off (so to speak) to the English colonies in North America.  Those who would pretend that it is are painting in primary colors.

I ought not disparage the article’s author for pointing out what most any person with the least understanding of world history already long since knows.  I shouldn’t do it because there are so few people who have any curiosity to acquire the least understanding of that history.  So when the author points out that the very word “slave” derives from precisely the same word as “Slav,” and that that’s no accident because for so many centuries that’s what Slavs were viewed as, it might enlighten no small number of people.  I wish he’d mentioned that the slave markets of Constantinople were very much going concerns as late as 1867, when Mark Twain visited the city.  He cites to several studies (presumably scholarly) about the institution of slavery in North Africa.  There the slave-masters were not sub-Saharan Africans but the mish-mash of Arabs and other ethnic groups spread along the littoral, all of them having more or less two things in common: (i) they were fanatical Muslims, and (ii) they made their living from piracy and plunder.  I’m not sure, though, that slavery in that area of the world has much to teach simply because you could escape slavery by turning Muslim.  The status of slave was not an inherited condition; in fact, I’m not sure that slaves there were even really permitted to reproduce to any marked extent (I’d be fascinated to see more on that subject).

The article’s author cites to that tiresome professor of grievance studies, Henry Louis Gates, for the observations that most of the actual enslavement — that is, the forcible conversion of free men and women into permanent captives held to involuntary labor — was the work of sub-Saharan Africans.  The pitiful survivors of the Middle Passage, in other words, were slaves well before they ever reached the coast and saw their first slave ship.  Our author also quotes the figure of 388,000 who “were shipped to America.”  Wait a minute:  Is he talking about the colonies that later became the U.S?  If so then I can perhaps accept that 388,000 number.  But I mean, really, what does it matter whether it was 388,000 or 388,000,000?  They and their descendants were in fact held in bondage and that bondage was in fact in the form of chattel slavery (as opposed to serfdom; the African slaves were never glebae adscripti).  I’m not aware of any context in which the Meaning of African Slavery in North America can be a function of the precise or even imprecise number of Africans shipped here.  By like token what can it possibly matter that free Africans voluntarily came to North America as early at 1513?  Or that, in Central America and Florida, at least, thousands of slaves escaped to become Cimaroons?  If the point is that not all of black experience is captured in the arc of chattel slavery, then . . . well, not all of British experience during World War II is captured during the weeks of the London Blitz.  So what’s your point?

More interesting, because it undercuts the primary-color palette of white-people-bad-black-people-good (the sort of horse shit trafficked in by that charlatan Leonard Jeffries), is the mention of the black slave owners of the American South.  Yes, there were some.  It that connection, however, it’s important to bear in mind that a large number, if not nearly all — of them would have been free blacks who bought their wives and children out of bondage (and if the particular state’s laws forbade manumission, then the wife’s and children’s legal status as slave would not have changed).  There were some very large-scale black slave-owners, however, mostly in South Carolina and New Orleans.  Way back in college I wrote a term paper on, among others, a biography of one of them, a William Ellison, who started life as a slave, learned the trade of cotton gin manufacture and repair, bought his own freedom, and by his death was in the 95th percentile of all slave owners.  Black Masters: A Free Family of Color in the Old South is a very interesting read, not only for just the main story, but also as a cross-bearing on the rest of the slave system.

The article also talks about the unfree white laborers who until the later 1600s formed the bulk of the unfree population of Virginia (South Carolina wasn’t settled until the late 1660s-70s; Charleston was founded in 1670 and Boone Hall, the famous avenue-of-oaks joint, dates only to 1682).  As related in Edmund S. Morgan’s American Slavery, American Freedom, the transition from predominately white to eventually-exclusively black unfree labor was gradual and had a great deal to do with economics, health, and land settlement laws.  Not to put too fine a point on it, but until a newly-arrived unfree laborer could be expected to survive what they euphemistically called “seasoning,” there was no reason to pay fee simple prices for a slave when you could take a seven-year lease on an Irish girl who’d be dead long before you had to give her her freedom and enough goods to set up housekeeping.  You also got “headrights” — 50 acres of land — for each indentured servant you brought over (it was your land, though, and not the servant’s).  Until 1699 in Virginia you also got headrights for slaves imported; but by that time slavery had thoroughly established itself as the overwhelmingly dominant labor system.

Indentured servants were in fact subject to many if not most of the awful conditions the slaves experienced.  You could in most colonies legally maim an indentured servant — chop off a toe or a finger — for minor transgressions.  I’m not aware that you could legally kill an indentured servant, while on the other there was little if any practical limitation on killing a slave.  I’m sure that technically killing a slave was illegal homicide, but I’d be surprised to find out it was enforced in any but the most sickeningly egregious cases.

All in all, this article reminds me more than a little of the discussion of the history of slavery in North America set out in The Redneck Manifesto, a book that would be a great deal more interesting if the author understood some very basic facts about economics.  His early chapters on the joint experience of poor whites and black slaves in 17th Century Virginia are worth a read (even though his later unhinged rants about fiscal and economic policy and law suggests a grain of salt be taken with those earlier chapters as well).  In Goad’s telling, it was Bacon’s Rebellion (1676), pitting the unfree and downtrodden against the planter elite, which awoke that elite to the necessity of dividing the blacks and the whites from each other.  According to him, the laws penalizing what we can generically describe as “fraternization” between the groups date from the aftermath of the rebellion, and the history of race relations since has been the systematic and basically fraudulent effort to prevent poor whites and poor blacks from combining, either economically or politically, to threaten the elites’ hegemony.  That may be the case; it’s been 30 years since I last read Morgan in detail, and the better part of 15 years since I read Goad.  And certainly more than one author has described very well how one of the side effects of slavery was the creation and perpetuation of an entire class of absolutely dirt-poor, un-landed, prospect-less whites (the expression “white trash” originated in the slave quarters to describe them).  But on one point Goad is entirely correct:  The plantation elite had every intention of dominating Virginia’s society and economy, and they had no intention at all of sharing that power with anyone of any color or condition of servitude.

But for all the tu quoque in this article, what is the point?  You just can’t get around the fact that the experience of sub-Saharan Africans and their descendants in North America has been qualitatively different from that of any other group, and that the implications of that history are still playing themselves out.  I disagree with most of the left-extremists on just how those implications are playing out.  But just as the experiences of aboriginal Americans today would be unthinkable without the history of the reservation system, so also the present-day experiences of the Africans’ descendants would be unthinkable had their ancestors come here and lived here as free men.  Wherever else we would be, it wouldn’t be where we are.

So while it’s good to remind people occasionally that you can’t paint in primary colors, what does that tell me about how to understand a painting?

We’ve Arrived at the Ad Absurdum

The other day a television-and-internet talking head named Mark Halperin, who has his own web-based show and regularly appears on Joe Scarborough’s morning television talking-head gab-fest, interviewed a Republic presidential candidate.

Before we continue, I understand Comrade Halperin is Jewish.  Under normal circumstances that would be utterly irrelevant, even less so than whether he sits down to pee.

But circumstances aren’t normal, and that blaring of the irony alarm, as the needle roars past the red line, will suggest to the astute that, yes, it’s precisely Comrade Halperin who’s joyfully participated in making them not normal.

Identity politics.

It’s how we got Dear Leader as our president, twice.  It’s why we have to fear a President Hillary Clinton.  It’s why, for that matter, we never had a President Al Smith.  It’s why, year after year, election after election, Black America votes Democrat at 90%+ margins.  It’s how we got Point No. 4 of the National Socialist German Worker’s Party platform of 1920.  It’s how the Scottish National Party now owns all but two of the Scottish seats in Parliament.  It’s why there was a Dixiecrat Party in 1948.  It’s why the British had Test Acts for hundreds of years.

The central tenet of identity politics is that who you are dictates — and ought to dictate — how you exercise whatever political rights you have.

The rise of explicit identity politics in the United States represents a subtle shift in the system of political organization that FDR left as his most pernicious legacy.  It was FDR, Gentle Reader will recall, who realized that if you promise enough Stuff to enough divergent groups, you can put together a coalition that will, notwithstanding none of them come anywhere close to representing a working majority, nonetheless together be able to seize and maintain power.  And the beauty is that each group need have no other tie of interest or sentiment to the others.  Unions?  Hand ’em the Wagner Act and Davis-Bacon.  The industry the unions are busy wrecking?  Throw up enough barriers to entry and other anti-competitive regulation (think of it as an internal tariff wall) and they can pass the increased costs of unionization along to their customers.  “The Poor”?  Hello, welfare state (and by the way, the Cloward-Piven Strategy is nothing more than a formal proposal for logical pursuit of the FDR Doctrine to its conclusion).  Atheistic people of such internal emptiness that they’re searching for a faith, any faith, to latch onto?  Here’s your very own federal agency, the EPA.  Agro-industry?  Try farm policy that strongly suggests it was the Soviets who won the Cold War.

For many years, in fact until the 1990s, the FDR Coalition held together and worked, at least if you mean by “worked” that it retained power at the federal level.  It not only for decades at a time held onto the reins of legislative political power, it permeated the academy, the courts, the entertainment business, and the mainstream media.  Since 1932, even when the other party has managed to grab hold of power, it’s only been in Congress and only for incredibly brief moments — 1954 to 1958, I think, and from 1994 to 2000, and then from 2002 to 2006; it’s never made any notable inroads into the other main theaters of political expression.

It is a legitimate question whether the FDR Coalition’s days are numbered.  The first reason is that, as Margaret Thatcher observed about socialism in general, eventually you run out of other people’s money.  For decades the federal government could and did tirelessly spend more than it made.  It could always borrow more, always run the printing presses.  As Inspector Clouseau would say, not any more.  With over $16 trillion in debt, and spending levels — expressed in terms of percentage of GDP — not seen since the immediate post-World War II era, the money’s just not there any more.  When, as Mitt Romney had the impudence to point out, 94% of your new sovereign debt is being “bought” by your central bank, “At that point you’re just making it up.”  Romney was right.  We are just making it up, and you can’t run an economy forever with a currency that is imaginary.

The second reason that the FDR Coalition’s continued viability may be questioned is the rise of identity politics.  Note the interest groups which FDR cobbled together:  With two exceptions they weren’t groups of who people were, but rather what they did.  You’re not born a union member; your identity as a farmer is a function of . . . you know, farming.  Stop farming and you’re not a farmer any more.  All those industries protected from competition by hedgerows of regulation aren’t in those industries by any sort of predestination.  The tree-huggers aren’t born that way; you choose to join the NRDC.  The two exceptions to the above pattern are blacks and Jews.  The former because they are used to being exploited and the power brokers of the Democrat party were Southerners more than happy to ride them like a rented mule; the latter because again you have the cultural legacy of allowing yourself to be plundered for others’ benefit.

Today’s identity politics are much less about what you do, and much more about who you are.  The groupings span areas of political and economic activity in a way the old ones didn’t, which means they compete against each other in ways that they didn’t.  Back in the day General Motors really didn’t concern itself with agricultural policy, except to the extent that it did or didn’t expand its market for its products.  Different groups with nominally opposed interests could achieve a cynical symbiosis, in the fashion of Baptists and bootleggers:  Heavy industry and the tree-huggers have more than a bit of that in their relationship:  Throw up enormously costly regulatory burdens which everyone in the industry has to comply with, and the existing players can (in fact, must) then pass on all the costs, which means no single player is penalized relative to the others, but new entrants will effectively be barred because there’s no way they can both survive the lean years of start-up and conform to all these regulations.  But (at least to the extent you accept all these “identities” as legitimate) a black is a black is a black will never be East Asian will never be Mexican will never be South Asian, no matter how that specific individual makes his living.  Under the new identity politics, a black farmer is not a farmer who is black, he’s a black who just happens to farm.  He will evaluate any particular policy X not in terms of whether it’s good for all farmers, or even black farmers, but rather whether it’s good for blacks, whether or not they farm.

All of which is to say that the new identity politics assumes, almost necessarily so, a much more viciously zero-sum dynamic of the world.  If South Asians are to flourish, it can only be at the expense of some other group(s) X, Y, and/or Z.  Notice also that the zero-sum aspect of life spreads like a cancer.  Just by way of example, now, instead contenting itself with merely setting up regulatory barriers to market entrants, the green zealot crowd wants to know why it can’t just go ahead and destroy Industry X outright.

One outgrowth of modern identity politics is the resurgence of the trial for heresy, although this time around (at least for the time being) it’s not a government-sponsored proceeding.  It’s not enough simply to show that you are, by whatever criteria, a “member” of Group X.  No, nowadays you must be “authentically” a member of Group X, and it’s the self-appointed gate-keepers who determine whether you are.  If you fail to satisfy them, you are cast into outer darkness, rejected by your identity-group but unable to be accepted into anyone else’s because from birth you lack that identity trait.  Just ask Tim Scott, Mia Love, Thomas Sowell, Ben Carson, or Allen West what it’s like to be tried for group heresy.  [I’ll note that the insistence that government pigeon-hole all of us into specific identity groupings is at the least a precursor to group heresy becoming a matter with which government concerns itself.  Remind me how that worked out last time.  Anyone remember Hermann Goering’s statement when he concocted a new lineage for Field Marshal Erhard Milch (whose father was Jewish)?  “I decide who is a Jew.”]

And of course, once you begin whacking the population up into groups, there’s no logical place to stop.  The groups get more and more finely sorted, each demanding that policies be put in place which advance its members, or which the (invariably self-appointed) “leadership” of that group alleges will advance its members.  And if not advancement, then the suppression of the competing groups.

The natural tendency of this is toward societal entropy and political anarchy.

And absurdity.  As we now see on university campuses, the mere presence on campus of someone from the Out Group is taken as the equivalent of  actual physical violence.  Thank God at least some college students aren’t having it.  A few days ago, as mentioned above, we enjoyed the spectacle of a Jewish talking head interviewing Ted Cruz, whose father was born in Cuba, and demanding that Cruz “prove” he’s “really Cuban.”  For starts, huh?  I wasn’t aware that Cruz was running for Castro’s job.  I thought he was running for U.S. President.  But Halperin — the talking head in question — goes, as one Twitter feed has observed, “full racist” on the subject, interviewing Ted Cruz and expecting Ricky Ricardo.  Needless to say, this has not resonated at all well with any number of people, on both ends of the ideology spectrum.  Twitter is collecting people’s suggestions for questions that Halperin can ask of the other candidates to prove up their identity bona fides.  Among my favorites are the one for Sen. Warren, asking how she applies her war paint, or for Dr. Carson, asking whether he prefers watermelon or fried chicken.  Or for Halperin himself, asking where he hides his Jew gold (hell’s bells, we might as well go full blood-libel on him and ask if he’s recently used the blood of any Christian children while desecrating the Host).

Of course, this descent into identity madness offers the Republican party an enormous opportunity, if it’s collectively smart enough to seize it.  Its challenge is so to conduct itself, and so to present itself, that it can demonstrate to the voters at large — and especially those who are put off by all this my-ass-is-blackest demagoguery — that it genuinely takes seriously the motto “E pluribus Unum.”  What it cannot credibly do is play the identity game with the left-extremists.  Cruz, I think, gets that much:  He politely declined Halperin’s invitation to welcome Bernie Sanders to the race in Spanish.

Exit bonus question:  Does anyone really expect Mark Halperin to suffer any consequences for what would have already got him fired and ostracized, had he done the same to Dear Leader or any other Democrat?