It has been a while since my last blog. How time flies. It is already December, and the semester is slowly coming to an end at the community college where I teach. As my life goes on, there is a longing in my heart to hold on to the beautiful memories shared with my brother.

Time to pick up where I left off.

The next day we went back to my brother's resting site. It was another beautiful, sunny day in Korea. The autumn sky so blue that Koreans call it adoringly the "high autumn sky."

My father seemed obsessed with cleaning out the chamber where my brother's urn was. Because it is subterranean, dirt had accumulated inside and it seemed damp. He had ordered Yung-Un to buy coal, COAL?, to place inside the chamber. She found some coal pieces that are used by interior decorators to purify the air and absorb moisture. I didn't know such things existed. 

After everything was clean to my father's satisfaction, we bowed again. I felt like it would be a long time again until I come back here. It is a remote site. Brother, until I see you again. Sadness came over me. Winter is coming. I could not stop thinking how cold it is going to get under the stone inside the Earth.

We made our way back to Seoul. My mother, who is a Buddhist, arranged for a 7-week vigil for my brother at the temple where she is a member. The temple was like an oasis in the middle of the concrete jungle, the futuristic mega-city called Seoul. It sat on top of a 5-story granite building, but the temple itself was made entirely of wood. Compared to the coldness of the granite of the building, the wood seemed warm. I thought again about how cold the granite chamber seemed where my brother's urn rests. The temple structure was not highly decorated like other temples I had seen before. It was plain. It was how my brother would have liked.

We met one of the monks in a smaller building on top of the roof. He explained what was about to happen. It was me, my sister, my mother, my father, Uncle Yong-Woo, Yung-Un, Hongkyu, and Kyurie. We all sat on little sitting pillows and crossed our legs. Surrounded by little Buddhas. Nice breeze blew through the open doors.

Then we began the process of calling the deceased's spirit so that it can begin the 7 step journey into the next world according to the Buddhist tradition. We chanted as one though I didn't really understand the meaning of what we were chanting. The sound, the breeze, the surrounding, the air--everything together was incredibly moving.

I heard what I needed to hear from the monk during this calling of the wandering spirit. There's only life and death and everyone has led a life that was both good and bad. My brother's life was special, not because he led a special life, but rather a meaningful one that will continue in his family and his children.

Our job is not to mourn the death, but to celebrate the life my brother led in this world and to guide him gently into the next one with our devotion. Our devotion to him, to his memory, and to his safe journey into the left life.

I was incredibly grateful to be my family's side at this time of sorrow.

We all sat down for breakfast. Yung Un had some breakfast sandwiches for us to eat. I couldn't eat. I hadn't eaten much at all since I got to Korea. It just didn't seem like the thing to do. I kept remembering what my mother had said. Look at your dad, eating. How can he eat at a time like this? 

As my mother, my father, and my uncle Yong Woo readied themselves to leave for Seoul, I decided to stay one more day. My dad wanted everyone to meet at my brother's side one more time the next day, so everyone was to meet there again. I would hitch a ride there and then back to Seoul with Yung Un. It was decided that Uncle Yong Woo would drive back down, bringing my mom, dad, and Mihye with him.

That afternoon Kyurie had to take a trip to her school with some gifts for the friends who helped out at the wake. She studies Korean art at Korea National University of Korean Heritage, which is about an hour away from Daejeon. We rode along the beautiful Geum River meadering through the gorges in the former kingdom of Paekje. My mother had always said how remote her school was. But she didn't say how beautiful the surroundings were. Korea is a beautiful country. My brother used to say all the time, he likes to enjoy the beauty of the land on his bike on his many, many solitary meanderings on his motorcycle.

Hong Kyu said that my brother had taken him on a bike ride along the river one time. For an hour. He thought his legs were going to fall off. We all laughed.

Yung Un said to me, Jung traveled so often, it seems like one of those times. It feels like he's just gone on a long trip.

After touring KAIST led by a team of KAIST professors, we headed for the crematory about an hour away. It was, for the lack of better words, a modern marvel. Modern. Granite everywhere. The walls and floors were gleaming. Neat beyond description. So clean as if to say that this process of burning the dead bodies is just that. A process. Nothing more, nothing less. The coldness of the place angered me.

There was one large waiting room and off the hallway there were waiting rooms for the families while the bodies were being cremated. There must have been at least 8 furnaces, all of which had numbers on them. Each one was hard at work, burning the bodies of the departed, literally turning to dust every evidence of a life that had once been.

As the coffin was led into the furnace numbered 8, it dawned on me that it really was our last chance to imprint on our minds the physical dimensions of my brother filling that coffin. That was it. He was to be reduced to ashes after this process. The space that he occupied as a human being, a husband, a father, a brother, a colleague, and everything else that he was to those around him, was about to be reduced to that of an urn. Then the workers asked if we wanted the leftover bones to be preserved or to be pounded down to ashes. It seemed to me to be an incredibly cold thing to say to those who were so deeply grieving. There was such coldness that I perceived there, from the physical building made of stone to the attitude of those who worked there. I don't know if that is because it was their job, or if it was because they do not want to emotionally involve themselves in each process.

After about an hour, it was signaled to us that the process was over. We were led to where we were to see the body coming out of the furnace. I had such mixed feelings about this. Tom Kang, one of my brother's oldest friends whom I love dearly, led us away. "You don't need to see this." While I deeply regret not having been able to see my brother one last time before he was placed inside the coffin, I do not regret the decision not to see his body come out of the furnace.

His ashes were gathered in an urn that Yung Un had chosen. It was held by Kyurie and led outside in a procession of grieving people. Kyurie was the picture of calm. I wondered how a young girl of 18 could be so brave. We boarded the bus and drove to our family's burial plot on the hillside.

When we finally got there, I was finally able to hold the urn. All that was left of my brother was inside that urn about a foot across and a foot and a half long. It was still hot. The hotness of his ashes made me indescribably sad. He was never to be warm again. Ever. My brother, all of his almost 6', 200+ pounds of flesh, was reduced to this hot pile of ashes inside this beautiful green urn. As Kyurie sat holding the urn on her lap, I hugged it. It's still hot, Kyurie said. It was the first time I could hug my brother since I had gotten home. Finally. As I lay my right cheek on the hot lid, I broke into a loud wail. I  I couldn't stop and I couldn't let go of the urn. It was the second saddest moment of my life.

The weather had been cloudy all morning, but when we arrived, all the clouds cleared away. As if to say: this way into the next world. This way into the vast universe.

My brother is now surrounded
by these beautiful mountains.

We proceeded up the hill. The view from the hillside was breathtakingly beautiful.

We placed the picture of him smiling on the edge of the opening of the subterranean catacomb-like structure about 2-feet deep consisting of 8 sides for the 8 brothers of my grandfather's. Each brother had been allotted enough space to accommodate all the urns of his direct descendants. On each stone that covered the 8 sides, the names of the descendants had been carved. Including mine, my husband's and my children's. It was a bit of a comic relief, seeing the American names of my family among all the Chinese characters. My family will not be there after we depart this earth, neither will my sister's family. We married out of the family. The names carved on the stone slab were mere reminders that we were daughters, not sons, of the Shin family.

We placed the urn inside. Each one took a turn to say their last good-byes. I kissed the urn many times as my brother was known for his kisses. Octopus kisses. My last physical good-bye to my brother. It was my third saddest moment of my life.

My father spoke for a while. I really think this was his way of coping. He was talking proudly of what his son had achieved in his short life, much more than he himself achieved in his long life.

My mother, on the other hand, was quiet.

When the heavy granite cover was placed back onto the top of the catacomb, I thought about how his hot ashes will eventually cool. And how cold my brother will be under all that stone and inside the earth. He was a hot guy in his life. He had always been so hot that my dad, when he got too cold in winter in our drafty old house of my childhood, he would climb into bed together with my brother just to warm up. It seemed to me to be such a weird contrast. His hot body in life and as ashes and the cold stone catacomb.

We spent that night at my brother's beloved house. HE. LOVED. THIS. HOUSE. It sits at the foot of a hill. It's serene there. His garden has all of his touches, from the persimmon tree to the manicured pines. His beloved dog, Bonnie, greeted us. Poor thing. Doesn't know where his human dad is. She paced along the fence like she always does, looking for something or someone.

My mother and I slept badly that night. We split a Valium pill. This was maybe the 3rd time in my life that I had to take it. But this night, we really needed it. My mother was having an anxiety attack, and I just couldn't put the day behind.

When my mother's breathing finally became rhythmic, I slowly drifted into sleep next to her, listening to the gentle sound of her quiet snoring.

The next day began early.

We had to be at the funeral parlor at 6:30 and leave at 7. We gathered all of our things from the adjoining suite where Yung-Un, Kyurie, and Hong-Kyu had been sleeping. Once we gathered all of our things, we went outside and packed them into cars. There were 2 buses waiting to take all the family and the guests to the crematory via KAIST. KAIST had arranged an unprecedented memorial in my brother's honor.

There was a hearse behind the bus. The funeral parlor director motioned for 6 people to come and retrieve the coffin. Then out they came carrying my brother's coffin. It was a very simple pine coffin. My brother was in there. It contained the last physical evidence that my brother had ever been on this Earth.

Up until then I had this stupid thought in my head. The quacks at the hospital have misdiagnosed. If anyone can come back to life as if in an Edgar Allan Poe story, it would be my brother. Of course, there must have been some sort of mistake. My brother had always been injury-prone, survived many accidents. This must be one of them. He just needs to wake up and show everyone that all of this had been a huge mistake.

But my brother didn't wake up.

As the coffin was being carried, there was no sign of resistance. No one screaming, LET ME OUT!, or knocking to be heard. He wasn't coming back. He didn't survive this time.

I had never ever been sadder at that moment than at any other moment in my life.

The coffin was placed inside the hearse, we boarded the bus and began the slow ride to KAIST.

My brother's colleagues at KAIST had arranged a tour of all the places my brother had occupied. His mailboxes. His office. His lab. The faculty lounge. It all had traces of my brother. There were motorcycle paraphernalia in his office. 2 helmets. 2 pairs of boots. In the corner.

As we entered the lobby of the Graduate School of Nano Science and Technology, we saw there were maybe 200 people gathered on a Monday. One of his students spoke on behalf of all of his students. Then one of his colleagues spoke on behalf of all the professors. Then finally, the president of KAIST spoke these words:

추도사 (追悼辭)

우리는 이제
우리의 자랑이었으며, 사랑했던 동료
신중훈 교수님을 보내드리려고 합니다.

아직도 3일전 비보에 놀란
쓰리고 황망한 가슴이 가라앉질 않습니다.

이 슬픔과 안타까움은
잊혀질 수 없음을 우리는 잘 알고 있습니다.

신 교수님은
부모님과
세상에서 가장 사랑했던 아내 홍영은 사모님,
따님 규리와 아드님 홍규,
그 외의 가족분들,
지도를 받아온 제자들,
국내외 동료 선후배들의 추억과 그리움 속에서
영원히 함께 할 것입니다.

신 교수님은 늘 정직하고,
권위적이지 않은 분이셨습니다.

아내와 두 자녀에게
어느 누구보다도 더 친밀하고 사랑스러운
가장이었으며,
동료 선후배들 사이에서는
형처럼, 아우처럼, 친구처럼
격이 없고,
동시에 항상 정의롭고, 지혜로운 분이었습니다.

신 교수님의 교육과 연구
그리고 학문을 향한 꿈과 열정은
KAIST인들의 귀감이었고,
동료 선후배들에게 베푼
그의 깊은 우정은
KAIST인들의 가슴을 항상 따뜻하게 했습니다.

신중훈 교수님!
견디기 힘든 슬픔을 뒤로 하고,
이제 당신을 놓아드리려고 합니다.

교수님도 너무 갑작스런 이별의
슬픔과 회한을 내려 놓으시고,
고요하고 평화로운 곳에서
편히 쉬시길 바랍니다.

KAIST인들도 신 교수님의
꿈과 열정이 헛되지 않도록
열과 성을 다해 정진하겠습니다.

사랑하는 사모님, 따님 규리, 아드님 홍규가
이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고,
굳건히 생활할 수 있도록
항상 지켜 봐 주시리라 믿습니다.

KAIST도
가족분들이 큰 슬픔을 이겨내고
행복할 수 있도록
최선을 다하겠습니다.

안녕히 가십시오.

KAIST 총장 강 성 모

***

We are about to bid our final good bye to our beloved colleague, Professor Shin Jung Hoon, who was also a great source of pride for all of us. 

The feelings of shock and grief that we felt upon receiving the sad news of his passing three days ago are still present in all of us today. 

We will never forget this immense grief and sense of loss.

Professor Shin will live forever now in the beautiful memories and remembrances in all of us -- his parents, the love of his life--his wife Yung Un, his daughter Kyurie, and his son Hong Kyu, and his other family members, his students on whom he bestowed so much of his wisdom, and his colleagues here and abroad.

He was an honest, loyal, and modest man.

He especially loved his family, he was a good and loving husband to his wife and good father to his two children. At work he treated all colleagues as equals regardless of rank or standing; he was a brother, friend to everyone without a trace of formality while at the same being fiercely loyal to and wise with everyone.

His passion for research and his teaching, and his vision for the future were sources of pride for KAIST, and his generosity and friendship never failed to warm the hearts of everyone who came across his path. 

Professor Shin Jung Hoon!

We are now preparing to let you go by putting our indescribable sorrow and grief behind. 

We would also call on you to let go of the pain of your sudden departure and to find peace and tranquility in your final resting place. 

We at KAIST will do everything we can to continue your legacy, your passeions and your dreams, and your visions.

We believe deeply that you will watch over your beloved wife, daughter, and son, and help them overcome this deep grief.

We at KAIST also promise that we will do our best to help your beloved family overcome their grief and find happiness again.

Good bye.

President Kang Sung Mo, KAIST

***

It was truly moving. Everyone was grieving. Not just us. The world in which my brother navigated as a scientist, colleague, and mentor was grieving, too. 

My baby brother
at one year old

I am following my friend Debbie's suggestion that I journal about my emotions following my baby brother's untimely death.

That's right. My baby brother, the invincible, the indefatigable Jung, died on September 30th in a motorcycle accident. As I write this, it is still very hard for me to believe that he is gone.

The last picture of the
 three of us together

My brother had been the model of health. He was bench-pressing close to 300 pounds, he was becoming huge. He was quite proud of it. Before that, he had tried many ball sports, but was never good at any of them. In high school he played basketball every day after school with his buddies with no improvement. He was also slow, so much so that his German schoolmates called him Ackergaul. But bench-pressing was different. I hear that he was becoming somewhat of a legend at the gym at the school where he taught. It was a science, read geek, school, so it wasn't like there were jocks he had to compete against. Still it was obvious that he spent a lot of time at the gym and loved every minute he spent there.

When I got the news, I had just gotten up to get ready for work. It was a Friday. I had just made a trip to Chicago with Bobby the previous weekend, so I was looking forward to having a relaxing weekend. Then I saw this very simple message from my sister on my phone.

Jung left this world a short while ago in a traffic accident. 

I called my mother. She was on her way to Daejeon where my brother lived. What happened? She was calm. Jung died in a traffic accident. Can you believe it? We are on our way. Can you come? Yes. I will look for tickets right away. How long can you stay? As long as I need to. Can you stay for 10 days? Yes, I can. Who should come? Dad wants just you. Just you.

Then I messaged my sister. What the hell happened? He must have died in a motorcycle accident. I knew this would happen! Yes, that is what I hear. He was hit by a cab making an illegal turn. Had he been in a car, he would have walked away from it? Perhaps. I was mad. I wanted tell my brother, I TOLD YOU SO! NOW LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED!

I immediately started looking for tickets. It was too late to catch the day's flights to Seoul. I settled for looking for flying out the next day. Finally I found a flight that left the next morning from Raleigh to arrive in Seoul in the evening on Sunday. I set up all of my classes up online for while I was to be gone, then I started packing. What does one pack on such short notice? How is it that brother died without any notice? Nothing had sunk in yet. As I was packing, I was still in disbelief.

I am in fact still in disbelief only to be interrupted by moments of reality.

I called my mother and told her of my itinerary that night. As we were video-chatting, my mother, clothed in Korean mourning garb, asked me if I wanted to see Jung's funeral picture. Then she turned the phone. She said, Look at him, smiling silly. And he was. He always had a great smile. And he was smiling like he always did.

That night I slept horribly, perhaps getting 2 hours of sleep. The whole flight to Seoul is a blur. My memory picks up when I got to Seoul. I found the ticket booth for the shuttles, and got myself a ticket to Daejeon. I then called my mother. I should be in Daejeon around 10. During the whole ride, I was dreaming of alternately between my brother being dead and my brother being alive.

It was overwhelming seeing everyone at the funeral parlor on the basement floor of the hospital where brother had been taken. The hallway was covered with flowers that had been sent. All white Chrysanthemums as white is the color of mourning in Korea. Chrysanthemums from individuals, universities, groups, mostly names that I didn't recognize.

Then I entered the room where people were paying respects. Kyurie and Hongkyu were sitting along the one side of the room as if in a receiving line. Then I saw my brother's picture. With that silly smile too happy for someone who just died. And I lost it. I couldn't stop my tears. The reality was sinking in. I changed into the mourning outfit. My mother was worried about me having had a long trip and being hungry, so led me into the hall across the hallway where meals were being served to guests.

My brother's octopus lips were not
popular with nieces and nephews

My mother calmly told me what was been happening on the day I arrived. My brother's body had been placed ritualistically into the simple pine coffin. She wished that I had been there. It is a custom in Korea that you don't open a casket once it is sealed. I wished that I could have come earlier so I could have seen my brother one last time. Kissed him one last time. He had always been such an avid lover of kisses, especially for his sisters, nieces, and nephews, we sometimes called him octopus lips. I not only regret, I am hopelessly and infinitely sad about it.

My father assured me that my brother looked at peace. There was not a scratch on his face. In fact, there were only three places that had been opened and sutured up on his right side post-mortem as he was brought into the hospital already dead. He had died very quickly. My father was very matter-of-fact. So much so that I wondered if he knew that his beloved son had died. How is it that he is so calm?

At about one o'clock, my mother, my sister, and I headed for the hotel. The next morning was to start early at 6:30 with the cremation and the interment of his ashes scheduled. We have a family plot on the mountainside in the country about an hour and a half south of Seoul. My sister and I talked a little, then I tried to sleep. quietly. I heard my mother finally fall asleep, starting to snore quietly. I slept maybe for 3 hours. I was still walking between dreamland and reality.

As I write this, it still seems like a dream to me, not just a dream, but a dream that is many times removed from me. It does not even seem like my dream. It seems like someone else's dream.

I got into the car as I left my last class today at UNCW. I am getting back into my normal teaching routine. I am finally dealing with this. Jung would be proud. Then the tears welled up in my eyes. They come from nowhere these days. I have sane and very normal hours during the day, immersed in work. Then once or twice a day, suddenly I think about my brother. Sometimes because I think of something to ask him, only to tell myself, no, I can't. He's gone. Or I see Bobby and how much he looks like my brother. I am not sure if this is normal. I guess one cannot be sad all the time or normal all the time after a loss like this. My normal hours are longer, but my sad moments are stronger. We will see how things go. But for now, I am really, really missing my brother.

This is something that weighs heavily on my mind. I am as progressive as people come. Online surveys say that I am more of a Green Party supporter than a Democratic Party supporter. But I am not idealistic. Rather, I am pragmatic. I know that Hillary Clinton is not my ideal candidate, but she has a good chance at winning and Jill Stein none. I choose Clinton because the idea of getting some progressive ideas to become reality is better than getting NO progressive ideas to become reality. Think about it. Wouldn't it be better to have some than none at all?

Have you noticed that the majority of Stein voters are white? I am not saying that all are. Most are. And they seem very angry. They all claim that they are going to "vote their conscience" because Clinton is too hawkish, or Clinton is no better than Trump (really?), or whatever. In my mind as a person of color, these are people who would not lose much if Donald Trump were president. But if you are a person of color, LGBTQ, or otherwise different, you stand to lose a lot. Trump has promised that. If you are a person of color, you DO NOT have the luxury of "voting your conscience" because you know full well your vote affects you directly.

If you are still "voting your conscience", you may sleep better at night, but be aware that you are behaving unethically. Philosophers have written about the ethics of voting in the same way. Voting is actually not a personal act. It's a very public act because your vote affects the public at large. If you "vote your conscience" and vote for a candidate with no chance of winning or doing anything for you, you are basically telling people of color and LGBTQ people that you don't care about them. You are telling them that you care more about yourself than those who may be harmed by your action. "Voting your conscience" is one of the most selfish actions you can take right now.

I am Asian. To be specific, I am Korean American. I am highly educated and, though I earn a meager community college professor's salary, my professor husband and I together have made comfortable lives for ourselves and our two children. I am in many ways living the American dream. A house. A family. A respectable job. I am a model minority.

And I hate being a model minority. It's so pejorative. It's so limiting. It is so a term coined by whites who wish that minorities would act more white. There. You are a model minority if your life is like the life of white people. But this is deceptive. Not all whites live like that. There are plenty of white people living in poverty, out of wedlock, on food stamps, homeless, hopeless. The idea of someone having made in the image of the successful white is as much a mirage as it is the image of a black man as a thug.

I saw a recent report on what racial groups sympathize with Black Lives Matter. At the top are blacks, then followed by Asians (over 60%), then followed by Hispanics. This is curious. If Asians are the model minority and are supposed to have integrated into the American society so well that somehow they are the non-white whites, what is the cause of this huge percentage if Asians sympathizing with a movement started to bring attention to the racial divide in police brutality?

Even though on the surface Asians have achieved the so-called American dream, the reality is that racism still exists for them. All Asians run into racism at some point. They can be successful doctors, lawyers, professors, and other professionals, but still they are treated differently. For example, I am asked all the time how come I speak German? Would a white German teacher ever be asked this? Also, the existence of bamboo ceiling, for example, is well-documented. The fact is simply that, while Asians may have been successful immigrants, they are still subjected to the racist bias in white America. Asians experience this everyday while at the same time being touted as the model minority. It is as if Asians can achieve all that they want, but they are still reminded that they are NOT quite American enough.

Think about it. You do everything that you are supposed to do, and yet you still face discrimination. What can the reason be? Racism. It still permeates the American society. That is why Asians sympathize with Black Lives Matter even though it would seem they have nothing to complain about. I, for one, sympathize strongly with Black Lives Matter. I know that racism exists. If I, as an Asian American, as a model minority, still face racism, then how bad must it be for blacks whom many accuse of being the failed minority?





 

Seriously??

So, the latest CNN polls show that the race between Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump is tightening. Trump is now just a few points behind Hillary Clinton. One poll has Donald Trump leading.

SERIOUSLY????

How can a two-faced, nay, the multi-faced Trump even be taken seriously? In previous elections, he would have been derided and dismissed as a flip-flopper. Remember John Kerry? His flip-flop was that he was for it before he was against it. And that became the defining blow to the Kerry campaign. The Swift Boat ad was the natural result of that where the seemingly patriotic Kerry turned out to be a highly unpatriotic Vietnam War opposer. Flip flop. Not only does he flop-flop, he IS the flip-flop personified.

Trump has told more lies than I can count. He even lied many times on the same day. Why does Trump get a free pass?

At the same time, Hillary Clinton gets scrutinized for every perceived infraction. So there were the emails. They were exhaustively investigated and she was exonerated. But it is still used as something to show that she "lies." That is now the scandal du jour. Benghazi has obviously taken a step back.

Whatever outrageous thing he says, he didn't mean it. He will pivot.

Whatever Hillary says, she's lying because she is a liar. Tautology, anyone?

Whatever dumb thing Trump says, he will be ok because he will surround himself with good people. Let's see. Steve Bannon, Chris Christie, Paul Manafort. As Steve Inskeep points out on NPR on Morning Edition this morning, does that mean that Trump himself can be as ignorant as f***? But he's going to make the decision ultimately. Unless we revisit the Bush presidency. Remember the man called Cheney????

Whatever dumb thing Hillary says, it's because she is not good enough. She is never good enough. Because woman. Sexism is still rampant.

I am at a loss for words. I keep thinking that Americans will come to their senses, but will they?

The fallacies of Bernie or Bust and Only Trump Can Save Our Nation
Written on 7/28/2016

I was very upset today.

My friend Khris is a good Democrat and a passionate Hillary supporter. She is an older, petite lady, but tenacious. She was in Philadelphia for the DNC Convention and will be travelling back home tomorrow.

She posted a picture on Facebook today of her bruised arm. She had been posting about the rather uncivil Bernie or Busters that are staying at the same motel. Last night, as the bus unloaded the Convention attendees, she was confronted by them. Apparently one of them grabbed her by the arm and yelled at her. The motel kicked him out. Then she woke up this morning with the bruise on her arm.

What to make of this?

The presidential race in the United States is a winner-take-all contest. It is surprising, given this winner-take-all nature of the presidential race that there is actually no majority rule. The winner does not have to get the majority vote, s/he needs to get the biggest share of votes. This was the case when Clinton won and when George W. Bush won. And this one person gets to occupy one of the 3 branches of the government. Just one person. Therefore, the stakes are high during every presidential election cycle and the parties go all out to get their candidate elected. Exorbitant amount of money is spent to get their chosen candidate elected.

This is a good setup for all or nothing attitude in the supporters of the parties and the candidates. It is their candidate or no one. Because their candidate cannot be faulty, they reject everyone else for the reason that they are faulty. That happens even when their candidate has glaring faults that stare you in the eye. Donald Trump's supporters, for example, acknowledge that he is less than truthful, but ascribe it to campaign strategy. As he himself said, "I can shoot somebody in the middle of 5th street and I wouldn't even lose any voters. Ok? It's like incredible." Once the candidate is perceived to be perfect, all the real imperfections cease to exist in their eye.

Many Bernie supporters are still adamantly behind Bernie. They say that Hillary Clinton is as crooked as Donald Trump. They call her "crooked Hillary". But the choice of words is very interesting. Donald Trump has been calling her "crooked Hillary" for a while now, so these Bernie supporters have knowingly or unknowingly adapted Trump's language even when they say they will not vote for Trump. If it's not Bernie, then everyone else is the same. Hence, fallacy #1, false equivalency.

Many of those who say they will not back Clinton or anyone else cling to fallcy #2, perfectionist fallacy, where they will reject everything that is not perfect as unacceptable. You see and hear this all the time. We can't enact gun laws because they won't stop gun violence. Inaction is better than "compromised" action. Perfection or nothing. Bernie or Bust.

Or they now say they will back Jill Stein. But also doesn't make any sense. Stein is not perfect--her action at the DNC's convention, wooing disenchanted Democrats, hawking for their votes, was the kind of hawkish behavior they had been accusing Hillary Clinton of having. Now the perfection they seek has been transposed onto Jill Stein, who, without a political career, but with a long history of running for office, has not yet had the kind of scrutiny that Clinton has had in her many years in public service. It's not even a fair comparison.

Now turning to Trump. Trump has been saying since the announcement of his candidacy that he is the only one who can "make America great again." Whatever that means no one knows, but it harkens back to some past that one looks upon nostalgically. The voters who support Trump for this reason are called, aptly, "nostalgia voters." But this type of nostalgic view of the past American greatness and the present American slide is contradictory to the premise of the Constitution itself. If you believe that this nation is always on the road to perfecting itself as the Declaration of Independence says, then Trump has it wrong. He puts America's great some time in the past, which is in direct contrast to the mission of this country.

If you look at the kind of crowd at Trump's rallies, it is unmistakable that it comprises of mainly white people. They behave as badly as Trump himself, sucker-punching, pushing, cussing at those who protest. They are emboldened by Trump and his behavior, see him as their savior. They mimic his behavior and his speeches. He is the only one who can save the nation now. In this sense, they think no differently than Bernie or Busters. Only he, insert name here, can save the nation. Only HE. He is the only perfect candidate. Fallacy #2--the perfectionist fallacy.

How did the current presidential race become such a personality contest and a show of idolatry? Let cool heads reign. As I wrote in my last blog, voting is an ethical act. Your vote should be a moral choice. Will one candidate over the other, if s/he were to win, cause harm to others? If the answer is yes, then your moral and ethical choice is clear.

Can Yogis be politically active?

In The Yoga Sutras of Pantajali, Sri Swami Satchidananda discusses cultivating attitudes toward four different kinds of people. As a practicing yogi, your utmost importance is placed in achieving peace. This peace is ultimately achieved by uniting with the Divine with the recognition that this Divine is within us as it is also within each and everyone of us.

Now the four different kinds of people: the "happy", the "unhappy," the "virtuous," and the "wicked." Swami Satchidananda urges friendliness and compassion to these respectively. In my mind, the first two have to do with with feelings. One feels happy or one feels unhappy. On the other hand, the virtuous and the wicked, in my opinion, have to do with morality. Unlike the ephemeral feelings of happiness or unhappiness, the virtuosity and wickedness seem to go beyond spontaneous human emotions. They seem to speak of human disposition, seated more deeply within human psyche. One cannot be virtuous one moment and not virtuous the next. Likewise, one cannot be wicked on moment and not wicked the next. For these last two Swami Satchidananda urges delight and disregard respectively. Regarding "wickedness," he writes that maybe if we leave them alone, they will come out of their wickedness. "Don't try to advise such people," he writes, "because wicked people seldom take advice. If you try to advise them you will lose your peace."

Because in trying to convert these people into good people, I will lose my peace, and my peace is of UTMOST important above all else, I am not to try to give them any help in how to stop being wicked.  I understand Satchidananda to be saying this: if you find peace within yourself, and you radiate this peace, this peace will cause othersfollow your example and find their way to peace and, therefore, enlightenment. This is what it means to detach from the world, by detaching from the world, by this "involution," one sets a chain reaction of sorts. This is enlightenment. The more wickedness you see, the more inward you turn.

I have a problem with that. Since there will always be "wicked" people as these people are not to be advised, we also have to be willing to live with this fact. This seems to be extremely undemocratic and defeatist. Isn't democracy all about getting that majority to agree with you? How do you get someone to agree with you if you don't try to advise them?

I know lots of politically enegaged people. I know lots of yogis. I also know that lots of yogis supported Barack Obama in 2008, but it was also a taboo to publicly acknowledge such favoritism then. Since then Seane Corn publicly supported Occupy Wall Street movement, she now tours with Michael Franti, another outspoken yogi who seeks justice. The two were in Wilmington, NC, my hometown, recently to support the overturn of HB2, the anti-transgender bathroom bill. And this year, more than ever, more yogis are speaking up against Trump and on behalf of Hillary Clinton because, seriously, Donald Trump is the antithesis of everything yogic. But I digress.

Well, I guess Satchidananda is right. I am getting agitated and disturbed just by this mere thought. The question to ask yourself is, "what is more important? My own peace or the peace of others at the cost of my own?"

I should really be finishing up the syllabi for my fall classes. With only 2 weeks until classes start, typically I would have them all done by now. This year is different. I am glued to my newsfeed.

I have a recurring thought about the state of affairs in American politics. It concerns the ethics of voting.

You hear people say it. They say, "political discussions don't belong at the dinner table!" Or "please no political posts on Facebook!" Or "No more tweets about the presidential election!" Then, ultimately they say, either, "please vote your conscience", or "vote your heart."

1. "Vote your conscience"

We have to think about that a little bit. When such a statement is made about conscience in the context of voting, the significance of the ACT of voting is highlighted. Moreover, it establishes a connection between conscience and the choice you make for political office. Why? The undeniable fact is that your vote may contribute to someone being elected has implications, not only for you, but for all others who may have to live your choice for the next 2,4,6 years. Therefore, it is not an act done lightly.

Then, what does it mean to say "vote your conscience"? We first need to examine what conscience is. Conscience, by definition, is the voice in your head that tells you how to choose between right and wrong. Conscience tells you what is right. Conscience turns voting into a deliberate, moral activity.

How then is it possible that there such a range of what people believe is right? BernieOrBusters, for example, are convinced that they are right in rejecting Hillary Clinton's nomination, be it because the election was rigged (oh, how Americans love conspiracy theories!), or she is just as bad as Trump (really? They have bought the Right's demonization of Clinton for over 20 years), or they want a third party (a great idea, but starting with the office of the president is a BAD idea.)

The Trumpsters. They really believe that the world is in a tail spin. God may strike a blow any time now. Because gays. ISIS is going to infiltrate our society and we may all die. Or ISIS will send jihadists from abroad and we all die. Or the world as we have known it is slowly disappearing. That happens. I could go on and on.

They all think they are right.

The problem is that there is no fixed idea of what is right. What we perceive to be right depends upon what we bring to our thought process, which has been conditioned by our experiences. We can't possibly know what others' experiences are so we rely on ours. If you are a white male, you are going to see the world as declining for you. If you are a female, you are going to see the world gradually opening up for you. If you are a black male, you see the world that devalues your life. If you are a black female, you see the world that says you are either a ho or mammy. Etc.

So then, the real dilemma is that it is difficult to see the world outside your experiences. Because conscience cannot ever be objective, there has to be more than that for us to use when we vote.

2. Vote your heart

Just as people say to "vote your conscience," they are also likely to say, "vote your heart." Shall we define "heart" here just as we did" conscience" Anatomically speaking, heart is an organ that pumps your blood. Your heart stops, you die. Unlike your brain. Your brain stops functioning, you are "brain-dead." That means that you lost your capacity to think, but your heart is still pumping. You are technically alive, but we lose the ability to think and reflect and thereby lose what defines us as humans--as sentient beings. So then heart and brain are seeming opposites with opposing functions.

But that's not all that heart is. As we saw above, if conscience is a guide for doing the right thing as opposed to the wrong thing, then what does heart have to do with voting? Typically, we say, "follow your heart" when trying to help others with decisions. Heart, of course, is a metaphor for our warm and fuzzy feelings as opposed to calculated rational thinking. So when you follow your heart, make a decision on your feelings. You are guided by, not by a sense of right and wrong, but rather by a sense of what you love and what you don't. So then we might argue that "voting your heart" means that we do less deliberation and more intuition centered around you. As such, it is radically individualistic. Even more than conscience, heart can never be objective. It's always subjective.

So then is the act of voting destined to be an individual choice based on subjective views of the mind or heart? Here is an interesting article that I came across a couple of days ago.

http://qz.com/717255/ethicists-say-voting-with-your-heart-without-a-care-about-the-consequences-is-actually-immoral/

This one particular paragraph is worth examining.

The purpose of voting is not to express your fidelity to a worldview. It's not to wave a flag or paint your face in team colors; it's to produce outcomes. . . If they are smart, they'll vote for the candidate likely to best produce the outcome they want. That my very well be compromising, but if voting for a far-left or far-right candidate means that you're just going to lose the election, then you've brought the world further away from justice rather than closer to it. 

This passage pretty much tells us that voting far-right or far-left who have no chance of winning, therefore, affecting any meaningful outcome, is throwing our votes away. There is just no meaning in it with the winner-take-all election. Can humans actually be ok with meaningless actions? Can voting your heart really equal this type of meaninglessness?

The following example is is even more pertinent.

As a citizen, I have a duty to others because it's not just me and my principles, but everybody. . . I have to consider how what I do will impact other people. For example, if I was a die-hard Bernie supporter, I might say my principles tell me to vote for Bernie. But I'm not going to let my principles condemn other people to suffering. 

How did voting get so complicated? What we consider to be a private act of conscience or heart is actually not an individual or even private act that calls upon one's ability to think or intuit. It's a collective act whose outcome affects EVERYONE. Your vote matters, not just to yourself, but also to others. Voting is the ultimate collective action in any democracy.

Voting, therefore, is not a matter of pure conscience or pure heart. It is a matter of conscience AND heart. Your heart may tell you what agrees with you. It tells you what makes you feel good. Then that feeling must be followed by your conscience so that you may make, based upon the feelings that are present in your heart, a conscious, ethical choice. Not just for you. For all human beings. It turns out that the every individual act of voting has enormous implications for the collective.

Think about it.

Strange things are happening in the world of American politics.

1. It reads like a spy/ conspiracy/ cold war/ cyber war fiction.

Russia's Putin hates Clinton, but loves Trump. That has been known for a while. At the same time, Trump's admiration of Putin for the law and order that Putin established at the expense of massive civil liberties in Russia is also well-known. In fact, Trump himself has shown a dictarorial bent, including trusting, it seems, only his own flesh and blood. Russia's official agencies hack into the DNC email and Wikileaks publishes it.

Some interesting developments on this here and here.

At the end of the day, the DNC chair is forced to resign and Bernie supporters are livid that their conspiracy theories were confirmed. The party convention preparations that had been going smoothly are rocked to the core. Trump's numbers rise and is again tied in the polls with Hillary Clinton. It looks from the outside like Putin has been the grand puppeteer playing with American voters to affect the election results in his favor. Whoa!

2. Many Bernie supporters are no different than some Trump supporters. Both groups purport to vote for their candidate for their children and grandchildren. They share the same goal, just with different candidates. Watch this video:

https://www.facebook.com/claudia.stauber/videos/10208776020210828/

"I don't give a fuck about Trump. Trump is dangerous for this country, but so is Hillary Clinton."

She sounds and acts crazy. Has she been following the same Hillary Clinton as I have? Years of being in the spotlight, granted some bad, but also much good, but overall an intelligent, unjustly maligned woman?

I voted for Bernie Sanders in the primary. I was a Bernie supporter. But he never gained a wide appeal. But his supporters created this persona of Bernie who seemed to do no wrong. The idea of Bernie was separate from Bernie, the person. Hence, the boos when Bernie the person stated during his speech that Hillary Clinton needs to win over Trump. I don't understand these people. So thoroughly beholden to the perfectionist fallacy. Bernie was their perfect candidate, so when he wasn't, he was booed. Which is why now they are saying that they are going to vote for Jill Stein.

3. Jill Stein is the Ralph Nader of this election. She does not have a long political history like Clinton, so there is not much that one can fault. No fault, therefore, translates into perfection for many Bernie supporters now turned Stein supporters. False equivalency, anyone?

Stein sounds just like the woman in the video. She insinuates that Trump and Clinton are equally bad. Maybe Trump is a little worse because he is a racist. Stein has stated that Clinton has already done what Trump is promising. Awww, only if things were that simple. Again, false equivalency, anyone?

I remember 16 years ago (16 years already!!!) when Al Gore ran for president against George W. Bush. Bush wasn't really a well-known political figure because the governorship of Texas is more of a figure head for the state than an actual policy maker, and people thought that he would govern much like his dad. They bought his "compassionate conservative" label for himself. People liked the guy. He was goofy, he would be a great beer buddy.

Gore, on the other hand, was boring. He talked too much. He was too professorial. He was too stiff. No one would want to have a beer with him. Many progressives voted for Ralph Nader because they were not satisfied with Gore. Protest vote.

Then while the Supreme Court was taking time to decide who won the election, many cried for the White House to be occupied because it didn't matter who was in it. They were the same, good or bad. And what happened? We started 2 wars, spent trillions of dollars in them, thousands of American soldiers dead, and untold number of Afghans and Iraqis dead. Oh, how different the world would be now if Gore had become president. . .

4. Americans love revolutions. We are taught early on that is how the country came to be. Revolutions are good. Revolutions are sacred. Revolutions are how we bring about change.

Revolutions only work when the majority participates in them. Think about Ron Paul. He ran many times for president, promising a revolution. Remember his rEVOLution? But he didn't get anywhere because his supporters were seen as fringe. Bernie supporters also love revolutions. They call their support of the idea of Bernie a revolution. It failed to gain support of the majority. Then it is not a revolution. It's a failed attempt at a quick change.

What Bernie supporters need to do, instead of acting up, booing, stamping their feet, yelling at the top of their heads like petulant children, is to spread their revolutionary ideas and bring the majority of the populace to agree with them over time. America does need to change. Badly. Will it happen through reforms? Doable. Will it happen through a revolution? I don't know, but if it is a revolution, there had better be the majority of people backing it.

I ran across a very interesting article today. It was about Rosa Luxemburg and the idea of reform vs. revolution. Luxemburg rejected the reformist attitude of the Social Democrats and embraced Communism. For her, reforms do nothing to bring about the change that was needed to bring down capitalism and exploitation of workers. Only a mass revolt will do. As she said, "Only when the great mass of workers take the keen and dependable weapons of scientific socialism in their own hand, will all the petty-bourgeois inclinations, all the opportunistic current, come to naught." (http://www.solidarity.net.au/mag/back/2009/13/rosa-luxemburg-reform-or-revolution)

For Luxemburg, "socialism could not be achieved by capturing the capitalist state through parliament because the state ultimately represents the capitalist class." As a political theory, however, Luxemburg's idea is problematic. Let's say the mass strike and revolt is successful. What then? Can the true workers' paradise be achieved? That's what the Bolshevik Revolution was about. That's what Leninism was. Luxemburg could not have known what was ultimately to become of the Bolshevik Revolution because she was assassinated in 1919 and never saw how unrealizable it is. As my friend Kevin Amidon says, "Rosa Luxemburg was right. The left's great WEAKNESS is that Leninism always trumps reformism."

It is foolish to be infatuated with revolutions in my humble opinion unless there is the complete capability and the certainty of mass revolt.

Another way to successfully revolt with only the minority of people backing it is with arms. Right now, there are plenty of these people: believers of certain religions and gods who use arms to force change onto the masses even if the masses don't want it. But we know that's not a revolution. There is another word for it. It is terrorism.

Think about it.

I am back!

It's election season again!!

And what a circus it has been. And I purposefully don't include the Democrats here in the circus even though there were tense moments when Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders vying for votes to be the nominee. They were for the most part civil. That's right civil.

Which is completely lacking on the Republican side. Nothing about the primary season was civil. Now that is post primary season, there is even less civility. Donald Trump has created a cult of celebrity that he used to mesmerize people into believing that he can govern. The GOP convention is happening in Cleveland this week, and the scenes and words from the convention have confirmed not only that Trump is a demagogue, but also that he is turning the entire GOP into a band of rabid worshippers.

I am writing this the day after Ted Cruz, himself a candidate to the extreme right, called for Republicans to vote their conscience. And he was heavily criticized for not uniting behind the candidate.

http://thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/news/288642-kasich-doesnt-regret-skipping-convention

What can I say? It used to be that conservatives were principled people, perhaps even ideologically stubborn to a fault. That was actually admirable, even if it was sometimes impractical.

What's going on at the GOP convention is so far is that the GOP has lost all of its principles and its ability to govern, it shapeshifts to suit the mercurial candidate's mood, has abandoned the most basic clause in the Constitution that "all men are created equal", and has turned into a bizarre freak show featuring white folks hell-bent on demonizing the Other (first it was the black president, now it is the female candidate) to a degree that it is turning into a bloodthirsty band of hateful, rabid brown shirts.

That's all for now, folks. More to follow.