Puigdemont out Rajoys Rajoy!

So the big DUI was kind of a dud. Perhaps never in history has a declaration of independence for a new nation been proclaimed with less enthusiasm. Was it even a declaration? In fact, no. President Puigdemont said that he "accepted the people's desire that Catalonia become an independent country in the form of a republic." So, he accepted that desire, but he didn't actually declare its existence. Then it gets really strange, even "Rajoyian": he immediately goes on to propose that Parliament suspend for a few weeks a declaration that he hasn't actually made so that there can be time for dialogue with the Madrid government. That's quite a feat! Chaos theory! Ever stranger: what about that proposal? A vote? No. An institutional declaration from Parliament regarding that? No. Nothing. What we did get, after the speeches were done and out of the glare of the tv cameras, was a true declaration of independence in written form, made in the name of the "Representatives of Catalonia", but signed, of course, only by members of the governing coalition. It's a strange document and unlikely to be treated kindly by history. After a somewhat lengthy introduction, the document proclaims the creation of an independent and sovereign Catalan Republic. It will be a Republic of laws, democratic, and "social". Not sure what "social" means. The process of creating the new republic will be citizen based and "transversal". Again, not sure exactly what they mean by "transversal". Well, I get the idea, but not sure how adjectives like "social" and "transversal" contribute anything meaningful to the text.
This morning all the reactions seem to give much greater importance to Puigdemont's speech than to the actual declaration of independence. Again, strange. Perhaps that's because everyone heard the speech, but most weren't even aware of the written declaration until this morning. Clearly, Puigdemont was hoping to diffuse tensions, to take a small step back from the edge of the cliff. He may have been somewhat successful, at least in terms of keeping calm in the streets. Now the ball is in Rajoy's court. If we could just lock Rajoy and Puigdemont in a room for, oh... say ten years, they no doubt would become great friends.

DUI

(No, not Parliament. The Catalan National Art Museum. A real gem!)

No, I didn't get a DUI, but I might get one today. We all might get one. I'm referring, of course, to a "Declaración Unilateral de Independencia" in Catalonia. President Carles Puigdemont is scheduled to address the Catalan parliament this afternoon and the suspense could not be greater. Will he make the declaration? I hope not, because if he does it will turn a bad situation really catastrophic. He will declare independence and announce the creation of the Republic of Catalonia, or something like that. But I doubt it will be "unilateral". My suspicion is he will couch the declaration in all kinds of invitations to the central government to negotiate. There will also likely be many invitations to the international community to collaborate, to help Spain and Catalonia come to an understanding. (The Catalan nationalists have been working hard to internationalize the conflict for many, many years.) How did it come to this? Well, that's a long, long story. Here are just a couple of minimal observations to give you a little bit of context: Catalonia has historically enjoyed a large degree of self-governance, but it has never been a truly independent nation. That may change, but it won't be today, regardless of what Puigdemont ultimately declares. The current system began in 1979 with the approval in referendum of a "estatuto de autonomía". That statute was reformed in 2006 to provide for even greater autonomy. It was approved by both the Catalan parliament, the national parliament in Madrid and by voters in Catalonia (albeit with low participation) in a referendum. And this is where the current mess really gets rolling: the right wing Partido Popular, led by Mariano Rajoy, now Spain's president, brought the new statute to Spain's Constitutional Court, which ultimately declared several articles unconstitutional. Consequently, ever more Catalans lost confidence in their relationship to the central government. Support for independence grew. Identity politics more suffocating. When Rajoy came to power in 2011 he showed no interest in negotiating a new agreement with the Catalan government. All of this political tension between Madrid and Barcelona came to a head on October 1st with the celebration of the referendum on independence. Under Spanish law, the referendum was clearly illegal, but the Catalan government had just passed its own laws to make it legal, laws which were, in turn, immediately declared unconstitutional by Spanish courts.
In my opinion, the core problem right now is that the current pro-independence Catalan government is made up of a coalition of parties that won 47% of the popular vote in last year's Catalan elections. That's hardly a mandate for a unilateral declaration of independence! Based on the numbers, this government does not represent a majority of Catalans. So, "the will of the people" is really not a solid argument. But, the referendum! Here a large majority voted "Yes" to independence. But everyone knows the referendum was plagued with all kinds of problems, even setting aside it's legality. Turn out was very low. Not a great idea to start a new nation based on a referendum that had very low participation (around 42%) and no guarantees of fairness. And this is the legitimacy the Catalan government must rely on, but even they know it's a weak argument. Thus, it seems the dominant argument one hears is simply "we're done here", a sentiment that comes from general disgust with the Spanish government. The sentiment is quite understandable: Rajoy has bungled things horribly and the Catalans' legitimate demand for a real vote on independence is also quite reasonable. But, frustration with the current situation is a weak basis for a declaration of independence, especially when the popular mandate for such a move is tenuous at best.
The problem is, of course, that a unilateral declaration of independence will not bring real independence. At least, not in the short term. Catalonia is simply not prepared or able to make that happen. It will trigger major intervention from Madrid, huge street protests, ever more "social fracture", the acceleration of an already alarming flight of capital, and who knows were it will ultimately lead. I feel sad, very sad, for Cataluña, and especially for Barcelona, wonderful Barcelona.

The Booze and Me

I had an interesting experience yesterday morning. I was putting a couple of clean glasses back in their cupboard and as I turned back towards the other part of the kitchen my attention was caught briefly by a corner cupboard I am normally barely aware of, a glass enclosed space whose contents are generally invisible to me. "The bar", a cupboard with a pretty good collection of liquors: whisky, gin, vodka, rum, etc. Lonely bottles that haven't been touched in all the fifteen months we've lived in this apartment. For whatever reason, those bottles got my attention. Their absurd stature as ignored objects, their complete lack of seductive power, their petty ordinariness.  (Well, I strongly suspect the reason for this sudden awareness is that the night prior I had been watching tv and there was an alcoholic character whose early experiences in recovery made me chuckle. And wince.) In any case, it was a brief diversion, a few seconds. But it got me thinking. After I stopped drinking (14 years ago, time flies!), and even though sobriety produced all kinds of wonderful effects for my general well being, my mind was shadowed by the notion that abusive drinking was just part of my nature, that I was hard wired for it. I accepted that notion, even embraced it, and lived happily with the knowledge that, regardless of my hard wiring, in sobriety I had been granted freedom over the tyranny of the bottle. It was wonderful to have gained the knowledge, a knowledge only attainable through experience, that "nature is not fate". Until many years into sobriety and given the right conditions, the image of a bottle could still produce in me something akin to cold sweats. Not often at all, to be sure, but it could happen. But when I noticed those bottles yesterday it occurred to me that the wiring in my brain is perhaps not so hard after all. It's not just that I have absolutely no desire to drink (that went away long, long ago), but that yesterday's experience seemed to produce a new insight: even those parts of our brain that seem most immutable and most determinative of our identity can be subject to revision. But it's quite a paradox, for at the same time the surprising change seems to bring me to something even "truer" about myself, something that really does ease my mind and spirit. It reminds me of an article I read a few years ago by a philosopher whose name escapes me at the moment, but it was a defense of a non-narrative, non-lineal orientation towards selfhood. It made sense at the time. (Richard Rorty argued along those lines in his chapter on the contingency of selfhood in Contingency, Irony and Solidarity, but this was someone else I was reading.) So, I raise my glass of sparkling water and proclaim that today everything is contingent. Long live the nanometer motors inside our brain cells! Surely if the socratic injunction to know thyself is to be taken on, well oiled nanometer motors will drive the journey. Embrace the moment.

Let's Build a Goddess!

     Valencia. Valencia en Fallas! The exclamation point represents a mascletà, because that's the epicenter of this greatest of all celebrations. I've written about the mascletà previously here in a blog post about my 2009 Fallas experience. I don't have too much to add, except that this year, my eighth Fallas, we had the privilege of experiencing a mascletà launched by Reyes Martí. It was a wonderful surprise to hear the Fallera Mayor begin the ritual announcement "Señora pirotécnica..." And Reyes Martí did not disappoint! I wasn't familiar with her and that seemed strange, but later I learned that Martí for many years has been doing the March 8th mascletà, which is International Women's Day, over a week before we can be there, but that this year, for the first time, she accepted the offer of participating on one of the festival's días grandes. The weather was perfect on the 18th and we took our place around noon, two hours before the ritual 2 pm start. It may seem crazy to many to wait two hours for a seven minute pyrotechnic show, but apparently tens of thousands of people also feel the way I do: by noon the fourth row was as close as we could get to the barrier. By 12:45 the Plaza del Ayuntamiento was overflowing and the streets leading into the square were quickly filling up.

At 1:50 all of downtown Valencia is a tightly packed can of sardines. You simply can't move. The wait went by fairly quickly and the atmosphere was wonderful. Suffice to say that Martí's final "earthquake" was extraordinary. Even more, the greatest ever! The ground was, literally, shaking beneath our feet, the absurd explosive power washing over the multitude and filling us all with giddy delight. Joy! An adrenaline rush like no other! Martí deserved all the accolades she got. As she told a reporter before the launch, her goal was to "shatter the plaza". Did she ever! If you're curious, you can watch this mascletà here, but keep in mind it is absolutely nothing like actually being there. The next day Asun decided not to do the long wait, which was too bad, but I had the great fortune of being joined by niece Maggie Murray, who was going to experience her first mascletà up close.

I got to the square at 11:25 and found a great second row spot. The wait was fine and we had some marvelous conversation with an entertaining gentleman who was a fellow mascletá fanatic. And who bears a striking resemblance to my brother Peter!:

He's been enjoying them for 55 years from the same spot! This final mascletà was the work of Hermanos Caballer. It was truly excellent, but for me not quite as overwhelming as Martí's.
     If possible I would go to Valencia every year for Fallas, even if there were nothing but the mascletàs. But of course the fiesta is much, much more than that. First and foremost are the fiesta's namesake monuments: the fallas. Here's the contribution from L'Antiga de Campanar, which took home the Grand Prize:

It was a controversial choice. Our favorite was Na Jordana:

The wonderful absurdity of dedicating many months of work, and in many cases very large sums of money (over $200,000 for the biggest fallas), to the building of these satirical monuments, only to have them on public display for just four days before they go up in flames is breathtaking. And it's the core of the fiesta. Walking around the city and admiring these impressive creations is certainly great fun. You can spend endless hours just doing that and you still won't seem them all because there are close to 800 fallas all told.
     For me, Fallas is quite special because far more than any other fiesta I've experienced, this one is successful in moving me out of ordinary time and into another dimension which is very real, albeit fleeting and for the most part superficial. (Not superficial in a negative sense, but rather in the sense that it lacks real profundity.) The fiesta works its magic. Every time. Ritual is central to this dynamic and Fallas has many, many rituals, the grandest being the flower offering which takes place on March 17th and 18th. Hundreds and hundreds of comisiones (the neighborhood groups that are responsible for organizing the building of the fallas monuments) take their turns parading through downtown and into the Plaza de la Virgen to offer flowers for the giant reproduction of Valencia's matron: la Virgen de los Desamparados (perhaps translatable as "Our Lady of the Dispossessed" or "Our Lady of the Unembraced") The flowers are used to create a gigantic floral cape:

It's quite a spectacle and always the same. Festive! The image of the comisiones entering the square is a classic Fallas "estampa" and every year newspapers and other media are flooded with the key element of this image: the fallera shedding tears of emotion as she offers her bouquet. (I'd get emotional too if I had a direct role in building a goddess! And I don't mean that as an irreverent joke. Regardless of what the Church proclaims in its official dogma, this is a Mediterranean fiesta and there is no doubt about what's going on here. The Mare de Déu is most clearly being worshipped as a Goddess. And it's wonderful.)

It's a 24 hour parade, split over two days! It took a while, but Asun, Maggie and I eventually made our way into the square and were able to get fairly close. I was standing a couple of rows behind Maggie and Asun. After a while I noticed a little commotion behind me and it was a family fighting to get close so they could see their son march by the Virgen. I moved back so they could take my place. As I was exchanging places the father was overcome with emotion and with tears streaming down his cheeks began calling out to his son: "Mi angel, mi angelito!" ¡Una emoción fuerte! After that I needed a breather, some refreshment (and a bathroom break) so we stepped into, of course, Cafetería La Virgen!

And then it was back to walking and visiting Fallas. It was a long walk out to L'Antiga de Campanar, but well worth it. And then fireworks! At 1:30 am. (Yes, they start at 1:30 am!) And then the 19th, another mascletá, this one followed by a wonderful lunch with all our students at the revamped Hotel Reina Victoria.

A siesta. Later, our own little fireworks show! (Notice my expert handling of the lighter!)

Well, all good fun must come to an end. Fallas always ends like this, with the city going up in flames in the grand Cremà. We decided to watch the Cremà of the Estévez-Amorós Falla, which won first prize in Section 1A:

It's always fun to see the firefighters hosing down the facades of buildings. After all, that's what keeps the city from truly going up in flames. That would be a fantastic job: firefighter in Valencia. But only during Fallas! And so we go to bed purged. Ready for Spring, for a new start. Our Goddess stands proudly and beautifully. But not for long. Quickly, it's back into ordinary time, but now armed with magnificent memories of good meals, fun walks, beautiful fallera dresses, the constant beat of petardos, colorful fallas, perfect weather... la fiesta. And that's why I write this down: otherwise I forget. And I never want to forget Fallas.

The Future of Paella

     A few days ago I took a run along the beach. That's a good thing. Even better, after a short time my head started to clear and this allowed me to think a little about a topic that interests me: the future of paella.



What follows are the thoughts I had during my run, edited into fully formed sentences. For a long time now paella has been one of Spain's most internationally recognized señas de identidad. Visitors want to consume it, of course, and many millions of Spaniards also enjoy paella not infrequently. The food industry, aware of paella's great marketing power, has convinced bars and restaurants all over Spain that they must offer this traditional dish from Valencia if they want a piece of the tourist business. As a result, mediocre and less than mediocre establishments offer several varieties of pre-made paellas. This pseudo-food is barely eatable, so just seeing it advertised is painful. It's not just restaurants, of course. The food industry has for some time now been marketing many varieties of pre-cooked paellas. Frozen paella? Yes! Paella in a can? Yes! A paella sandwich? Yes! Paella pizza at Pizza Hut? Double Yes!! (But, apparently, only if you live in Poland.)  In short, bad "paella" has become ubiquitous. It is a sad state of affairs, especially when you consider that serving a high quality paella is not an especially expensive or difficult task. (That said, it does take work, patience, and much attention to detail.) One might think it's not a big deal, really. After all, in the developed world we are surrounded by bad food of all kinds. (Here's an image that readily evokes gastronomic nightmare, USA version:



And you wonder why we have an obesity epidemic?)
     But what really has some people terribly agitated in Spain is the question of authenticity. You know, the how dare you call that a paella! issue. A transcendent topic: what, exactly, constitutes a paella? First off, it's helpful to understand that the word paella comes from Catalan, and simply refers to the pan in which the dish is prepared. (In Spanish, the pan is referred to as a paellera.) Thus, anything prepared in a paellera can, by logic, rightly be called a paella. (Or not!)

In Spanish it makes more sense to refer to these dishes as arroz a la paella, that is, rice in a paella pan, since arroz is, evidently, the defining ingredient. Not any rice, of course, and this is the beginning of the authenticity discussion. Paella should be made with the bomba variety, a very short grained rice. You may have read that the real rice for paella is Calasparra. Not so: Calasparra refers to a specific area south of Valencia known for producing very high quality bomba rice. It is not a variety. There are many excellent bomba rices, some from Calasparra and others not. You can make a great paella with Calasparra, but there are many other great bomba rices as well. And when I say should be made, it is not because I have any interest in the authenticity debate; rather, it is simply because the qualities of bomba rice are such that any other variety is not nearly as well suited to producing a flavorful and satisfying dish. For many, of course, it doesn't end here, especially if we specify that what we are talking about is paella valenciana. Now it becomes about recipes. (Tempers flare, indignation explodes! Hide the children!) Suffice to say, the debate rages. Regarding what constitutes a traditional Valencian paella, there is sufficient consensus regarding some of the basics: definitely no fish or seafood; rabbit, yes; chicken, yes; garrofón (a particular variety of white bean), yes; ñora (a kind of dried red pepper) and tomato for the sofrito, yes; saffron, of course. And I stop there, because it starts to get tricky. Quickly. And imagine all the other debates: the kind of heat (you must have a wood fire!), the moment when the rice is added, the importance of the socarrat, etc. To give you a sense of how this question really gets some people going, I cite the example of British celebrity chef Jamie Oliver, who had the temerity last year to publish a paella recipe that included (horrors!) chorizo. Oliver was skewered (ha, ha, right?) on social media and the outrage was such that it became a story covered by major media outlets around the globe. (Just google "Jamie Oliver chorizo paella".)
     The venom directed at Oliver was intense. It comes mainly from paella "purists", but I believe what's really going on is symptomatic of the global phenomenon of identity anxiety. Around the globe many are feeling uncertain about their status within communities, about the role they play in connecting past to future. These conflicted feelings are real, but efforts to resolve them via food rants are doomed to fail. There is no such thing as "authentic" paella, a dish that has evolved very quickly in modern times. Those who strive to defend the traditional, Valencian paella do good, valuable work, but they are, to some degree, operating in a small bubble. Ultimately, trying to heal identity anxiety via paella vigilantism is comical. It is comical because most consumers don't care one bit what the protectors of the faith think. Further, serious cuisine has become a quintessentially globalized dynamic. No one needs to go to Valencia to have a fantastic paella. Place, perhaps sadly, perhaps even tragically, has become disconnected to paella.
     Nonetheless, the future of arroces is wonderful. While junk paella is spreading, high quality paellas are spreading just as quickly. Innovation is good. Chefs are coming up with surprising, and surprisingly fantastic, new flavors all the time. Much more knowledge about how to maximize flavors is available. For me, it's about the process, the enjoyment of the ritual. The aromas, the texture. Above all, without a doubt, it is about the tremendous satisfaction of sharing great food with friends and family. How I do paella... that's material for another post.

I Need a Break

Since November's election I have read many accounts of emotional and mental distress caused by the news. Many of these accounts, especially ones from public figures, I have dismissed as self-absorbed whining of the worst kind. But now perhaps I find myself in that place of anguish in which the mix of pessimism, worry, outrage, and general disbelief reach a dangerously high level. So, I am going to take a break from the news. (As Eric Cartman says, "Screw you guys, I'm going home.") Part of me wants to review some of the more horrific of Trump's latest utterances, but I resist. It's all been said. Besides, within twenty-four hours he'll say something even worse. I'll do what I can, and I'll be supportive of some of the important actions that are taking place to mitigate the worst effects of our current crisis. And I'll be back. But right now, I'm taking a break.


It's a beautiful morning in Malaga. The sun is shining, the sea is calm. The coffee was good. I've already worked two plus hours and it's still before 9 am. So maybe I'll go for a run along the beach. Clear my head. Feel the cool breeze. Disconnect! Maybe my brain will settle itself down sufficiently for some pondering of important questions: the parallels, for example, between baseball and baroque cathedrals (yes, really); the future of paella; the dilemmas of translating "yearning" to Spanish and "olvido" to English.

Violence in the U.S., Violence in Spain

This morning I read an article in our local newspaper about a moderate increase in crime in the province of Malaga in 2016. This got me thinking about violence and how it compares between the US and Spain overall. It occurred to me that the simplest, and perhaps most indicative, comparison would be the homicide per 100,000 rate. So that's what I looked up. Well, as it turns out, I couldn't find definitive statistics for 2016, so I went back to 2014. In the US, the rate was 4.5/100,00, the lowest rate since 1963. (That's according to the FBI.) For Spain, the rate for 2014 was 0.7/100,000. That's a very big difference. And for some historical perspective, note that for the U.S., the 4.5 rate marks a historic low, while a comparable rate in Spain would be considered scandalously high! Spain is, indeed, a generally peaceful place. The Institute for Economics and Peace ranks Spain as the 25th most peaceful country in the world on its Global Peace Index for 2016, well ahead of the U.S., which ranks 103rd (out of 163 countries studied). It's strange, isn't it?, how so many American politicians love to refer to the U.S. as the "greatest country in the world!" It baffles the mind how a reasonable person could reconcile such a low standing with regards to violence with status as the world's "greatest country".

I do not believe Americans and Spaniards are particularly different with regards to violence generally. Our educational outcomes are similar, as are many other social, economic, and cultural dynamics. The obvious difference is that the U.S. is drowning in firearms. In terms of gun ownership, the U.S. is, yes, without a doubt, the greatest country in the world. No other country can remotely compete when it comes to our insaciable obsession with possessing instruments of death. The rate in the U.S. is estimated at 112 firearms per 100 inhabitants. Over one gun per person!  (And most of the people I know don't own any guns, so just imagine...) Spain ranks 59th in the world, with an estimated rate of 10.4 firearms per 100 inhabitants. In sum, gun ownership in the U.S. is approximately ten times what it is in Spain. No need to think this one too hard: the homicide rate in the U.S. is much higher than it is in Spain because in moments of rage it is so much more likely that an American can simply grab a gun and fire away. That is far less likely to happen here.
The relative rarity of gun violence in Spain has obvious benefits in terms of general well being. People have many worries, many troubles, but being randomly shot at is certainly not one of them. And imagine how this impacts policing! Spaniards do not fear the police, in large part because Spanish police are not trained to fear being shot at, and as a result their general demeanor is tremendously more relaxed than that of the typical American cop. And of course, there is the whole issue of the militarization of American policing, with the military style gear that results in great intimidation of the citizenry and constant aggressive posturing. The image above is simply not part of the Spanish landscape. It's a true shame Americans have accepted this. 

American Carnage

Carnage is an impactful word. Generally speaking it's a word we like to avoid because what it evokes is violent and ugly. And it's about us, our dead, mutilated bodies. Our very flesh. And thus it was so striking that Trump infamously used the word in his inauguration speech. During the campaign, it was evident that Trump was a fear monger. Who would have guessed that such embarrassing behavior would continue unabated after the election? Well, since Trump's personality is so painfully and transparently on display on a daily basis, it probably should have surprised us very little. Or not at all. Three days ago a "radical Christian terrorist" massacred six people in a mosque in Quebec. No tweets from Trump. Not one. No condolences. Yesterday a machete-wielding tourist was killed at the Louvre in Paris when he tried to attack a police officer. No others were seriously hurt. And yet, Trump tweeted this:

 President Trump Retweeted

Donald J. Trump ‏@realDonaldTrump  17h17 hours ago

A new radical Islamic terrorist has just attacked in Louvre Museum in Paris. Tourists were locked down. France on edge again. GET SMART U.S.

37,939 replies36,516 retweets133,007 likes

First of all, it's a lie: the Louvre was not attacked; rather there was merely an attempted assault on a police officer, who was unharmed. Much more importantly, note the alarm, the totally irrational reaction. A hate-filled nutcase gets himself killed in Paris. There is nothing to be learned here in terms of improving our national security. No reason, really, for any politician to tweet about it. But it's another opportunity (they are limitless) for Trump to dial up the alarm. The Muslims are attacking everyone. Be afraid! I will save you! It is a dark, dark fantasy. Back in reality, Muslims who are justifiably nervous about the security of their mosques: you don't count. Your lives don't matter. You're not one of us. That's the message we get from Trump. I do not say this lightly: never before has such an unhinged, unprepared and dangerous man occupied the White House. Yes, indeed: get smart U.S! Get this man impeached and out of office before it's too late.
It is Trump himself, of course, who is sewing American carnage. His narcissism is violent ad dangerous. (How about that little detail that the bully retweets from the POTUS account his own nonsense posted a little earlier on his "real" account.) The bully has worn no clothes for quite a while now. He is pathetic. But no fearing the bully. Stand up. Embrace the weak, the unprotected. Let's keep working to heal American carnage. The bully must go.

"Global Astonishment"

It was a beautiful yesterday in Malaga. A day to be out in the country with friends and some of our students. In a relaxed moment after lunch (stewed wild boar!) one friend, an older woman who is clearly conservative in her political views, asked me casually "What's with Trump? That man is not well." I get asked this on a daily basis. Rejection of Trump in Spain is near universal. (Now, we know we can't give too much credence to polls, but one survey taken right around the time of the election showed his support among Spaniards at 3%. It gives you a notion.) Spain, of course, is by no means unique. The top headline of one of Spain's major dailies, El País, at this moment (Monday, January 30, early a.m.) is "Trump Sticks to Migratory Veto in Spite of Judicial Setbacks and Global Astonishment." I was struck by the phrase "global astonishment" ("estupor global" in the original). A more literal translation would be, of course, "stupor" or "stupefaction". That seems to capture quite well the feeling here and no doubt around the globe: people really are feeling stupefied. The world has been turned upside down, with the United States of America projecting itself to all as a place of intolerance, xenophobia, and cowardice. It is disheartening, to say the least. The damage Trump has done in one brief week to US standing in the world is, yes, stupefying. On Spanish state TV (in theory independent of government meddling, but in reality reflective of the current conservative government) it is already normal to hear reporters use the adjectives "totalitarian" and "dictatorial" when reporting about Trump. That is not an alternative fact.
While signing his most recent, and for now most notorious, executive order, Trump said, "We only want to admit those into our country who will support our country and love deeply our people." (Awkward! And bizarre, to say the least.) By signing that order he immediately insured that the millions of visitors from all over the world who are not affected by this ridiculous policy will be much less inclined to "love deeply our people." Trump, of course, is oblivious to this. In a few hours I will be interviewing students from the University of Málaga who have applied for a scholarship to spend next year at Dickinson College. Will they be as enthusiastic as in years past?

"Malignant Narcissism"

My first post on this blog ended with a reference to Trump's narcissism. I'm going to comment a little further on this as I just read a brief article about Dr. John D. Gartner breaking the APA code of ethics and offering a public diagnosis of Trump without having evaluated him. His conclusion: Trump suffers from "malignant narcissism." He wrote that "Donald Trump is dangerously mentally ill and temperamentally incapable of being president." (Gartner is in private practice as a psychotherapist but also teaches psychiatric residents at Johns Hopkins School of Medicine.) I was not familiar with this exact term, but I was happy to see it. For about a year I've been referring to Trump as a "malevolent narcissist." It is hard to imagine that Gartner did not mediate at length about his decision to break his profession's code of ethics. He will be harshly criticized, both from the political right and from his peers. At the moment I'm not so interested in the ethical debate. The deed is done and no doubt the CIA has taken notice. Gartner can expect to hear from them very shortly. The national security apparatus will not ignore this. Maybe his diagnosis is wrong. Maybe. But the public display of symptoms is occurring on an almost daily basis. He whines, he lashes out, he self-congratulates... If high ranking officials in the security apparatus conclude that Gartner has made a reasonable diagnosis, what next? Perhaps leaders in Congress will get the message to take it seriously. (I actually don't see that as likely to happen. At least for now.) Trump himself will see this news of course. And he will rage. Unless Bannon or someone else close can convince him to keep quiet, he will call Gartner a loser. A tricky proposition, even trickier than disparaging major media outlets or highly regarded figures in the entertainment world. But Trump could easily play this as more evidence that the "liberal elites" are out to get him and that Johns Hopkins School of Medicine is just another bastion of the left. Based on actions taken in his first week in office, I do believe the person currently in occupying the oval office is dangerously mentally ill. Yes, it is frightening.

The Problem with "Patriotic Devotion"

On January 25th the United States Federal Register published a text signed by Trump on Inauguration Day. The document, titled "National Day of Patriotic Devotion," has received relatively little media attention because this kind of presidential proclamation is merely symbolic and has no legal impact on anything. Furthermore, there's nothing newsworthy in the gesture itself. The act of signing a symbolic declaration on inauguration day is a fairly recent tradition that began with the presidency of George H.W. Bush. Trump's statement declares his own inauguration "a day of Patriotic Devotion." This is troubling to me. In familiar and predictable fashion, there is not a hint of humility. Rather, the use of the words "sacred" (as in "sacred values and heritage") and "devotion" strike a tone that suggests an authoritarian call to worship. Trump worship. (In fairness, it should be pointed out that in 2009 Obama's proclamation also used the word "sacred"; in his case, referring to the "sacred oath" he had just taken.) For me, the problem is that devotion, by definition, is a sentiment, a posture, that is unquestioning, and patriotism should never be unquestioning. This is especially true for a society that proclaims liberty and democracy as core values. Unquestioning devotion is simply incompatible with democracy. And with freedom. Indeed, unquestioning patriotism has been the drug of choice used by despots throughout history to further enslave those they rule over. (Justin McCurry, writing in The Guardian, points out the use of this phrase in North Korean propaganda.) So what to make of this? Sadly, tragically, this is who Trump is. His megalomania is well documented. And his constant slamming of the media (don't forget how he would continually set his crowds on the press corps during the campaign) illustrates quite well his inability to accept either any kind of criticism or to engage in real dialogue. These are, of course, among the symptoms of a narcissist. He will not change. Resistance.