The Yahoo! news yesterday ran a story about Father Jose Francisco Syquia, a Catholic priest in the Philippines, who claims he has been going around exorcising demons. The reporter who wrote the story was shown videotapes of people thrashing about, speaking in "unearthly voices," sometimes with "inverted crosses appearing on their foreheads." Syquia and his assistants go through a dramatic ritual, and the demons leave.
He has a 100% success rate.
Syquia, in what the reporter calls "a rare interview," states, "There is a great dramatic increase of possessions right now. More and more the demons are gaining a foothold into this society." He clearly wishes us to see him, and his practices, as being the spearhead of good against evil. Pope Benedict XVI, for his part, agrees; he recently released a new set of guidelines and encouraged trained priests to perform more exorcisms.
I find this whole thing bizarre and not a little appalling.
I suspect that any of my readers who are inclined to believe in demons and exorcisms will probably accuse me of doing what I so often criticize in others, namely, declaring a belief without providing any evidence. Nevertheless: I simply don't believe that Syquia and his ilk are casting out demons. No, I haven't seen the videos, which are kept under lock and key in Syquia's office in Manila. No, I haven't talked to Syquia myself, nor to anyone he's "exorcised." No, I have no concrete data of any kind. By my usual standards for understanding, I should have no right to make a statement one way or the other.
But I am going to anyway. I think Syquia is a charlatan, his claims are nonsense at best and outright fraud at worst, and the people who believe him are dupes.
The idea of demonic possession has been around for millenia, and the belief that certain people can cast those demons out isn't new, either. Cuneiform tablets from the Sumerians record the possession of people by "gid-dim" (sickness demons). Medieval European history is rife with accounts of demonic possessions. The belief is still widespread in many parts of Africa and Asia, amongst both Christians and followers of traditional religions.
My reasons for disbelieving the whole thing are nebulous enough that I can't call them an argument, but I think they carry enough weight that they should be given some consideration.
First, there are legitimate psychological illnesses, especially schizophrenia and dissociative personality disorder, that resemble the symptoms alleged to occur in demonic possession. Interesting that modern medicine and therapy can identify organic causes for these disorders, and reduce or eliminate the severity of symptoms in many cases, isn't it? You wouldn't think that a demon would be quelled by antipsychotic meds.
Second, the force of belief is a powerful one. You probably have heard of the placebo effect, a well-documented phenomenon in which a person who believes he is receiving an effective medicine will often show improvement even if he is given a sugar pill. Less well-known is the nocebo effect, in which a person who believes he is being targeted for supernatural harm will actually grow ill and die. This has been documented in cases of voodoo "curses." How the brain actually alters to change a person's state of health in either case isn't understood, but it clearly happens -- no supernatural agent necessary.
Third, I find it curious that demonic possession doesn't seem to occur amongst atheists. You'd think we'd be sitting ducks, wouldn't you? All of the cases I've read about have been either amongst people who "invited possession" (i.e. worshiped Satan or the like) and had second thoughts, or amongst people who believed devoutly in demons and were terrified that they'd become victims. In other words, belief comes first. And again, if you have to believe in a demon to be possessed, it kind of calls into question the believers' definition of what a demon is, and what it is capable of doing.
Last, it is simply too easy to fake "evidence" these days. Any sufficiently talented film editor could make an absolutely convincing exorcism video. And when a person is in a position of power -- as Father Syquia is over the people he works with -- the temptation to increase that power by duping those who believe in you is all too strong. The number of "faith healers" who have been exposed as frauds is long -- more than one has been caught "healing severely ill individuals" who later turned out to be perfectly healthy actors hired to play the part of the sick. Faith healers are, I think, nothing more than talented magicians (of the David Copperfield variety) -- clever at misdirection and sleight of hand, but no more capable of curing disease through paranormal means than I am. I have no reason to believe that exorcists don't fall into the same category.
It takes no presupposition of the existence of the supernatural to believe in purely human evil. People do horrid things, sometimes. Convenient though it might be to blame such acts on temptation (or possession) by the devil or his minions, there is usually an earthly explanation that is sufficient -- fear, psychosis, abuse during childhood, hunger for power, envy, a desire for revenge. Taking advantage of those who believe in supernatural evil for your own ends, however, is itself evil -- and I am very much afraid that Father Syquia and his ilk are guilty of exactly that.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
"Friday," the JFK assassination, and ancient astronauts
I am fascinated by networks, connectivity, and information transfer. I know that this has become a science in and of itself, with complex mathematical models and theories, almost all of which are beyond the scope of my understanding; but the whole concept still draws me. I first ran into it years ago, when the "Six Degrees of Separation" idea first became common knowledge. Besides the generally appealing idea that I could actually be connected with everyone on Earth within six degrees, I found especially interesting the idea that certain people could be "nodes" -- people who are multiply connected because of their belonging to several different disjoint social groups, and therefore who would act to reduce significantly the average number of links between myself and a farmer in Nepal.
Now, of course, with electronic media, people are connected far more, and across far greater distances, than ever before. I'd suspect that most people are linked in fewer than six degrees of separation these days. And while this has some positive features, it also (as with most things) has a downside.
Being multiply, and rapidly, connectible means that information flows faster, easier, and further than in the past, it also means that there is a much quicker conduit for bullshit than previously. I had two interesting demonstrations of this just in the past couple of days.
Most of you by now have probably heard Rebecca Black's "song" "Friday," which catapulted to fame by virtue of being the worst song ever recorded, worse even (if you can believe this) than either "I Write the Songs" or "Copacabana." Maybe even worse than all of Barry Manilow's repertoire put together. Most people, after listening to about twenty seconds of this song, respond by sticking any available objects into their ears, even if the objects are steak knives. The spread of this song, which resembles in so many ways the spread of an infectious disease, is itself an interesting example of connectivity; but even more fascinating is the spread of a meme that claims that "Friday" is about the JFK assassination. Here is a version of this claim, copied verbatim:
"The driver of the car that JFK was assassinated in, had the name Samuel Kickin (kickin in the front seat, sitting in the back seat...). The assassination occurred on a Friday and when was shot the Secret Service yelled at Jackie Kennedy to "get down" (got to get down on Friday). Part about the cold war and spread of communism are also referenced [everybody rushin' (russian)] and to top it all off, in the hotel that morning JFK declined a breakfast of sausage, eggs and toast for a bowl of Bran Flakes instead (got to have my bown, got to have my cereal). Also, the following Monday JFK was supposed to sign a bill into law requiring all public schools to provide bus transportation for their students. (got to catch my bus...). Now obviously, "fast lanes, switching lanes" refers to the arms race between the US and the USSR. Fast productions of nuclear weapons, switching up whoever had more control, etc."
About two minutes of quick online research was enough to prove that this was virtually entirely made up. The driver of JFK's car was William Greer, not "Samuel Kickin." There is apparently no truth to the whole "bran flakes" claim, nor to the "bus transportation bill" claim. But so far, so what? This is just another of those weird things, initially probably intended to be humorous, that someone wrote. However, the whole thing has gone viral; I've been asked at least five times in the last three days if I have "heard that 'Friday' was about the JFK assassination."
Then, two days ago, I ran across a reference to a claim that I first saw in the 1970s -- that the Dogon tribe of Africa had prior knowledge, through contact with "ancient astronauts" from another planet, that the star Sirius had a companion star that was too small to see with the naked eye. According to this story, they even got the orbital period of this star correct. Aficionados of UFOs and aliens and so on just love this story, because if true, it would seem to be evidence that a relatively primitive tribe had information that they could only have gotten from an advanced society.
Of course, that last statement is literally true; the advanced society they got it from is France. The anthropologist who first made the claim of the Dogon's knowledge, Marcel Griaule, is thought to be the one who "contaminated" the Dogon with outside information in the first place. The discovery of Sirius' companion star ("Sirius B") was all over the news in the 1920s, when Griaule was working with the Dogon, and the Dogon themselves are peculiarly fascinated with the stars. It doesn't take much of a reach to guess that Griaule was the source of the information, especially given that subsequent researchers into the Dogon culture found that the only ones who had actually heard of "po tolo," as they called Sirius B, were the people in the village Griaule had visited.
Nonetheless, this story is still circulating. A search for the keywords "Sirius" and "Dogon" garnered 109,000 hits, and a quick perusal of the first three pages was enough to demonstrate that almost all of them buy Griaule's idea wholesale. And this points to another, and more depressing conclusion; skeptical thought seems to travel slower than bullshit does. Ridiculous ideas, like Griaule's claim that ancient astronauts had visited the Dogon, have more of a panache than do prosaic statements such as "Griaule told 'em himself, and then claimed he'd discovered something amazing." Who would be motivated to tell a friend something like the latter? While the former... well, you can see how that story might have a little more tendency to get passed along.
The eye-opener, for me, is how easy it is now for ideas to spread. Prior to the internet, ideas moved as fast as people did, or as fast as books could be passed along. Now, in the blink of an eye, an idea -- good or bad -- can travel halfway around the world. And given the tendency of most people not to question sources that give an appearance of authority, it's hardly to be wondered at that "I read it on a website," or (even better) the "my friend sent me a link," has become the mode for meme spread.
It should also always be a red flag for skeptics. Websites like Snopes, which vets current stories for veracity, help to some extent; but there's no substitute for critical thinking and a little bit of good research, and also for responsible people refusing to pass along links to websites that claim that listening to Rebecca Black's song "Friday" is what drove Lee Harvey Oswald to assassinate JFK, and afterwards she escaped to Mali where she lived with the Dogon, until she caught a ride on an alien spacecraft and escaped to Sirius B, where she now lives as Barry Manilow's love slave.
Although, you have to admit, that does make for a pretty plausible story.
Now, of course, with electronic media, people are connected far more, and across far greater distances, than ever before. I'd suspect that most people are linked in fewer than six degrees of separation these days. And while this has some positive features, it also (as with most things) has a downside.
Being multiply, and rapidly, connectible means that information flows faster, easier, and further than in the past, it also means that there is a much quicker conduit for bullshit than previously. I had two interesting demonstrations of this just in the past couple of days.
Most of you by now have probably heard Rebecca Black's "song" "Friday," which catapulted to fame by virtue of being the worst song ever recorded, worse even (if you can believe this) than either "I Write the Songs" or "Copacabana." Maybe even worse than all of Barry Manilow's repertoire put together. Most people, after listening to about twenty seconds of this song, respond by sticking any available objects into their ears, even if the objects are steak knives. The spread of this song, which resembles in so many ways the spread of an infectious disease, is itself an interesting example of connectivity; but even more fascinating is the spread of a meme that claims that "Friday" is about the JFK assassination. Here is a version of this claim, copied verbatim:
"The driver of the car that JFK was assassinated in, had the name Samuel Kickin (kickin in the front seat, sitting in the back seat...). The assassination occurred on a Friday and when was shot the Secret Service yelled at Jackie Kennedy to "get down" (got to get down on Friday). Part about the cold war and spread of communism are also referenced [everybody rushin' (russian)] and to top it all off, in the hotel that morning JFK declined a breakfast of sausage, eggs and toast for a bowl of Bran Flakes instead (got to have my bown, got to have my cereal). Also, the following Monday JFK was supposed to sign a bill into law requiring all public schools to provide bus transportation for their students. (got to catch my bus...). Now obviously, "fast lanes, switching lanes" refers to the arms race between the US and the USSR. Fast productions of nuclear weapons, switching up whoever had more control, etc."
About two minutes of quick online research was enough to prove that this was virtually entirely made up. The driver of JFK's car was William Greer, not "Samuel Kickin." There is apparently no truth to the whole "bran flakes" claim, nor to the "bus transportation bill" claim. But so far, so what? This is just another of those weird things, initially probably intended to be humorous, that someone wrote. However, the whole thing has gone viral; I've been asked at least five times in the last three days if I have "heard that 'Friday' was about the JFK assassination."
Then, two days ago, I ran across a reference to a claim that I first saw in the 1970s -- that the Dogon tribe of Africa had prior knowledge, through contact with "ancient astronauts" from another planet, that the star Sirius had a companion star that was too small to see with the naked eye. According to this story, they even got the orbital period of this star correct. Aficionados of UFOs and aliens and so on just love this story, because if true, it would seem to be evidence that a relatively primitive tribe had information that they could only have gotten from an advanced society.
Of course, that last statement is literally true; the advanced society they got it from is France. The anthropologist who first made the claim of the Dogon's knowledge, Marcel Griaule, is thought to be the one who "contaminated" the Dogon with outside information in the first place. The discovery of Sirius' companion star ("Sirius B") was all over the news in the 1920s, when Griaule was working with the Dogon, and the Dogon themselves are peculiarly fascinated with the stars. It doesn't take much of a reach to guess that Griaule was the source of the information, especially given that subsequent researchers into the Dogon culture found that the only ones who had actually heard of "po tolo," as they called Sirius B, were the people in the village Griaule had visited.
Nonetheless, this story is still circulating. A search for the keywords "Sirius" and "Dogon" garnered 109,000 hits, and a quick perusal of the first three pages was enough to demonstrate that almost all of them buy Griaule's idea wholesale. And this points to another, and more depressing conclusion; skeptical thought seems to travel slower than bullshit does. Ridiculous ideas, like Griaule's claim that ancient astronauts had visited the Dogon, have more of a panache than do prosaic statements such as "Griaule told 'em himself, and then claimed he'd discovered something amazing." Who would be motivated to tell a friend something like the latter? While the former... well, you can see how that story might have a little more tendency to get passed along.
The eye-opener, for me, is how easy it is now for ideas to spread. Prior to the internet, ideas moved as fast as people did, or as fast as books could be passed along. Now, in the blink of an eye, an idea -- good or bad -- can travel halfway around the world. And given the tendency of most people not to question sources that give an appearance of authority, it's hardly to be wondered at that "I read it on a website," or (even better) the "my friend sent me a link," has become the mode for meme spread.
It should also always be a red flag for skeptics. Websites like Snopes, which vets current stories for veracity, help to some extent; but there's no substitute for critical thinking and a little bit of good research, and also for responsible people refusing to pass along links to websites that claim that listening to Rebecca Black's song "Friday" is what drove Lee Harvey Oswald to assassinate JFK, and afterwards she escaped to Mali where she lived with the Dogon, until she caught a ride on an alien spacecraft and escaped to Sirius B, where she now lives as Barry Manilow's love slave.
Although, you have to admit, that does make for a pretty plausible story.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
An argument over nails
An old proverb, variously attributed to the Arabs and to the Chinese, says, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." In a striking example of this principle, in yesterday's news we find a story about religious history that has resulted in what may be a first: something that atheists and devout Christians seem to be in complete agreement on.
Simcha Jacobovici is a filmmaker. There are sites that call him an archaeologist, but that seems to be a leap; he's done a number of film documentaries about archaeological sites in the Middle East, but as far as I can tell that's the limits of his archaeological training. Most of his films have been fairly obscure, but recently he has leapt into the spotlight with an interesting claim -- that he has discovered two of the nails used in Jesus' crucifixion.
Jacobovici's claim rests on the assertion that the tomb where they were found belonged to Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest whom the gospels assert was the man who turned Jesus over to the Romans. The nails, Jacobovici states in an interview, were bent in such a way as to keep a crucified man's wrist from pulling free, and that there would have been no other reason to keep the nails unless they had been important.
"Caiaphas was not a man who sent thousands to be crucified," Jacobovici said. "He is known to have caused the crucifixion of one man and one man only, and that is Jesus."
The claim is a fairly tenuous one right from the start. To begin with, the Israeli Antiquities Authority is doubtful that the tomb belongs to the Caiaphas of the gospels. That assertion, and therefore the rest of Jacobovici's argument, a spokesperson stated, "has no basis in archaeological findings or research."
Even if it is Caiaphas' tomb, the rest of the argument relies on some pretty flimsy logic. Jacobovici's statement that Caiaphas is known to have turned only one man over to the Romans is true, but the key word here is not "only" but "known." We know next to nothing about Caiaphas' life other than the couple of lines in the gospels that mention him (there is also a brief mention of him in Acts as having been present at the trials of Peter and Paul). In any case, there is not a shred of evidence to back up Jacobovici's claim that Caiaphas had the nails buried with him out of guilt over Jesus' death.
So, as far as I can tell, Jacobovici's argument runs something like this: a couple of nails that look like they may have been used in a crucifixion were found in a tomb that may or may not have belonged to Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest of the gospels. We can imagine that Caiaphas might well have felt bad about sending Jesus to his death. Conclusion: the nails were the ones used in Jesus' crucifixion, and Caiaphas commanded that he be buried with them because he felt guilty.
This claim has resulted in howls of derision from two different groups -- from serious archaeological researchers, who decry Jacobovici's methodology (to use the word fairly loosely), and from devout Christians who are understandably concerned about such claims further eroding public confidence in the evidence for the veracity of the gospels. Both camps consider the film a cheap publicity stunt, a view I entirely share. Jacobovici seems more concerned about turning a quick buck in such venues as The So-Called History Channel than he does about serious scholarship.
Jacobovici, of course, is defiant. "It's easy to scoff," he said, in an interview on ABC News. "But it's hard to do three years of investigation, which I've done. Could it be that these are the nails? You ask the question, you don't scoff."
Actually, Mr. Jacobovici, what you do is you examine the evidence with a skeptical mind; you don't make claims based on a chain of logic the consistency of taffy, and expect us to believe you've proved anything. You don't make unverifiable assertions and then get your knickers in a twist when serious researchers criticize what you've done.
But that's not what this is about, is it? This is about money, and you don't really care that the experts are scoffing as long as it will result in more people watching your film. Because, as Irish poet Brendan Behan said, "There is no such thing as bad publicity."
Simcha Jacobovici is a filmmaker. There are sites that call him an archaeologist, but that seems to be a leap; he's done a number of film documentaries about archaeological sites in the Middle East, but as far as I can tell that's the limits of his archaeological training. Most of his films have been fairly obscure, but recently he has leapt into the spotlight with an interesting claim -- that he has discovered two of the nails used in Jesus' crucifixion.
Jacobovici's claim rests on the assertion that the tomb where they were found belonged to Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest whom the gospels assert was the man who turned Jesus over to the Romans. The nails, Jacobovici states in an interview, were bent in such a way as to keep a crucified man's wrist from pulling free, and that there would have been no other reason to keep the nails unless they had been important.
"Caiaphas was not a man who sent thousands to be crucified," Jacobovici said. "He is known to have caused the crucifixion of one man and one man only, and that is Jesus."
The claim is a fairly tenuous one right from the start. To begin with, the Israeli Antiquities Authority is doubtful that the tomb belongs to the Caiaphas of the gospels. That assertion, and therefore the rest of Jacobovici's argument, a spokesperson stated, "has no basis in archaeological findings or research."
Even if it is Caiaphas' tomb, the rest of the argument relies on some pretty flimsy logic. Jacobovici's statement that Caiaphas is known to have turned only one man over to the Romans is true, but the key word here is not "only" but "known." We know next to nothing about Caiaphas' life other than the couple of lines in the gospels that mention him (there is also a brief mention of him in Acts as having been present at the trials of Peter and Paul). In any case, there is not a shred of evidence to back up Jacobovici's claim that Caiaphas had the nails buried with him out of guilt over Jesus' death.
So, as far as I can tell, Jacobovici's argument runs something like this: a couple of nails that look like they may have been used in a crucifixion were found in a tomb that may or may not have belonged to Caiaphas, the Jewish high priest of the gospels. We can imagine that Caiaphas might well have felt bad about sending Jesus to his death. Conclusion: the nails were the ones used in Jesus' crucifixion, and Caiaphas commanded that he be buried with them because he felt guilty.
This claim has resulted in howls of derision from two different groups -- from serious archaeological researchers, who decry Jacobovici's methodology (to use the word fairly loosely), and from devout Christians who are understandably concerned about such claims further eroding public confidence in the evidence for the veracity of the gospels. Both camps consider the film a cheap publicity stunt, a view I entirely share. Jacobovici seems more concerned about turning a quick buck in such venues as The So-Called History Channel than he does about serious scholarship.
Jacobovici, of course, is defiant. "It's easy to scoff," he said, in an interview on ABC News. "But it's hard to do three years of investigation, which I've done. Could it be that these are the nails? You ask the question, you don't scoff."
Actually, Mr. Jacobovici, what you do is you examine the evidence with a skeptical mind; you don't make claims based on a chain of logic the consistency of taffy, and expect us to believe you've proved anything. You don't make unverifiable assertions and then get your knickers in a twist when serious researchers criticize what you've done.
But that's not what this is about, is it? This is about money, and you don't really care that the experts are scoffing as long as it will result in more people watching your film. Because, as Irish poet Brendan Behan said, "There is no such thing as bad publicity."
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
The natural history of the Common Yutz
As always, the Yiddish language has a word for it, and the word is "yutz."
A yutz is a person with no social graces. As is typical with Yiddish words, however, there are layers within layers and meanings within meanings. Implicit in this word is the connotation of someone who means no harm, who really thinks (s)he is a completely normal, well-liked person, and who is entirely unaware that people scatter like rats whenever (s)he is around. This is a person who is capable of leaving behind a trail of frustration, irritation, and chaos, and being none the wiser.
I remember being on a weekend birdwatching trip to coastal New Jersey, and to my dismay, there was a yutz signed up to go with us. At our first stop, I was with a small group trying to spot a singing Black-throated Blue Warbler in the treetops over head, and up comes Mrs. Yutz.
"I CAN HEAR HIM," she shouted, in a voice that probably registered on seismographs in Los Angeles. "CAN YOU HEAR HIM?"
Several of us nodded, and a couple of us turned and glared at her. One person said, in an exaggerated whisper, "Yes, we hear him."
"I LOVE THEIR LITTLE SONG," she bellowed. "ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE! LISTEN TO THAT! ISN'T THAT SO CUTE? ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE!"
Mrs. Yutz's teenage daughter, who was to regret many times coming along on this trip, said, "Mom, ssshhhhh!"
"DO YOU HEAR HIM ANY MORE?" Mrs. Yutz shrieked. "I CAN'T HEAR HIM ANY MORE."
This was probably because the bird had upped stakes and flown to Atlantic City for some peace and quiet.
I see a lot of yutzim at the grocery store. I find this species of yutz particularly annoying because I loathe shopping. My usual shopping method is to run down the aisle, knocking old ladies and small children out of the way with my grocery cart, and to snatch items off the shelf and sling them into the cart without even slowing. I don't even always look at what I'm throwing in. I may not be the most accurate and competent shopper, but let me tell you, I'm fast. I once set out to one of those bulk discount stores with the instructions, "stock us up on some staples," and came back with nothing but a two-gallon jar of orange marmalade. However, I was back home in twenty minutes flat, and that is taking Seattle traffic into account.
But I digress.
Grocery-store yutzim are people for whom shopping is apparently some kind of recreational activity. They meander along at sloth-like speed, look at each and every item on the shelf, consider it carefully, read the label, and then put it back on the shelf. They always have the biggest shopping carts available, which when set diagonally are capable of blocking an entire aisle. Our local store has special carts for yutzim with children; these carts have a toy car appended to the front, so the young yutz-in-training can sit inside and pretend to drive. These behemoths are twice as long as a regular shopping cart, and have about a two-mile turning radius. One of them can prevent access to an entire row of grocery-store shelves.
When two grocery-store yutzim meet, it's a calamity of such magnitude that it brings all shopping in that region of the store to a halt for an hour. They stand there, their carts aligned so as to create maximum blockage, talking and gesticulating and laughing, while other shoppers, who would like to arrive home with their groceries some time this decade, have to go from the vegetable department to the meat department via Argentina to get around the congestion. The yutzim are always completely unaware of the problem they're causing, and if you go up to them and say, "Excuse me," they will stop their conversation, give you a momentary blank look, and then smile and say, "Oh, no problem!" in a cheerful voice. Then they will go back to their conversation without moving either themselves or their carts.
It's not that yutzim are bad people. I've known a few of them personally, and they are unfailingly kind, friendly, and generous. It's just that they lack the level of awareness of their surroundings that most of us have. I'd like to think that if I walked up to some people in a conversation, and they all simultaneously looked at their watches, announced that they had important meetings to attend, and left, I'd get the clue that it was me that was the problem. It's like the old line that goes: "The one common factor in all of your failed relationships, miserable jobs, and blown opportunites is: You."
Still, you have to feel a little sorry for them. It's pitiful to think that there are people on whom life has so little impact. It's a shame that there's not some gentle way to clue them in, to let them know the effect they're having. And to suggest to them that (1) most people are perfectly capable of identifying a bird's song as "cute" without assistance, and (2) if they're ever in a grocery store, and they see a tall blond guy who is clutching a large jar of marmalade and sprinting down the aisle, they'd be well-advised just to get the hell out of the way.
A yutz is a person with no social graces. As is typical with Yiddish words, however, there are layers within layers and meanings within meanings. Implicit in this word is the connotation of someone who means no harm, who really thinks (s)he is a completely normal, well-liked person, and who is entirely unaware that people scatter like rats whenever (s)he is around. This is a person who is capable of leaving behind a trail of frustration, irritation, and chaos, and being none the wiser.
I remember being on a weekend birdwatching trip to coastal New Jersey, and to my dismay, there was a yutz signed up to go with us. At our first stop, I was with a small group trying to spot a singing Black-throated Blue Warbler in the treetops over head, and up comes Mrs. Yutz.
"I CAN HEAR HIM," she shouted, in a voice that probably registered on seismographs in Los Angeles. "CAN YOU HEAR HIM?"
Several of us nodded, and a couple of us turned and glared at her. One person said, in an exaggerated whisper, "Yes, we hear him."
"I LOVE THEIR LITTLE SONG," she bellowed. "ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE! LISTEN TO THAT! ISN'T THAT SO CUTE? ZEEEE-ZEEEE-ZEEEE!"
Mrs. Yutz's teenage daughter, who was to regret many times coming along on this trip, said, "Mom, ssshhhhh!"
"DO YOU HEAR HIM ANY MORE?" Mrs. Yutz shrieked. "I CAN'T HEAR HIM ANY MORE."
This was probably because the bird had upped stakes and flown to Atlantic City for some peace and quiet.
[image courtesy of photographer L. T. Shears and the Wikimedia Commons]
I see a lot of yutzim at the grocery store. I find this species of yutz particularly annoying because I loathe shopping. My usual shopping method is to run down the aisle, knocking old ladies and small children out of the way with my grocery cart, and to snatch items off the shelf and sling them into the cart without even slowing. I don't even always look at what I'm throwing in. I may not be the most accurate and competent shopper, but let me tell you, I'm fast. I once set out to one of those bulk discount stores with the instructions, "stock us up on some staples," and came back with nothing but a two-gallon jar of orange marmalade. However, I was back home in twenty minutes flat, and that is taking Seattle traffic into account.
But I digress.
Grocery-store yutzim are people for whom shopping is apparently some kind of recreational activity. They meander along at sloth-like speed, look at each and every item on the shelf, consider it carefully, read the label, and then put it back on the shelf. They always have the biggest shopping carts available, which when set diagonally are capable of blocking an entire aisle. Our local store has special carts for yutzim with children; these carts have a toy car appended to the front, so the young yutz-in-training can sit inside and pretend to drive. These behemoths are twice as long as a regular shopping cart, and have about a two-mile turning radius. One of them can prevent access to an entire row of grocery-store shelves.
When two grocery-store yutzim meet, it's a calamity of such magnitude that it brings all shopping in that region of the store to a halt for an hour. They stand there, their carts aligned so as to create maximum blockage, talking and gesticulating and laughing, while other shoppers, who would like to arrive home with their groceries some time this decade, have to go from the vegetable department to the meat department via Argentina to get around the congestion. The yutzim are always completely unaware of the problem they're causing, and if you go up to them and say, "Excuse me," they will stop their conversation, give you a momentary blank look, and then smile and say, "Oh, no problem!" in a cheerful voice. Then they will go back to their conversation without moving either themselves or their carts.
It's not that yutzim are bad people. I've known a few of them personally, and they are unfailingly kind, friendly, and generous. It's just that they lack the level of awareness of their surroundings that most of us have. I'd like to think that if I walked up to some people in a conversation, and they all simultaneously looked at their watches, announced that they had important meetings to attend, and left, I'd get the clue that it was me that was the problem. It's like the old line that goes: "The one common factor in all of your failed relationships, miserable jobs, and blown opportunites is: You."
Still, you have to feel a little sorry for them. It's pitiful to think that there are people on whom life has so little impact. It's a shame that there's not some gentle way to clue them in, to let them know the effect they're having. And to suggest to them that (1) most people are perfectly capable of identifying a bird's song as "cute" without assistance, and (2) if they're ever in a grocery store, and they see a tall blond guy who is clutching a large jar of marmalade and sprinting down the aisle, they'd be well-advised just to get the hell out of the way.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Roswell redux
Today, I'm going to present you with the same UFO story, told two different ways. Sort of Rashomon for the flying saucer crowd.
Recently, the FBI declassified certain documents, which are now available online. Amongst these documents were some memos from New Mexico in the 1940s and 1950s, pertaining to the Roswell Incident, which remains one of the most perplexing alien coverup stories in history. The London Daily Mail did a feature article on the newly released documents yesterday (which you can read in its entirety here).
Everyone has seen the photos and videos, of tiny alien bodies laid out on the autopsy tables; and most of you are probably familiar with the eyewitness testimony of hovering spacecraft and nighttime retrieval of metallic debris from the hill country near Roswell. But these new memos add a depth of credibility to the story. Here are a few excerpts:
From Guy Hottel, special agent in charge of the Washington Field Office, dated March 22, 1950:
"An investigator for the Air Force has stated that three so-called flying saucers had been recovered in New Mexico. They were described as being circular in shape with raised centers, approximately 50 feet in diameter. Each was occupied by three bodies of human shape but only 3 feet tall, dressed in metallic cloth of very fine texture... According to Mr. (blacked out), informant, the saucers were found in New Mexico due to the fact that the government has a very high-powered radar set-up in that area and it is believed that the radar interferes with the controling mechanism of the saucers."
This information is remarkably similar to, and therefore corroborates, the more famous Roswell Incident of 1947, in which a twenty-foot wide disc "hexagonal in shape" was recovered, along with the bodies of several aliens.
Okay, let's do this all again, okay?
There once were two con men named Silas Newton and Leo Gebauer. Newton and Gebauer had been involved in hoaxes involving aliens before; they claimed that they had a machine, made using "alien metals and technology," which could find oil and gas deposits. They had a sizeable number of monetary contributions for further Research and Development before a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle, J. P. Cahn, tested some of the alien metal and found out it was aluminum. (Although to be fair, being that aluminum is one of the commonest metallic elements, it's to be supposed that there'd be aluminum on alien worlds, too.) The pair were tried, and fined, for fraud over the whole affair.
So it's not like Newton and Gebauer are the most credible of sources. But they are apparently the source of the whole 1950 New Mexico alien thing, hard though that may be to fathom. Here's the sequence, which reads a little like the "begats" part of the bible:
Guy Hottel, of the memo quoted above, was informed by a retired Air Force man, who had picked up the story from the Wyandotte Echo. The editor of the Echo had gotten the story via a line of transmission through newspaper reporters from five different states; the Echo had picked it up from a fellow named Rudy Fick, who had obtained it from a pair named Jack Murphy and I. J. van Horn. Murphy and van Horn, in turn, got it from a guy named Morley Davies, who got it from George Koehler, who got it from... you guessed it... Silas Newton. (I am indebted to The Skeptic's Dictionary for piecing this whole thing together; if you'd like to read the complete history of the so-called "Aztec Incident," go here.)
So, it's no wonder that the memo from Hottel sounds so offhand. Me, if I was sending a memo to the director of the FBI that proved that there were aliens on Earth, I'd sound a little more excited. In fact, Hottel ends the memo with a yawn: "No futher evaluation was attempted by (blacked out) concerning the above." Sounds a little like he was just tired of the whole thing, doesn't he? It certainly doesn't come across as a guy warning his boss that the Earth is about to be turned into a big sound stage right out of Independence Day.
And, interestingly, the "hexagonal disc" in the 1947 incident was said, in the FBI memo, to be "suspended from a ballon [sic] by a cable." Not the way that you'd usually think of aliens traveling through interstellar space, is it, given that balloons don't work that well in a vacuum? But remarkably consistent with the FBI's official story, that the "flying saucers" and "metallic debris" were the results of the crash of a weather balloon array in the New Mexico desert.
So, anyway, that's today's breaking news about something that probably didn't happen sixty years ago. Not that I think anything I can say will put the whole thing to rest; as I've observed before, nothing much can stand in the way of a Conspiracy Theory.
Recently, the FBI declassified certain documents, which are now available online. Amongst these documents were some memos from New Mexico in the 1940s and 1950s, pertaining to the Roswell Incident, which remains one of the most perplexing alien coverup stories in history. The London Daily Mail did a feature article on the newly released documents yesterday (which you can read in its entirety here).
Everyone has seen the photos and videos, of tiny alien bodies laid out on the autopsy tables; and most of you are probably familiar with the eyewitness testimony of hovering spacecraft and nighttime retrieval of metallic debris from the hill country near Roswell. But these new memos add a depth of credibility to the story. Here are a few excerpts:
From Guy Hottel, special agent in charge of the Washington Field Office, dated March 22, 1950:
"An investigator for the Air Force has stated that three so-called flying saucers had been recovered in New Mexico. They were described as being circular in shape with raised centers, approximately 50 feet in diameter. Each was occupied by three bodies of human shape but only 3 feet tall, dressed in metallic cloth of very fine texture... According to Mr. (blacked out), informant, the saucers were found in New Mexico due to the fact that the government has a very high-powered radar set-up in that area and it is believed that the radar interferes with the controling mechanism of the saucers."
This information is remarkably similar to, and therefore corroborates, the more famous Roswell Incident of 1947, in which a twenty-foot wide disc "hexagonal in shape" was recovered, along with the bodies of several aliens.
Okay, let's do this all again, okay?
There once were two con men named Silas Newton and Leo Gebauer. Newton and Gebauer had been involved in hoaxes involving aliens before; they claimed that they had a machine, made using "alien metals and technology," which could find oil and gas deposits. They had a sizeable number of monetary contributions for further Research and Development before a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle, J. P. Cahn, tested some of the alien metal and found out it was aluminum. (Although to be fair, being that aluminum is one of the commonest metallic elements, it's to be supposed that there'd be aluminum on alien worlds, too.) The pair were tried, and fined, for fraud over the whole affair.
So it's not like Newton and Gebauer are the most credible of sources. But they are apparently the source of the whole 1950 New Mexico alien thing, hard though that may be to fathom. Here's the sequence, which reads a little like the "begats" part of the bible:
Guy Hottel, of the memo quoted above, was informed by a retired Air Force man, who had picked up the story from the Wyandotte Echo. The editor of the Echo had gotten the story via a line of transmission through newspaper reporters from five different states; the Echo had picked it up from a fellow named Rudy Fick, who had obtained it from a pair named Jack Murphy and I. J. van Horn. Murphy and van Horn, in turn, got it from a guy named Morley Davies, who got it from George Koehler, who got it from... you guessed it... Silas Newton. (I am indebted to The Skeptic's Dictionary for piecing this whole thing together; if you'd like to read the complete history of the so-called "Aztec Incident," go here.)
So, it's no wonder that the memo from Hottel sounds so offhand. Me, if I was sending a memo to the director of the FBI that proved that there were aliens on Earth, I'd sound a little more excited. In fact, Hottel ends the memo with a yawn: "No futher evaluation was attempted by (blacked out) concerning the above." Sounds a little like he was just tired of the whole thing, doesn't he? It certainly doesn't come across as a guy warning his boss that the Earth is about to be turned into a big sound stage right out of Independence Day.
And, interestingly, the "hexagonal disc" in the 1947 incident was said, in the FBI memo, to be "suspended from a ballon [sic] by a cable." Not the way that you'd usually think of aliens traveling through interstellar space, is it, given that balloons don't work that well in a vacuum? But remarkably consistent with the FBI's official story, that the "flying saucers" and "metallic debris" were the results of the crash of a weather balloon array in the New Mexico desert.
So, anyway, that's today's breaking news about something that probably didn't happen sixty years ago. Not that I think anything I can say will put the whole thing to rest; as I've observed before, nothing much can stand in the way of a Conspiracy Theory.
Sunday, April 10, 2011
The case of the telepathic trees
In my AP Biology class, we were discussing a peculiar phenomenon in certain plants; when under attack by herbivores, some species seem to be able to signal nearby members of the same species, who then respond by secreting noxious chemicals that repel the attackers. This response has been observed in sagebrush, clover, a species of African acacia, and several others.
One of my students asked how that communication was accomplished. I replied that it was all done by volatile chemical signals -- the attacked plant produces something like an animal pheromone, which then moves via the air to the surrounding plants. The binding of that signal chemical onto receptors in the nearby individuals initiates synthesis of nasty-tasting compounds that discourage the herbivores from chowing down.
"If that chemical could be synthesized," one student asked, "could this be an easy and low-impact way of controlling plant pests?"
"That's a great idea," I said. "It would depend on whether the specific signal chemical has been isolated." And not knowing whether it had been, I started to do a little research.
A quick Google search turned up a number of sites describing reputable, peer-reviewed science (and it turns out that in some cases, they know what the signal is, and in others they appear not to). So far, so good. But then I noticed that about half of the hits I generated suggested a different explanation -- the plants were engaging in mental telepathy.
In fact, one unintentionally hilarious site, Psychobotany, goes into great detail about the possibility of humans telepathically communicating with plants (or vice versa). As evidence that this might be possible, it dredges up the tired old pseudo-experiment by Clive Backster, who in the 1960s attached a polygraph machine to a plant, and threatened to hurt the plant, and the polygraph machine went crazy. (The site conveniently doesn't mention that because of the amazing claims and the simplicity of the experimental design, Backster's experiment has been redone about 10,000 times since he first published, and nobody has ever been able to replicate his results.)
I find it maddening how quickly people want to leap to a supernatural explanation when someone reports something odd. Richard Dawkins calls this the "Argument From Incredulity;" the world is weird, wonderful, amazing, and I don't have a ready explanation for what I'm seeing, therefore it must be __________. Fill in the blank with your favorite paranormal explanation -- ESP, aliens, ghosts, spirits, god, the devil, etc. etc. etc. Scientists are frequently accused of arrogance -- "You think you're so smart, you think you have all the answers." In reality, the opposite is true. If you're not comfortable with being in a state of ignorance, you won't last long in science, because the first thing you discover when you go into science is how little we actually are certain of. This, to me, is one of science's strengths as a model; presented with anomalous data, a good scientist is perfectly willing to suspend judgment, indefinitely if need be. Only a theory that explains all of the available data is good enough, and even then, there's a tentativeness about good science -- a sense of, "well, this is what we think now, but things could change if we get new information." As Albert Einstein once said, "A thousand experiments could never prove me right, but one could prove me wrong."
The supernatural explanations, on the other hand, strike me as cheap cop-outs. If you call plant communication "botanical telepathy" you don't have to go any further; you can sit there and enjoy your little mystical shiver up the spine, and you're all done. There's no need to provide a mechanism, to look for details of how such a thing might be accomplished. You've made your pronouncement about how the world works, and there it ends.
And in contrast with science, which shifts its stance if contrary data is found, supernatural explanations are notorious for clinging on like grim death even in the face of mountains of evidence. The Psychobotany people even cite the study done with pheromonal communication in sagebrush, but oddly, they neglect to mention that the effect went away when the researchers placed plastic bags over the sagebrush plants. This result brilliantly supports the chemical signal hypothesis, but is a little hard to explain if you buy telepathy. Does plastic block Psychic Energy Rays, or something?
Myself, I have no problem with Not Knowing Stuff. This sometimes bothers my students. When I'm asked about things for which science has yet to find evidence, but which can't be ruled out on a theoretical basis -- things like alien visitations, Bigfoot, and life after death -- my answer is, "the jury's still out on that one."
"Well, do you believe in it?" they often ask.
My response is that I neither believe nor disbelieve in anything without sufficient evidence, or at least a strong logical argument one way or the other. In the absence of either -- for instance, in the case of Bigfoot, where there's no particular biological reason that it's impossible, but there's also never been any hard evidence -- I am completely comfortable with adding that to the big old pile of stuff I don't know about.
On the other hand, in the case of the telepathic trees -- I'm pretty confident about that one. "Psychobotany," my ass. I think this time it's Science 1, Woo-woos 0.
One of my students asked how that communication was accomplished. I replied that it was all done by volatile chemical signals -- the attacked plant produces something like an animal pheromone, which then moves via the air to the surrounding plants. The binding of that signal chemical onto receptors in the nearby individuals initiates synthesis of nasty-tasting compounds that discourage the herbivores from chowing down.
"If that chemical could be synthesized," one student asked, "could this be an easy and low-impact way of controlling plant pests?"
"That's a great idea," I said. "It would depend on whether the specific signal chemical has been isolated." And not knowing whether it had been, I started to do a little research.
A quick Google search turned up a number of sites describing reputable, peer-reviewed science (and it turns out that in some cases, they know what the signal is, and in others they appear not to). So far, so good. But then I noticed that about half of the hits I generated suggested a different explanation -- the plants were engaging in mental telepathy.
In fact, one unintentionally hilarious site, Psychobotany, goes into great detail about the possibility of humans telepathically communicating with plants (or vice versa). As evidence that this might be possible, it dredges up the tired old pseudo-experiment by Clive Backster, who in the 1960s attached a polygraph machine to a plant, and threatened to hurt the plant, and the polygraph machine went crazy. (The site conveniently doesn't mention that because of the amazing claims and the simplicity of the experimental design, Backster's experiment has been redone about 10,000 times since he first published, and nobody has ever been able to replicate his results.)
I find it maddening how quickly people want to leap to a supernatural explanation when someone reports something odd. Richard Dawkins calls this the "Argument From Incredulity;" the world is weird, wonderful, amazing, and I don't have a ready explanation for what I'm seeing, therefore it must be __________. Fill in the blank with your favorite paranormal explanation -- ESP, aliens, ghosts, spirits, god, the devil, etc. etc. etc. Scientists are frequently accused of arrogance -- "You think you're so smart, you think you have all the answers." In reality, the opposite is true. If you're not comfortable with being in a state of ignorance, you won't last long in science, because the first thing you discover when you go into science is how little we actually are certain of. This, to me, is one of science's strengths as a model; presented with anomalous data, a good scientist is perfectly willing to suspend judgment, indefinitely if need be. Only a theory that explains all of the available data is good enough, and even then, there's a tentativeness about good science -- a sense of, "well, this is what we think now, but things could change if we get new information." As Albert Einstein once said, "A thousand experiments could never prove me right, but one could prove me wrong."
The supernatural explanations, on the other hand, strike me as cheap cop-outs. If you call plant communication "botanical telepathy" you don't have to go any further; you can sit there and enjoy your little mystical shiver up the spine, and you're all done. There's no need to provide a mechanism, to look for details of how such a thing might be accomplished. You've made your pronouncement about how the world works, and there it ends.
And in contrast with science, which shifts its stance if contrary data is found, supernatural explanations are notorious for clinging on like grim death even in the face of mountains of evidence. The Psychobotany people even cite the study done with pheromonal communication in sagebrush, but oddly, they neglect to mention that the effect went away when the researchers placed plastic bags over the sagebrush plants. This result brilliantly supports the chemical signal hypothesis, but is a little hard to explain if you buy telepathy. Does plastic block Psychic Energy Rays, or something?
Myself, I have no problem with Not Knowing Stuff. This sometimes bothers my students. When I'm asked about things for which science has yet to find evidence, but which can't be ruled out on a theoretical basis -- things like alien visitations, Bigfoot, and life after death -- my answer is, "the jury's still out on that one."
"Well, do you believe in it?" they often ask.
My response is that I neither believe nor disbelieve in anything without sufficient evidence, or at least a strong logical argument one way or the other. In the absence of either -- for instance, in the case of Bigfoot, where there's no particular biological reason that it's impossible, but there's also never been any hard evidence -- I am completely comfortable with adding that to the big old pile of stuff I don't know about.
On the other hand, in the case of the telepathic trees -- I'm pretty confident about that one. "Psychobotany," my ass. I think this time it's Science 1, Woo-woos 0.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Another New Direction For Education
In breaking news from the "Correlation Implies Causation" department, New York State Commissioner of Education David Steiner and New York City Schools Chancellor Cathleen Black have announced their resignation, immediately following my post yesterday calling Steiner and his staff "micromanaging b-b stackers."
Besides making me feel like perhaps I should be a little more careful who I insult, Steiner's unexpected departure has me worried. It's not, as you might imagine, because I'm fond of Steiner or his policies; it's more because I'm afraid we're in for another U-turn.
"A Vision" is an unfortunate part of the personality of many administrators. Please note that there is a difference between "vision" and "A Vision." The former implies an awareness of the both the big picture and the details, and a deep understanding of how to run a school. Certainly, there are many administrators with vision; I'm pleased to say that my high school's current principal appears to be one. The latter, on the other hand, tends to take the form of a single-minded commitment to a particular set of goals, wisdom-be-damned, and often followed with a zeal that would do an Old Testament prophet proud.
A vivid example of the distinction occurred during the tenure of our previous commissioner, Richard Mills. Shortly after Mills was appointed, he came up with A Plan To Improve Education. This involved rewriting all of the curriculum used in New York State, and was ushered in with countless meetings. In one of the first ones I attended, a curriculum specialist was called in, and we endured a day-long meeting with her in which we were supposed to design our ideal curriculum in the field we teach. "Anything," she told us, "is fair game."
I responded that I kind of liked the one I had. Biology, I told her, is biology; you can use different strategies to teach it, but the science is what the science is.
A frown appeared on her face. "There must be something you'd change if you could," she said.
"I'd like more money from the state to buy equipment," I said.
"Not money!" she said. "That's not what this is about. This is about designing your ideal curriculum in your field."
"Okay," I said. "I choose not to change anything."
And this sort of went on all day -- her trying to maneuver us into buying in to the idea of change for change's sake, and me (and several others) digging our heels in, asking her why on earth we were supposed to change something that already worked just fine.
We later found out that she informed our superintendent that we were "the rudest science department she had ever worked with."
And, of course, it was all an exercise in futility anyway. The opinions of a bunch of silly teachers would never change the direction of The Vision Of An Educational Leader. At enormous expense, the entire curriculum was rewritten. The results? I can find two: (1) They changed the name of the course from "Biology" to "Living Environment." (2) They made the statewide final exam much easier.
So, now that Steiner's out, after under two years in the position, we'll have someone else take his place. And in all likelihood, it'll be someone with A Vision, because you don't get that far in the field of education unless you have one. Meaning that we'll take everything we've always done, pretend we're jettisoning it and taking off in A New Direction For Education, the policy wonks will spend millions of dollars generating Draft Protocols and Mission Statements and Program Timelines, teachers and administrators will waste countless hours in meetings, and in the end we'll get back what we started with, maybe under a different name. (You'll probably be amused to know that after the change from "Biology" to "Living Environment" ten years ago, I flatly refused to use the new name, and all of my course handouts and lab manuals and so on are still labeled "Biology." I wonder what the new name will be? I'm guessing it'll be something like "Our Amazing World Of Nature.")
I realize this sounds cynical. That's because I am cynical. Not about the act of educating children; the day I'm cynical about that should be my last day on the job. What I'm cynical about is the motives of our leaders, who often seem more concerned about putting their personal stamp on the educational system they're running than they do about sensible, practical policy that benefits the kids we're serving. And my attitude toward NYSED and the Federal Department of Education reminds me of the quote from Lily Tomlin: "No matter how cynical I get, it's just never enough to keep up."
Besides making me feel like perhaps I should be a little more careful who I insult, Steiner's unexpected departure has me worried. It's not, as you might imagine, because I'm fond of Steiner or his policies; it's more because I'm afraid we're in for another U-turn.
"A Vision" is an unfortunate part of the personality of many administrators. Please note that there is a difference between "vision" and "A Vision." The former implies an awareness of the both the big picture and the details, and a deep understanding of how to run a school. Certainly, there are many administrators with vision; I'm pleased to say that my high school's current principal appears to be one. The latter, on the other hand, tends to take the form of a single-minded commitment to a particular set of goals, wisdom-be-damned, and often followed with a zeal that would do an Old Testament prophet proud.
A vivid example of the distinction occurred during the tenure of our previous commissioner, Richard Mills. Shortly after Mills was appointed, he came up with A Plan To Improve Education. This involved rewriting all of the curriculum used in New York State, and was ushered in with countless meetings. In one of the first ones I attended, a curriculum specialist was called in, and we endured a day-long meeting with her in which we were supposed to design our ideal curriculum in the field we teach. "Anything," she told us, "is fair game."
I responded that I kind of liked the one I had. Biology, I told her, is biology; you can use different strategies to teach it, but the science is what the science is.
A frown appeared on her face. "There must be something you'd change if you could," she said.
"I'd like more money from the state to buy equipment," I said.
"Not money!" she said. "That's not what this is about. This is about designing your ideal curriculum in your field."
"Okay," I said. "I choose not to change anything."
And this sort of went on all day -- her trying to maneuver us into buying in to the idea of change for change's sake, and me (and several others) digging our heels in, asking her why on earth we were supposed to change something that already worked just fine.
We later found out that she informed our superintendent that we were "the rudest science department she had ever worked with."
And, of course, it was all an exercise in futility anyway. The opinions of a bunch of silly teachers would never change the direction of The Vision Of An Educational Leader. At enormous expense, the entire curriculum was rewritten. The results? I can find two: (1) They changed the name of the course from "Biology" to "Living Environment." (2) They made the statewide final exam much easier.
So, now that Steiner's out, after under two years in the position, we'll have someone else take his place. And in all likelihood, it'll be someone with A Vision, because you don't get that far in the field of education unless you have one. Meaning that we'll take everything we've always done, pretend we're jettisoning it and taking off in A New Direction For Education, the policy wonks will spend millions of dollars generating Draft Protocols and Mission Statements and Program Timelines, teachers and administrators will waste countless hours in meetings, and in the end we'll get back what we started with, maybe under a different name. (You'll probably be amused to know that after the change from "Biology" to "Living Environment" ten years ago, I flatly refused to use the new name, and all of my course handouts and lab manuals and so on are still labeled "Biology." I wonder what the new name will be? I'm guessing it'll be something like "Our Amazing World Of Nature.")
I realize this sounds cynical. That's because I am cynical. Not about the act of educating children; the day I'm cynical about that should be my last day on the job. What I'm cynical about is the motives of our leaders, who often seem more concerned about putting their personal stamp on the educational system they're running than they do about sensible, practical policy that benefits the kids we're serving. And my attitude toward NYSED and the Federal Department of Education reminds me of the quote from Lily Tomlin: "No matter how cynical I get, it's just never enough to keep up."
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