Is Frank Abagnale Still Conning Us?

Posted on 17 Mar 2015 by Frank Moraes

If you know the name Frank Abagnale, it is probably from the film Catch Me If You Can or his autobiography of the same name. He’s one of those colorful characters that we Americans love. And as portrayed in the film, what’s not to like? It is the only movie in which I’ve actually liked Leonardo DiCaprio. In the film, Abagnale seems immature and lost and very much alone. We can forgive him for his trespasses. The real Abagnale is not so lovable. The thing you should know about him is that he’s a con man.

Abagnale started off defrauding his father and then worked his way into check fraud. Far from being immature, he managed to pull off many of his cons because he was large and looked old for his age. He ripped off a lot of people over the course of his criminal career. Hooray! But he is best known for having impersonated airline pilots, doctors, and lawyers. The problem is that there is very little documentation of many of his exploits. The primary documentation is from Frank Abagnale himself — a con man.

I remember watching some feature about the making of the film Catch Me If You Can. In it, someone mentioned how when Abagnale was on the set, he was the center of attention with everyone hanging on every word of his stories. And that makes sense because being charismatic and a good storyteller are critical to the con artist. So I wonder just what we are to make of Frank Abagnale. I tend to think that his story is not one of redemption, but rather just the extended story of a con artist who found a better way to pitch his con.

In 2002, Abagnale released a statement on his website claiming that his book was never meant to be an accurate autobiography. It was just his ghostwriter who “over dramatized and exaggerated some of the story.” He’s not willing to come out and say what is exaggerated. Instead, he immediately discussed some matters of fact that have nothing to do with the allegations people have made against him. In other words: he used the standard con man’s trick of misdirection.

Another aspect of Abagnale is the white privilege that he demonstrates. In his statement, he wrote:

In the U.S Federal Court, I was sentenced as a youthful offender because of my age at the time the crimes were committed. Even so, I was given 12 years of which I served a total of five years. This was considered harsh punishment then and almost unheard of today.

Not really. Just a week before he made his statement, Texas executed a young man for a murder he committed as a minor. But the truth is that after getting out of jail, far from suffering for the rest of his life under a felony conviction, Abagnale was able to use his criminal past to his benefit. I just don’t see that happening for him if he had been black or brown. Of course, his original crimes were likely only possible because he was white.

I have no doubt that Abagnale is a brilliant man. And I don’t begrudge him his life and his $10 million net worth. But it does bother me that he is held up as a hero. It’s very much like Jack Abramoff, but over a very long time. And no one ever mistook Abramoff for someone interesting. At least Abagnale — regardless of how much of a liar he may be — has interesting stories to tell.

Why Pickles Are Forced on Us

Posted on 10 Mar 2015 by Frank Moraes

For a few years of my life, I worked in a deli. And that meant that pretty much the whole time, my hands smelled of pickles. I did not like that. Before that time, I had always hated pickles. And nothing has changed since then. Why would it? Pickles are still awful. I’ve never gotten my head around the fact that people take cucumbers — which are very tasty — and turn them into pickles — which are not. So let us consider the pickle from my extremely objective point of view.

The modern pickle is actually a pickled cucumber. Pickling is a process whereby edible foods are transformed into inedible foods. The economics of this process is unclear to me. I think it has to do with the supply side of the chain and not the demand side. In general, people who came in the deli wouldn’t have been unhappy if there had been no pickles. But as a deli, you want to give the customer something on the side of her sandwich. Sure, you could give her some potato salad, but that’s costly. You could give a slice of cucumber, but that has a problem: you have to slice it, more or less at the time. That’s where pickles come in: they are pre-sliced and they last many months.

As with many culinary delights and monstrosities, we Americans can thank and blame the Jewish culture. (For the record, kugel and latkes are two of the most delicious food in all the world and proof that Dr Atkins was evil.) I learned all about it in a Mental Floss article, Why Does Your Sandwich Come With a Pickle? According to it, eastern European Jewish immigrants brought the pickle with them to New York. So pickles became a thing at Jewish delis, and soon it spread out to other delis and then across the nation so that now the most repeated phrase in the English language is, “No pickles!”

According to the article, there is a reason for eating pickles with your sandwich: they work as a “palate cleanser.” That may be the case. I know that whenever I go wine tasting, they provide pickles to eat between each variety. Just kidding! They don’t do that because it is a totally ridiculous idea! Indeed, the article references another article regarding this “fact.” So I read that article: it didn’t say a word about it. Again: because it isn’t true! And think about it: it doesn’t make sense. Why would you need a “palate cleanser”? The thing about a sandwich is that all parts of it taste the same. What’s more, if pickles are a “palate cleanser,” then why are they so often put on sandwiches? But whatever; if people want to justify their love for an awful food, who am I to complain?

That other article is, Deli and Pickles — a Love Affair. And it provides some information that goes along with my supply side theory of the pickle market, “It is only reasonable that when those food traditions began to expand to the masses through deli restaurants, they included the pickles that were also commonly manufactured by Jewish immigrants.” And that’s what it comes down to. Pickles are cheap and easily available.

You may like pickles. It’s all right to admit it: we value diversity around here! But if you do, it is probably nice, crisp, and fresh pickle slices. You don’t actually like the kind of pickle chips that are an American staple. You don’t think pickles on a sandwich really improve the flavor of said sandwich. If you eat sandwiches with pickles on them, it is out of habit. But I will admit this much: pickles go along with beef a lot better than turkey. Yet at the deli, most people still got pickles on their turkey sandwiches. And every time I had to put pickles on a turkey sandwich, I felt like I was defiling it. But if a customer liked corned beef, well, it couldn’t get any worse.

Hummingbirds and the Pointlessness of Life

Posted on 06 Mar 2015 by Frank Moraes

I currently have the worst headache that I can remember having. I have loaded up on every pill that could possibly help me, which probably means that I will fall asleep shortly because one of them is an antihistamine that puts me to sleep. But there is nothing like pain to make me think of Schopenhauer. The only point to living is to facilitate further living. It is very much like a hamster running on one of those treadmills. And that’s fine as long as you are enjoying the run. But if you are in pain, what is the point? You keep the process going just so that you can continue to suffer?

If humans were really smart, they would have died out long ago. Unfortunately, our will is much greater than our intelligence. This kind of goes along with what I was talking about in, Why I Am Not a New Atheist. This idea that we are rational is undercut by our continued dedication to life. The will is a supremely irrational thing that keeps us going even under the worst of conditions. (Well, maybe not the “worst” but the general levels of suffering that we humans are used to.)

Right out in front of our house, we have a hummingbird feeder. And I get to watch one particular hummingbird that uses it, whenever I’m in the kitchen. It’s a great example of what I’m talking about, because hummingbirds are so small and use so much energy that they must spend most of their time eating. And so this little guy flies up, feeds, flies away. And he continues it over and over again. To be honest, I’m not sure why he even goes away — he’s there that much. And I’m sure that he mates and sleeps too, but pretty much his life is eating.

And what is the point of that?! I know I can justify my life. It is complex. I do a whole lot of things that have nothing to do with continuing my existence. But ultimately, it does all come down to the hummingbird that doesn’t have any point to existing except for its drive to continue existing. And that is an annoying fact of existence. It bothers me. I wish I had some greater insight into the nature of existence that I could use to counter what seems to be the utter pointlessness of life.

Don’t get the idea that I’m depressed. I’m not. My head is killing me and I don’t like that. But otherwise, I’m kind of bullish on life right now. That doesn’t change the fact that I look at life and see its pointlessness. And I’m well aware that as much as I may feel pretty good (except for the headache), this is only temporary. I will fall into a deep depression when such considerations will not be academic. Of course, I won’t kill myself. Because my will is so much stronger than my rational capacity. I’m just like that hummingbird, feeding today so I can feed tomorrow.

Lagunitas NightTime

Posted on 02 Mar 2015 by Frank Moraes

On Thursday, Will paid me for some work I had done for “our” company. (Let’s face it: it’s his company and I just work for it.) I won’t tell you how much I was paid, because it would be embarrassing. But on our way back home, he was going the wrong direction. I asked him and he said, “I thought we were going to get you some beer?” That’s Will-speak for, “I want a beer and you are paying.” So we found ourselves at the grocery store. Will has little taste, but I decided to get a six-pack of Lagunitas NightTime. I’m very fond of Laguitas and I had never tried this particular brew — probably because it sells for about ten bucks a six-pack.

I explained to Will that I had reached a point in life (about twenty years ago) that I would rather spend twice as much to get a beer that I really like than get a beer I don’t especially enjoy. Will then proceeded to explain to me how he is just fine with this lemon beer he buys for $1.99 per six-pack. I told him I was not. But when we got back to my place, even Will had to admit that NightTime is a hell of a beer. (He knows quality when it is forced on him!)

Indeed, it is an amazing beer. Is it as good as the standard against which all beers are measured, Arrogant Bastard? I can’t say. Let’s just say that it is right around there. It’s impossible to say, regardless. They aren’t the same kind of beers. Like the philistine I am, I don’t know much about beer, but I know what I like. Let’s see if I can give you some idea of what it is like.

It is officially an “ale” — although darker than pretty much any ale I’ve seen before. It is notably darker than Arrogant Bastard. But its head is surprisingly light. It reminds me of Guinness, except that Guinness looks brown to me, and this looks black. (Note: it doesn’t taste at all like Guinness.) It doesn’t have that much in the way of a smell — some hops is all. And the flavor is “hoppy.” It also seems to have just a hint of — oh, I hate to say it — lemon. But there is a big difference between a hint and an overwhelming taste of lemon. NightTime has other flavors as well. That’s what I like about it: it has a complex taste. But I am not in a position to tell you what those flavors are.

This is a situation that I run into all the time. I’m just not very good at breaking down things into component parts. I’m intuitive. That’s even true with writing. Certainly I know a lot more now than I did twenty years ago. But there are cases when I just know one construction is better than another. The difference with beer is that I really don’t know more more than I did twenty years ago.

But NightTime is a really good beer. On the other hand, most of the people I know would hate it. It is the kind of beer that my grandmother would have noted, “It’ll put hair on your chest!” Of course, that isn’t literally true. I’ve made it all the way to saggy middle age without any notable hair on my chest. But that isn’t actually why I drink these kinds of beers.

Rats Exonerated for Black Death

Posted on 25 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

Vindication! The European black rat, long blamed for the Black Death and for later waves of plague, has been exonerated. The real culprit, it seems, is the gerbil with its “cute” tail. Ha! All you rat haters out there can suck it! Not that I dislike gerbils. They are wonderful. I am fond of all my fellow mammals. But rats have been vilified for too long. And why?

Well, I will tell you why people don’t like them: rats don’t have much hair on their tails. Really. That’s it. That is how superficial we humans are. And in the case of black rats, there is the color too. People really do not like black pets nearly as much. I assume this is true of wild animals as well.

There is a new study out in Proceedings of the National Academy Sciences that looked at climate data as it applies to the question. Brad Plumer at Vox provided the details, Scientists Now Suspect Gerbils Were the Real Villains in the Black Death — Not Rats:

Earlier research has suggested that the optimal weather for rat-driven plague outbreaks in Europe would have been warm and somewhat dry summers. But that created a problem: the plague data and climate data don’t line up — it didn’t seem likely that rats in Europe were the ones driving the repeated plague outbreaks. (As further evidence, past studies have found that rats were often absent from plague centers in northern Europe.)

Typical. Why did we think that it was rats, anyway? I don’t think there was ever much reason to think it other than that people see rats and they noticed that they got around a lot on ships. And they have ugly tails. Hence: it’s gotta be rats! But the same climate data makes it looks like the great gerbil is responsible. I should note, it is a rather large animal that look more like a squirrel or a chipmunk. It is not the cute little animal that we so often see on YouTube getting baths. That isn’t to say they aren’t adorable too.

The real culprit, of course, are the fleas. And it isn’t like the rats weren’t carrying the infected fleas on them. The problem seems to be that the plague was even more devastating to rat populations than it was to humans. So rats are not only not the culprit — they are one of the primary victims of the plague. So put that in your pipe and smoke it, you rat haters!

Out in the big bad world, wild animals are, well, wild. In general, wild rats behave the way we expect social animals to behave. They aren’t perfect but then neither are humans. But I have actual experience with pet (fancy) rats. And they are wonderful creatures. I’ve never been around a hamster who didn’t bite. I’ve never been around a rat who did. They are wonderful pets. This is what Wikipedia has to say about rat social behavior (emphasis mine):

Rats are generally very friendly to other cage mates, particularly with females. They will even sometimes help or take care of other sick rats…

Unless there is an issue integrating rats together, owners should endeavor to house rats in pairs as they are incredibly sociable creatures. It’s important that Rats are continually entertained.

Why are rats not as beloved as dogs? The Black Death is certainly part of the problem. I hope this research helps. But I would hate it if the gerbil becomes the scapegoat. As I said, it is the flea — which doubtless killed lots of gerbils too. And even the flea has no moral culpability. It isn’t like humans who knowingly drive other species to extinction.

But ultimately, I think the Black Death association is more a result of the low esteem we hold rats. Ultimately, it is that damned tail. Beauty is only skin deep — just like humans.

Sudoku, Caribou, and the Pointless Life

Posted on 17 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

I came upon this Sudoku website. Well, “came upon” is not quite right. I went looking for Sudoku because I was bored. And I found out that even though I’m really good at the game, I’m slow — not even in the top half of players. I believe this is because I’m like that talking dog in Up, “Squirrel?!” I’m just not that good at things that require me to focus for long periods of time. I focus on the puzzle, I focus on something else, I focus on the puzzle. I was the same way when I played chess. People would think that I was analyzing the position, but more often than not I was thinking about lunch.

I did four puzzles and I could have done dozens. I could do them every day all day. They occupy my mind. But I don’t do that because I think that I have more important things to do. But I’m not so sure that that is true. I could write a novel or I could solve a thousand Sudoku puzzles. And other than the fact that I might make a little money from the novel, I doubt I would get much more out of one than the other. And once I’m dead I absolutely don’t care.

Puzzles always bring this up in my mind. They are the clearest indication that what we do is just waste time until we die. As Schopenhauer put it, “We see only momentary gratification, fleeting pleasure conditioned by wants, much and long suffering, constant struggle, bellum omnium [everyone against everyone], everything a hunter and everything hunted, want, need and anxiety, shrieking and howling; and this goes on in saecula saeculorum [forever and ever] or until once again the crust of the planet breaks.” What is the point?

For the vast majority of us, life is a struggle. We have jobs that we hate. But we must have jobs! If we didn’t have jobs, we would die due to starvation or exposure or just some police officer beating us to death. But what do those jobs accomplish? They allow us to live for another day that we will use for the exact same purpose that we used the last day for: to live to struggle through yet another day. Even the momentary gratification we get in the course of the day is an illusion — a delusion that things might not be as bad as we think or that tomorrow might not be as bad as today.

Is life so precious? All my grand desires to do something great or at least marginally meaningful are at base no more profound than solving a Sudoku puzzle. Imagine waking up each morning knowing that your job was to solve a couple hundred puzzles. I don’t think it is hard to do. The work of most people is no more meaningful than that. And I accept Schopenhauer’s reason for this: it is our will to live. But not all lives are equally pointless. For many people the world over, life is very hard indeed. Some people live their whole lives is terrible pain. That isn’t necessary. There are social forces that dictate that. Namely: there are rich people who have spent a great deal of time and power “convincing” the rest of us that we would all be worse off if most of the resources of the world didn’t go to them.

I’m not sure that any life is any more worth living than one spent doing nothing but solving Sudoku puzzles. But I do know that our society is set up to make all of our lives as pointless as one long Sudoku solving session — this is perhaps more true of the rich than anyone else. The only difference is the quality of the food, the lodging, the entertainment. Humans consider themselves very smart. And when it comes to pointless things, like solving Sudoku puzzles, we are. But when it comes to how we’ve set up our society and how we use our resources, we are as stupid as caribou.

Dinosaurs and Family Values

Posted on 14 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

Scott Kaufman over at Raw Story has some interesting news, Irate Christian Parent: “I Am Getting Sick and Tired of Dinosaurs Being Forced on Our Children.” She is apparently part of an advocacy group called “Christians Against Dinosaurs” — known as CAD. This is more than the usual biblical literalism that is so common in this country. Most creationists are fine with dinosaurs. They just assume God wiped them out in the flood or whatever. But the CAD folks have a point. If you accept fossils, you really are opening a can of worms. This seems a much more defensible position than the saddled dinosaurs of the Creation Museum.

But the woman highlighted in Kaufman’s story sounds like a real loon. She claims that dinosaurs don’t have family values. To demonstrate this, she told the story of a kid at her children’s school who acted like a dinosaur and ended up biting three children on the face. Other than references to this claim, I can’t find any reporting on a child going on a rampage and biting three children on the face, so I figure it is folklore — or just a lie because this woman thinks the evil of dinosaurs is so great that lying is justified.

What I found most interesting was the kind of family values that this woman herself exhibits:

She also claimed to have disowned her sister, who “foolishly gave my two youngest some dinosaur toys for Christmas. After telling her to get out of my house, I burnt the dinosaurs. My children were delighted because they know that dinosaurs are evil. I am fortunate that my family has been very supportive, and has disowned my children’s former aunt.”

Let’s be clear here. Because of an ideological dispute, this woman banished her own sister from her family. I see this a lot in little pockets of Christianity. The Jehovah’s Witnesses are well known for not wanting their children to have any friends outside the faith and for a strong tendency to banish family members for what amounts to heresy. To me, this is about the most evil thing I can imagine. Jesus said, “Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” I’m no Bible expert, but I’m certain there is no part of the Bible that says, “To the extent that a person does not worship me in exactly the way you think is right, you should scorn them and never speak to them.”

It sounds so cliched to say that love should trump all, but I really do believe it. If it doesn’t, then you will find yourself more and more isolated as you go through life. In the end, even your children won’t talk to you because you taught them so well. They may well share your belief that stuffed dinosaurs deserve to be cleansed by fire. But they will also share your belief that something as trivial as a disagreement over dinosaurs justifies turning their back on friends and family.

I love you, you love me
We’re a happy family
With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you.
Won’t you say you love me too?

—Barney 25:45

Does Harper Lee Want to Publish Another Novel?

Posted on 11 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

The story of the new Harper Lee novel just gets sadder and sadder. Last week, we found out that HarperCollins was going to publish a new book, Go Set a Watchman. There was much excitement. But then it turned out that the novel was not new. It was a book that Lee wrote before To Kill a Mockingbird. Still, it was exciting that Lee had decided to allow any new fiction to be published. But the question now is whether Harper Lee really has decided to do this.

Harper Lee is about to turn 89 years old. Her eyesight and hearing are failing. And according to Michael Hiltzik, last year her older sister Alice died. Alice had always acted as Harper’s protector. Now she lives in an assisted care facility. It is in this context that there is suddenly a new Harper Lee novel being published.

Alice Lee was a lawyer, but she stopped practicing law about ten years ago (she lived to be over a hundred). One of her lawyers, Tonja Carter, took over the legal work for the Lees. She has been far more aggressive in protecting the estate. And no one thinks she has anything but good intentions. But that doesn’t mean that she is necessarily doing what Harper Lee wants — or at least what Harper Lee has wanted her whole career.

It was Carter who just happened to be going through Lee’s paper and just happened upon the book and just happened to note that it was really good. And let’s face it, it will be good for Carter to have the book published. I’m not sure exactly what Lee gets from it. But I’m sure that in Carter’s mind, this is a good thing for Lee. The book is, after all, what interested her publisher in the first place. It probably is good — maybe even great. It is a gift that Harper Lee can give to the world in her twilight years.

Still, it smacks of elder abuse. Sitting on great works of art is like sitting on great piles of cash. And we would be skeptical of a lawyer prying cash from an old person. I see no reason why we shouldn’t be skeptical of this. Because a second Harper Lee book is not just a work of art; it is millions of dollars.

Lee’s eyesight and hearing may be failing, but the word is that her mind is as sharp as ever. It would make me feel a whole lot better about this project if we got some word directly from her. The best we’ve received thus far are second and third hand claims about her delight about the publication of the book. I hope that’s true.

Google’s Birthday Gift

Posted on 11 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

I was treated to this image yesterday when I went to Google. I think it is kind of ugly, but I always like seeing this sort of thing. It means that someone is having a birthday, and even though it is rarely someone I haven’t heard of, it’s nice to be reminded. So I clicked on it and it took me to my Google+ About page. For a moment, I figured it was some computer screw up. But, slow as I am about this stuff, I eventually realized that Google was just telling me that it knew that it was my birthday.

I went to Google on a browser where I wasn’t longed into Google+ plus, and sure enough: it was the same old Google page. I am not, it appears, a star. Still, I think it is kind of a nice thing for Google to do. It is all part of the Google+ treatment. On my birthday, Google+ sends out an alert to all of my several dozen followers that it is my birthday, offering them an easy way to wish me a happy birthday. And pretty much no one does. I don’t take this as an insult.

When I get a reminder of someone else’s birthday, I’m very reticent to offer them a birthday wish. It seems a bit like stalking. If I don’t really know them well, what does it say? Just the same, when I do wish people happy birthdays, they are always gracious. What’s more, even relatively famous people seem fairly shocked by the birthday wish. Recently, I wished Martin Longman a happy birthday and he was clearly pleased and surprised. So even an established writer like Longman doesn’t seem to be getting a bunch of people wishing him a happy birthday.

The other side of it is that privacy people might freak out. But I suspect that they would be the kind of people who wouldn’t provide Google+ with their birthdays anyway. I’m all for privacy myself, but for a decade now, most of my personal information has been widely known. And I generally assume that everything I say and do is being recording by the NSA, DEA, and any other organization that is concerned with loose cannons like myself — regardless of how committed to peace we may be.

The only thing that I wish is that Google would take the time to create a better image to celebrate my birthday. I’m very simple — one might even say boring — in my preferences for delicious birthday treats. Vanilla ice cream really is the most wonderful. As for cake, I like a light chocolate with vanilla frosting. And folks: why do I see canned frosting at the super market? Frosting is extremely easy to make. It’s simple: powered sugar, butter, milk, and vanilla. It couldn’t be easier — or more delicious. But what do we get in the Google image? I don’t know, but it doesn’t look very tasty.

I don’t mean to complain. But next year, I hope that Google offers me more appealing treats for my birthday. I mean, there are seven cakes there and not one looks especially tasty. Maybe I’ll get Andrea to create a better one for me next year. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.

Personal Thoughts on Muath al-Kasasbeh

Posted on 07 Feb 2015 by Frank Moraes

I have to say something about Muath al-Kasasbeh. But you have to understand that it is a personal thing. I have long known that death is not the worst thing; pain is. So while I am very much against murder, I think that torture is worse. Torturing someone to death is, of course, worst of all. So when I heard that the Islamic State had burned al-Kasasbeh to death, I was touched in a more profound way than I had been on hearing of the beheadings (even though they were done in a far more cruel way than necessary).

It took me so long to write about it because I needed to find out how these psychopaths did it. But I knew that I could not watch the video. As it is, I’m horrified and will continued to be haunted by it. Not to be too ghoulish about it, but there are more and less cruel ways to burn someone to death. For example, it is far more cruel to put a lobster into a vat of water and then bring it to a boil than to simply drop the lobster into boiling water. In the first case, the lobster suffers for much longer.[1] Horrifying as it is to contemplate, what these Islamic State representatives did was not as cruel as things that others have done in other places at other times.

But what they did was still unimaginably cruel. Basically, they did what Thích Quảng Đức voluntarily did to himself. Al-Kasasbeh was doused in gasoline. And then he was set on fire. He screamed and thrashed around his cage. This took something more than a minute. Then he collapsed. And then he was dead. I assume that by the time he collapsed, his pain system has stopped working and that he wasn’t really conscious. So we are talking about a minute and a half of hell on earth — far more pain than you or I will hopefully feel in our whole lives, compressed in a tiny slice of time.

When I was young, I knew little boys who enjoyed catching toads and throwing them far into the air to watch them splatter on the ground. I did not and do not understand this instinct. On the positive side, they were only children. On the negative side, these toads had done nothing wrong; there was no way that the boys could have imagined that smashing these toads was an act of justice or vengeance.

But there are similarities between the mindless brutality of the boys killing toads and the calculated torture murder of Muath al-Kasasbeh. The biggest is simply the lack of empathy. The boys did not think that the toads deserved the same concern as humans. And the Islamic State representatives clearly had reached the same conclusion about the actual human being Muath al-Kasasbeh.

This is an important aspect of fighting a war: dehumanizing the enemy. Because why else would anyone think it was all right to kill another human being? And to do it in the most cruel of ways? I’m still scarred from watching Saving Private Ryan. At one point, German soldiers are on fire, running from their their enclosures. And one of the Americans yells, “Don’t shoot! Let them burn!” That horrified me. That was one of the “good guys.”

Glenn Greenwald provided a large number of examples of another side of this cruelty, Burning Victims to Death: Still a Common Practice. It is about drone attacks. I’d never thought about it, because I figured that the targets were simply blown up — a quick death. But as a practical matter, those on the edges of an attack can be treated just the same Muath al-Kasasbeh.

From an article in The New York Times, Obama’s Forgotten Victims:

[Eight]-year-old Nabila, who, on Oct 24, had just returned from school and was playing in a field outside her house with her siblings and cousins while her grandmother picked flowers. At 2:30 pm, a Hellfire missile came out of the sky and struck right in front of Nabila. Her grandmother was badly burned and succumbed to her injuries; Nabila survived with severe burns and shrapnel wounds in her shoulder.

It isn’t my intent to equate any of this. But it is all part of the same thing. We limit our empathy. And when we do that, we are able to do anything to those we define outside our group. It is horrifying. And it is frustrating. We can send spaceships to the stars. But we can’t manage to treat each other with even the most basic of humanity. We use our great intelligence to justify why it is right or necessary. But the justifications sound hollow — like things you would hear on a grammar school playground. None of it rises much above, “He started it!” Meanwhile, the cruelty continues — as it has for all of human history.

[1] For the record, I think it is always wrong to cook lobsters alive.

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Afterword