Twitter killed the API for third party applications. Since I was a happy user of Tweetbot, which was crippled by that change, I’ve stopped spending much time reading my Twitter feed. One of the main benefits that I’m enjoying is spending some of that saved time scanning my Instagram timeline and reading some of the blogs I used to visit. And I find that spending less time on Twitter just makes me feel happier. Thanks, @jack.
21 August 2018, 07:58 — Mark — news
I’ve added a voter registration button to the navigation on the site. If you aren’t registered or know someone who hasn’t registered this button will get you started. There is no more significant responsibility as a citizen of the United States. Voting is the way we can assure that our country remains a democracy.
Our current president is working overtime to make sure that you don’t vote. He can only maintain power by denying the vote to a majority of Americans. His base of supporters is small, so he is depending on voter suppression of the majority to continue with his agenda of recreating a Russian style oligarchy here in the United States.
Share a link to this site with anyone who has not registered.
30 June 2018, 22:43 — Mark —
Bruce Bartlett is a former advisor to Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush. He left the Republican Party in 2009. He has been critical of the current Republican administration (and was also critical of George W. Bush’s administration). He recently posted on Twitter a list of 25 ideas that could be winning issues for the Democrats in coming elections. The suggestions below are linked to polls that show a majority of Americans favor the policy.
Not only are these issues extremely popular, addressing these issues will lead to a healthy economy, and restore American democracy.
- End gerrymandering.
- Raise taxes on the wealthy.
- Limit campaign spending.
- Constitutional amendment to outlaw Citizens United decision.
- Make voting easier with automatic registration and early voting.
- Support gun control.
- Protect the environment & take concrete actions against global warming.
- Allow felons to vote if they have served their full sentence.
- End or restrict payday lending.
- Spend more money on public works.
- Support DACA.
- Fix student debt problem.
- Prioritize production of alternative energy such as solar over fossil fuels such as coal.
- Fight corruption by the president, Congress and government officials.
- Oppose foreign government interference in US elections.
- Force presidents to release their tax returns.
- Guaranteed government job for all who want one.
- Increase regulation of tech companies & social media to protect privacy.
- Raise pay for teachers.
- Legalize marijuana.
- Oppose tariffs & trade protectionism.
- Support paid family & medical leaver for workers.
- Support labor unions. (To this idea, I’d add: raise the federal minimum wage to $15 per hour.)
- Support prison reform.
- Single-payer health insurance for all.
I watched today as millions of young people took to the streets across the nation, and stood up to speak truth to power. In Washington, students from Parkland, Florida, and elsewhere called on adults in the nation to address the problem of gun violence in the country. Their words were more powerful than the guns they hope to silence. If you have a chance, listen to Emma Gonzalez’ speech (including the 6 minutes and 20 seconds of silence).
I recognize power of free speech as a core value in our society. I embrace our constitutional rights, including the first amendment right to freedom of expression, and clearly, that right extends to the National Rifle Association. I disagree vehemently with the positions of the NRA, but I understand their right to speak. I also believe I am free to oppose the NRA by exercising my first amendment rights.
When a host of NRATV said that no one would know the names of the teenagers from Parkland if it weren’t for the fact that their classmates were shot, he was telling an ugly truth. Clearly he has a first amendment right to speak the truth as he understands it. Here, from Cleve Wootson at the Washington Post:
The latest attack came from Colion Noir, a host on NRATV who took to the airwaves on the eve of the Parkland teens-led March on Washington, telling them: “No one would know your names” if a student gunman hadn’t stormed into their school and killed three staff members and 14 students.
— Washington Post
The NRA wants to put assault weapons in the hands of anyone who wants one. Gun sales and profits are their main objective. Public safety, the safety of children in our schools, the lives of worshippers in churches, of dancers in a nightclub, or those of music fans attending concerts do not concern the NRA. They are advocates for unrestricted access to instruments of murder.
The NRA should be free to stand in the public square yell their ugly ideas as loud as they can — but let them build their own distribution platform. The first amendment expresses no requirement that companies like Apple, Amazon, Google (YouTube), etc. make their platforms available to the NRA to amplify their vile, dangerous propaganda.
Join me in writing to these companies (I try to send something at least once a week) to encourage them to remove NRATV from their platforms.
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the government for a redress of grievances.
Truthfully, I had been considering closing my Facebook account long before the recent news about Facebook’s attempt to hide their contribution of millions of user profiles to Cambridge Analytica, Steve Bannon, and the Trump campaign. I had grown weary of the algorithmic feed and the weird, dislocating user experience. I enjoy seeing photos of friends and vicariously enjoying their joys, or sometimes sharing a moment of grief, but the engineers and data scientists at Facebook have tweaked the feed in ways that made me hate the way things worked.
So last night I posted a note reflecting on my decision to delete my account:
I Googled and found the hidden link that one clicks to delete (and not just deactivate) my account. Facebook really tries to convince you not to delete (and throws a Captcha in the flow just to make it a little extra annoying), but I plunged ahead and deleted:
They make you wait 14 days before they actually delete your account, and they make sure you know that you can login anytime to cancel the deletion.
I’m sad to lose the connection with friends, but it feels good to be out. I’m aware the fact that Facebook still has ways of collecting data on me, and that advertisers, politicians, and others have already received my data from Facebook (and other web platforms). I know this is a symbolic gesture, but maybe it will convince one or two others to follow suit. And if there are enough of us who delete accounts, maybe something will change and the platform will become a little safer for those who keep their accounts.
Stay in touch by visiting me here on BackToOakland, or follow me on Twitter: @mdh
The first tweet I noticed on my Twitter feed this morning was from W. Kamau Bell
#BlackPanther is a Rorschach test. It’s easy to say that you loved it. But when you ask people why they loved it you may end up thinking to yourself, “WERE WE EVEN WATCHING THE SAME MOVIE???”
I haven’t stopped thinking about Black Panther since seeing it on Monday. And after reading W. Kamau Bell’s tweet I decided I need to join the conversation.
First, just to get this out of the way — Marvel Studio movies are not a genre that particularly appeal to me. I haven’t seen any other films in this collection except the first IronMan movie, and while I didn’t especially dislike that film, it didn’t resonate with me in the way Black Panther did. As an entertainment, Ryan Coogler’s film is masterful. The visual world he creates is stunning. There’s enough action to satisfy the expectations of the genre, but little of the violence is especially gratuitous. The cast is exceptional, and as a former actor I stand in awe of their work. But the strength of the film goes beyond entertainment.
For me, the connection to Oakland and the social justice movement first launched in the 60s by the Black Panthers of Merritt College was at the core of what this film is about. I don’t know much about Ryan Coogler except what I’ve seen in his films and the fact that he was born in Oakland and grew up in the east bay. He’s too young to have experienced to formation of the Black Panthers first hand, but his film is a reimagining of their story. A celebration of blackness and the nobility of the people first to emerge from the cradle of civilization.
By bookending the film with scenes in Oakland, Coogler’s story speaks to the experience of Black America and to the neutralization of black power by a white society that violently ripped apart black nations for the purpose of enslavement. Black Panther the film riffs on the core of the Black Panther movement in Oakland. The Panthers were the vanguard of the “Black is Beautiful” movement. Their breakfast programs, and the armed presence of Black Panther foot solders who attempted to confront police violence against the black community was a movement that also echoes in the Black Lives Matter movement, and in DeRay McKesson’s signature, I love my blackness and yours. I saw this film as a reflection of the ascendence of black wholeness in a society that has continuously and systematically marginalized black culture and minimized black experience.
Where the film really excels for me is in the treatment of Michael B. Jordan’s Erik Killmonger. His ultimate motivations, like his father’s, were noble, and challenged the Wakandan isolationism. Jordan navigates the Killmonger role, avoiding the pitfall of flattening him into a cutout villain, instead turning him into a sympathetic influence, forcing the Wakandans to re-think their world view. Ultimately it’s his influence, and that of his father’s life in Oakland, that drives the Wakandan echo of the Oakland Panthers in the film’s denouement.
Was that the movie you saw? Ping me on twitter if you have a response. @mdh.
Last night Anna and I went to see The Darkest Hour in Alameda. We had skipped having dinner before the show and on our way home Anna said she needed a bite. We would be passing the In-N-Out near the end of the Webster Tube on our way home and it had been a really long time since either of us had indulged in an Animal Style burger.
“Want to stop at In-N-Out?”
The temptation was more than I could resist.
“Sure,” I said.
We pulled in, parked, ordered two burgers and an order of fries to share, then sat down to wait. It was very busy for 9:00 pm.
“It looks like Santa’s workshop the way they’re scurrying around back there,” said the guy sitting next to me. “I hear the daughter of the founders is a billionaire.”
I had an inkling that the family-owned chain was indeed quite a profit machine, and I assumed he was right.
“They must sell thousands of burgers a day in here,” he said. “Every day. It’s always busy like this. From the first day they opened.”
We nodded together and in my head I tried to calculate the number of burgers they could process per hour, per day, and per month.
“You know 10% of the people in this country control over half the money.”
We chatted a bit about the injustice of the recently passed tax bill, and he was pretty upset that most of the benefit went to people who already had more money than they need. Then we hit on rent. He told me that he lives in a house in Alameda that his parents built decades ago for $8,000.
“It’s worth hundreds of times what they paid for it.”
He was glad to have it, because rents have gotten so high. A friend of his son pays nearly $4000 a month for a one bedroom apartment in San Francisco.
“I used to live in San Francisco, and back in the 1970s I paid $150 for a studio apartment on Union Street. It was tiny, but it had a fireplace.”
We were on a roll, sharing stories of the good old days as we old guys like to do while waiting for burgers, when a kid behind the counter called “55!”
“That’s me,” he said, as he got up and grabbed his bag. “Nice talking to you.”
And he was off.
When I got on the NL bus this morning for the morning ride to work, the driver, a jovial friend who normally gives me a hearty handshake, fist bump, or hug when I board, greeted me with “Traitor! I saw you getting into a casual carpool yesterday.” His grin betrayed him, and he did grab my hand and gave it a little pat, but it made me think.
The people who gather each morning between 7:45 and a little past 8:00 each morning are a community not unlike the neighbors who might gather at a corner in any small town in America. There are people who live in my building with whom I like to engage in conversation. Most mornings I hop on the bus but some days I grab a ride in the casual carpool.
It’s not unusual to get a ride with the same carpool driver on multiple days. I’ve ridden several times with a woman who works as a counselor at a county jail in the west bay. She’s also an aspiring standup comic, and riding with her is always fun. The first time she picked me up she said, “It’s two dollars for older white guys.” I started reaching in my pocket before she chuckled, “Nah, I’m kidding.” The next time she picked me up, I was heading for the back seat but she snapped at the woman getting into the front seat, “No, no — you get in back. Don’t you see this tall man behind me? He needs more leg room.” Then she turned to me and said, “You sit up front, honey — I know you like my act.”
Once we arrive in San Francisco we all scurry off to our offices and occupations, but when we’re connecting in Adams Point, in our little corner of Oakland, we are friends.
Several years ago I was at my brother’s house helping clear away some branches and debris that had fallen in his backyard during a storm. My brother and I were cutting up larger branches and passing them to our sons to drag to the back of the yard to be burned. It was kind of a manly bonding experience, and the young boys were enjoying working and getting a little sweaty and dirty. At one point, as he was grabbing an armload of twigs, swept up in the roughness of the moment, my 8-year-old nephew asked, “What do we do with this shit?”
Surprised (because this was an uncharacteristic vocabulary for the little guy) I said, “What did you say?”
“I didn’t say what you think I said,” he blurted out.
This story always amuses me because it illustrates the working of a child’s mind.
What doesn’t amuse me is hearing our President (an unapologetic racist) use the same childish reasoning when denying coarse and racist comments made about Haiti and Africa. Nor am I amused by the equally childish forgetfulness of senators Cotton and Perdue, who are afraid to confront the President’s racism — or perhaps, what’s more likely, they are racists, too. We live in a country that was once a world leader, a country that claims to hold a lamp for those seeking refuge from tyranny, injustice, and discrimination. When our so-called leaders engage in behavior that is typical of 8 year olds, it’s time to re-examine our role in the world. And it’s time for new leaders.
14 January 2018, 09:38 — Mark —
When there is concern that a public official may have done something illegal or inappropriate, an innocent official will welcome a thorough and independent investigation. A smart yet guilty official might try to appear innocent by inviting an investigation, knowing that even the appearance of guilt is politically untenable. Only a guilty official would seek to thwart or obstruct an investigation.
As I settled into my seat on the NL bus for the morning commute to San Francisco a young man stepped up next to me and touched me on the shoulder. I looked up and saw a face exactly like a slightly older version of the face of one of my sixth grade students from Edna Brewer Middle School. He reached out to take my hand and leaned over to wrap his other arm around my shoulder in a gentle hug. Huge smile on his face.
I was right, this young man was that boy who had joined my class mid year on a safety transfer from another school. When he first arrived at Edna Brewer he was a little wary, and it took some time for me to gain his trust, and for the others in my class to welcome him. But he turned out to be one of the kids I enjoyed most in that class. He was funny, sharp, and a gifted athlete.
We chatted for a few minutes. He was on his way to school.
“Just two more months, Mr. Hurty,” he beamed.
Time flies…those sixth graders I taught during my first year as a teacher are graduating from high school this year. I made a mental note to find out the dates of graduation ceremonies so I can attend and see them walk the stage.
I asked if he had plans for college, and he named a couple of schools he was considering. He wanted to attend somewhere that he could play sports. I asked him about his classmates back in sixth grade. He had quick stories about each of them. One of the girls had a baby. One of the guys, also a good athlete, was struggling academically and wasn’t able to remain on the baseball team. Another was just as happy-go-lucky as he had been in sixth grade. I missed them all.
I asked about his mom and he said she was well and working hard. He said he had mentioned my name to her a few weeks ago, suggesting to her that she reach out to me to see if I could help get his younger brother into Edna Brewer.
“He’s so smart. He helps all the other kids at his school with math but his school just isn’t as good as Brewer.”
He asked for my number so we can stay in touch. Then he had to hop off to get to school. He gave me one more quick hug and said goodbye.
Freedom of speech has been in the news lately, and I’ve had my own brush with someone who, wanted to be free to spread fear, hatred, and ugliness on my Facebook page. It made me stop and consider the idea of free speech.
I absolutely believe in the ideal of freedom of expression, even to the point of provocation. But I also believe that this ideal is naturally balanced by the concept of consequences. I am (and should be) free to express myself, even if what I say is abhorrent to you, but I should not be free of the consequences of that expression. If I express hatred, I should be prepared for the backlash from those who are the targets by my speech. If I speak provocatively, I can’t be surprised by the response of those whom I provoke. To be free of consequences is not a right, it’s privilege.
This gets at the heart of the necessary tension in the ideal of free speech. And it is where those who are offended by political correctness expose their lack of intellectual rigor. To suggest that political correctness (by which those who use the term with derision refer to moderated speech designed to create common ground that does not harm nor offend) is flawed or wrong is sophomoric. Politically correct speech is intellectually superior to the kind of hate speech that hides behind the idea of free speech because political correctness aims to acknowledge the speaker’s rights and yet refuses to assume privilege. When Milo whines about the reaction to his hate speech, he’s exposing his intellectual limitations. He’s wrong to think that the vehement public response to his hate is a constraint on his speech. The reaction is a consequence of his speech, and his privilege to be protected from that consequence is neither guaranteed, nor is it a right.
The interloper on my Facebook stream seemed to make the same intellectual mistake as Milo. He felt it was his right to spew his hatred, and that my decision to cut him off was an infringement of that right. He is right that he has the freedom to speak. He doesn’t have the right, though to choose the consequences of his speech. Freedom of speech is not the same as the right to be heard. There is no such right. That the interloper doesn’t have the intellectual capacity to express his fear of others with self moderating political correctness is not my problem. Until he learns to exercise his brain, his freely-spewn hate speech will not be heard by me and those I care about. He does not deserve that privilege.
I un-friended someone on Facebook today. I’m not normally inclined to cut someone off simply because we disagree. But this person was offensive in a way that made me wonder why we would consider one another “friends” in the first place. He’s someone I knew when I was a kid. He went to the church where my dad was a pastor in Oakland back in the late 60s, 70s and early 80s. I don’t consider him a close friend in real life, but his mom hired me to babysit for him a couple of times when he was little, so when he sent a friend request a while back I clicked to make the connection.
Admittedly, the photo I posted on Facebook was provocative. It was a picture of two presidents, the very first Republican president and the current president. Adjacent to the pictures were a quote from Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address and a quote from the current Republican president, bragging about being a sexual predator. And this man’s response was fairly predictable for someone who supports our current president. After this “friend’s” first response I suggested that I didn’t understand his fear and anger, and wished him peace. He persisted in posting a couple more offensive items, I assume to tempt me to engage. Fortunately an actual friend, intervened and reminded me that I needn’t argue with someone like him. It was then that I realized that the “un-friend” option on Facebook has a perfectly valid use case. Thanks, Facebook!
Update, Tuesday, Feb, 21
Apparently unfriending someone is not the only step you need to take on Facebook to prevent other users from invading and polluting your timeline. This man kept adding to his sophomoric diatribe, eventually drawing the ire of my actual friends and relatives. What was especially odd about the guy’s comments was the total irrelevance of anything he had to say to the original point of the post.
For future reference, if you want to keep a troll out of your face you need to change the visibility of your post so that only friends can see it. When I did that it stopped the flow of hatred.
On my BART ride to work this morning I encountered an interesting juxtaposition. On a big black duffel in the central aisle, reading a paperback copy of Jack Kerouac’s The Dharma Bums, sat a young guy with matted dirty blond hair and a scruffy beard. As he read, he tugged absently at a strand of hair and seemed totally at ease, and unaware of the attention he was attracting.
Standing next to him was another young bearded man, logging in to his Wells Fargo account on his iPhone.
The 8:17 AM train to SFO from 19th Street in Oakland is usually pretty crowded, but this morning there was a graceful respect shown to the man reading Kerouac. And as I watched him read and play with his hair I felt a longing for his life, and sadness that my own life is really more similar to the man checking his bank balance.
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