"My Age of Anxiety: Fear, Hope, Dread, and the Search for Peace of Mind" by Scott Stossel

Imagine a personal memoir, crossed with a college textbook, crossed with a doctoral thesis. That is precisely what you get in My Age of Anxiety. It is a book you read to learn - and learn I did.

Anxiety, in all its forms, is no stranger to 21st century America. More people than you realize are on drugs for anxiety, depression, or both. In his book, Atlantic Monthly editor (and nephew of TV journalist John Stossel) takes us through his harrowing journey through many forms of therapy while wrestling with the pressures of life and navigating the enigma of his anxiety. Stossel has been plagued with phobias since his childhood. Emetophobia, or fear of vomiting, seem to be his most pressing battle, though many others invade his psyche and leave him chained to a series of often debilitating rituals. In addition to illuminating his readers on his own personal struggles, Stossel traces the history of mental illness, including the different theories that each generation has held towards "neuroses."  He tries to offer some explanation as to why this particular epidemic is sweeping our society. Is it really the drug companies manipulating us to buy their placebos? Or is there a chemical/biological component to anxiety and depression? Is it genetic? Or, as Freud would attest, does anxiety arise purely out of our upbringing (and our repressed sexuality)?

There is no easy answer because the brain is a bewildering realm. Many studies in recent years have shown the presence or absence of certain hormones and chemicals can leave one predisposed to anxiety. Yet, as the book seems to conclude, just because one is born with a "worry gene" does not mean that person will definitely have an anxiety disorder, just as having a genetic predisposition to breast cancer does not mean one will necessarily end up with the disease. Stossel delves into a host of studies covering everything from brain chemistry to parenting. Perhaps the most interesting tidbit I gleaned involved the neurotransmitter, Neuropeptide Y (NPY) a chemical that potentially creates resiliency to stress and regulates emotion. Those with higher levels of NPY tend to adapt better to stressful situations. For instance, a study of Navy Seal trainees, revealed that those who graduated from the program also had high levels of NPY. Those who did not make the cut generally had lower levels of NPY in their system. Similarly, studies of NPY have been shown to predict which veterans will end up getting PTSD after serving time on the battlefront. Those with lower levels of NPY are more shaken by war trauma while those with high levels of the neurotransmitter tend to have generally lower levels of empathy, engage in more sexual promiscuity, and are generally more aggressive. However, do not show up at the VA complaining of PTSD symptoms.

This of course led me on my own tangent of reflection. As a historian, I wonder if perhaps the rise in PTSD in the past century is in part a consequence of the wartime drafts and the modern benefits offered to servicemen.  Perhaps some men are just not biologically cut out to be the brave, battlefield warriors epitomized by traditional patriarchy. Some have lower levels of NPY, and arguably, make better husbands, but not great soldiers. However, did the wartime drafts of the 20th century force hundreds of thousands of passive young men into the field? Does the free college tuition, health care benefits, and other perks draw people into the military who would be better suited for a desk job?  Generals Patton and Marshall claimed that modern society was mollycoddling our young men by catering to their mental illnesses. But could it be that we have forced young men to kill people when they were biologically ill-suited for the job?

I also resonated with the studies that discussed how high serotonin levels correlated increased levels of extroversion. People that are brooding and depressive tend to have lower levels of serotonin and prefer to be alone or with smaller groups of people. While this does not always correlate to anxiety disorder, social alienation and anxiety/depression often go hand-in-hand because the same brain chemicals influence both tendencies. However, those same depressive or anxious introverts tend to rate higher on intelligence tests, and often achieve unique and creative feats. Studies have also shown that these mildly obsessive types make the best employees. Furthermore, the great artists and intellectuals of history have often been depressive or plagued by anxiety. Charles Darwin himself, whose theories help us understand how some of these traits have evolved, was plagued by such severe anxiety that after returning from his voyage on the Beagle he never left his home again. However, staying home allowed him to complete the Origin of Species. Many other greats had the same experience. Their phobias and introversion left them tied to the house, but allowed them the time and the peace that they needed to complete the great masterpieces of our age.

So if you wonder why I sit home knitting on Friday nights, and spend most evenings and weekends reading books and blogging about them, well, now you know. My brain doesn't simply doesn't have enough juice to party. Maybe one day all that staying home on weekends will add up to a literary masterpiece. For now though, I've got some pretty great homemade sweaters.

"Escape from Camp 14: One Man's Remarkable Odyssey from North Korea to Freedom in the West" by Blaine Harden

This is not an enjoyable book. (It is a short book, but I listened to the audio version so that prolonged the agony.) However, that is not to say that is it not a valuable book. We know very little about North Korea, so Blaine Harden's account of the life and escape of Shin Dong-Hyuk is truly a rare and unique glimpse into this surreal country. It is especially noteworthy because Shin is the only known escapee of a North Korean prison camp.

Shin's story begins at Camp 14, one North Korea's no-exit prison camps. He is a child of two prisoners who had been selected for one another in a "reward-marriage." Unfortunately for Shin, his destiny was set the day he was born. He would live and die in the confines of Camp 14. The North Korean government believes that the sins of the parents are visited upon the next three generations. Thus, if one is convicted of a crime, their children and their grandchildren will remain imprisoned. Only after three generations will the seed of rebellion have been eradicated.

In a North Korean prison camp, the concept of familial affection is virtually non-existent. Prisoners often have to turn to their basest, most animalistic instincts in order to survive. For Shin, this meant stealing his mother's food at a young age, and, later in life, turning his mother in for plotting to escape. He watched as his mother and brother were executed, knowing that he was fully responsible for their deaths. And yet, at the time he had no regrets. In this distopian microcosm where children are taught that their parents are criminals they often learn to despise their parents and turn to the guards as their "teachers." Guards, while often cruel and abusive tormentors, teach children from an early age that they are the ones who should be honored and respected. The children grow up to believe that they have no self-worth; because of the wrongdoings of their parents, they too are tainted by evil.

As you can imagine, this kind of childhood will have huge repercussions for Shin once he makes it out of the camp in 2005. In the camp the children learned nothing of the world beyond. Shin would have remained ignorant were it not for his interaction with a new prisoner named Park. It was really Park's description of Chinese food that convinced Shin to escape. Constantly hungry, and persistently scavenging for food beyond his meager rations, Shin longs for the regular meals of meat and rice, a luxury that Park says is commonplace in China. Shin takes his life in his hands to make that longing a reality.

Shin makes it to freedom, but freedom means wandering as a cold and homeless drifter through the North Korean landscape. It is January; he has no provisions and no shelter. Soon Shin learns the art of larceny, which provides him with the necessities for survival and goods that become useful in bribing the North Korean border guards. In a country where policeman and guards are working on empty stomachs, bribery runs rampant. Using this tactic, North Koreans routinely escape into China and integrate themselves into Korean communities. Yet even in China Shin is not completely safe. China does not recognize the refugee status of North Koreans. If caught, Shin knows he'll be sent straight back to a no-exit prison camp in North Korea.  After a couple years of drifting in and out of China's biggest cities, Shin's perseverance combines with a lucky twist of fate. He soon finds himself safely on a plane to Seoul.

I wish I could tell you that the rest of the book is an uplifting account of Shin's healing and his persistent drive to reinvent himself and rise above his past. However, the wounds run too deep. Not surprisingly, Shin suffers from PTSD; he is unable to manage his money, keep a job, maintain healthy relationships, or decide on a realistic career path. He receives aid from many places: the North Korean government, human rights organizations, even a kindly family in California. But Shin does take advantage of any of it. Unfortunately, none of this is out of the ordinary for North Korean refugees. Shin is slow to trust, he struggles at understanding or expressing emotion, the concepts of love and friendship are completely foreign to him, and he has never in his life been confronted with the need to actually make a plan for the future. The scars of the camps are physical, mental, and spiritual. Shin will never truly escape.

This book is a chilling account - appropriate for the chilling weather that permeated my bones while walking the dog and listening to Shin's story. In the midst of the coldest days of the year, I think I felt even colder as Shin wandered around a wintry North Korea, ill-clad and homeless. What I like about this author is that he does not paint Shin as a hero. After conducting a series of interviews with Shin and others who know him, Hardin outlines Shin's life honestly and truthfully. He does not skirt around Shin's faults and he talks extensively about the shame that Shin eventually learned to feel over the death of his mother. The author does not write judgmentally, but in a way that emphasizes how Shin is truly a product of his past.  Additionally, the author weaves Shin's story in with other factual information on North Korea. As a former Washington Post journalist in East Asia, his book is more of an investigative report than a biography. He interviews former prison camp guards and other North Korean defectors. He cross-checks Shin's story to verify that the details of Camp 14 are true. He intensively researches North Korea past and present - providing historical context and more current information on the leader's ostentatious palace, gleaned from satellite surveillance. He accounts the years of famine where Western aid never actually made it to the people and it became common for children to eat bark off trees. And though it is a mysterious country, full of isolated and brainwashed people, in the last few years some smuggled media has made its way in. North Koreans are hooked on blurry Western movies and T.V. shows. While Charlie's Angels may not be providing a realistic picture of American life, it may be just enough to cause North Koreans to question the world beyond their borders. If more North Koreans, like Shin, can turn that longing for three solid meals a day into a movement against tyranny and repression, perhaps the reign of Kim Jong Un and his family will one day come to an end.

"Full Body Burden" by Kristen Iversen

Full Body Burden: Growing Up in the Shadow of Rocky Flats is a riveting blend of history and science, memoir and investigative journalism, personal awakening and academic research. It's hard to imagine such an amalgam of styles - but it works. Kristen Iversen's memoir begins in her childhood during the Cold War. It is an era where America was obsessed with "keeping up appearances," keeping secrets hidden, keeping problems buried under the surface. That is the theme in Iversen's life.

Her family lived in a country neighborhood where they owned horses, dogs, and various other creatures. Her mother stayed home, her father owned his own law practice. Down the road was a factory that purportedly produced cleaning products.

But that was only the surface. Underneath is a much more harrowing story. Kristen's dad was an alcoholic, their finances were in disarray, and her mother struggled with bouts of depression. And the plant? It made bombs. Nuclear bombs.

To be specific, the plant down the road made plutonium pits, the core of a nuclear bomb. The area residents had no idea that two fires - one in 1957 and one in 1969 - released significant amounts of plutonium into the air. The second fire nearly led to a major nuclear accident; but for a small stroke of luck Denver would have experienced a nuclear disaster on the scale of Chernobyl. The newspaper story was buried deep on page 23.

Residents also did not realize that the local water sources were contaminated with plutonium run-off. Radioactive waste stored in rusty and leaking barrels at the back of the plant ran into the creek which fed the nearby lake where neighborhood children swam. The plant's incinerator also illegally burned plutonium waste while families inhaled it downwind. Plutonium got lodged in their lungs and local children began dying of cancer.

Yet none of this was made public. Employees were required to maintain confidentiality - in the interest of national security of course! Whistleblowers lost their jobs and environmental protesters were jailed. Finally, in 1990 the government listened. The FBI raided the plant and uncovered a litany of incriminating evidence documenting years of mismanagement and 3000 pounds of "missing" plutonium - plutonium that can be found in the sediment, soil, and animals surrounding Rocky Flats. In 1992 a Grand Jury indicted the contractor with criminal charges. However, they got off easy with a plea bargain. A few years later residents of the area tried to collect damages in a class-action lawsuit. Research had shown that one-millionth of a gram of plutonium can put a person at high risk for cancer, and medical doctors ran studies in which they found significant levels of plutonium in the bodies of those who lived near Rocky Flats. However, the claimants lost in an appeal. They appeals court said they could not prove a direct connection between the nearby nuclear weapons plant and the residents' deteriorating health.

Today Rocky Flats is a wildlife refuge. The Forest and Wildlife Service's website says nothing about plutonium's 24,000 year half-life (meaning that it'll be 240,000 years before the plutonium manufactured in the 1940s is gone.) The website does say that they monitor the soil and a water to promote optimal growth for plant life and managements of the animal populations. However the controversially haphazard cleanup of the 1990s failed to remove much of the  plutonium that escaped from the plant in its 30+ years of operation. Today, a burrowing animal can kick it up into the air, a deer walking into a pond or creek can bring plutonium-laced sediment to the surface, and any wildlife that comes into contact with plutonium particles can carry them afar. As a result hikers, bikers, and schoolchildren get to bring home a little souvenir from the Cold War (to be fair, the DOE claims it's not enough to pose a significant health risk).

Iversen's book comes with extensive footnotes that include court documents, interviews, scientific studies, medical reports, and news releases. However, just to make sure that I wasn't embarking down the road of anti-government conspiracy theory, I did my own research externally. A brief round of fact-checking confirmed much of what I'd read, though there are disputes as to how much plutonium can cause a significant health risk. Regardless, I found no significant rebuttals to Iversen's research, only numerous awards and accolades associated Full Body Burden. 

So, if you don't really think this book is up your alley, that's fine. However, if you are ever in the Denver area stay on the safe side and avoid the Rocky Flats National Wildlife Refuge!


To hear an NPR interview with Kristen Iversen, click here

"I am Malala" by Malala Yousafzai and Christina Lamb

I would like Malala to be one of my students. She's a smart, passionate, and determined teenage girl whose spunk and courage would make her an interesting student to teach. If I had Malala I'd have her sign up for Model UN and recommend that she join Debate. Yet ironically, those extracurricular activities, while respectable additions to any college application, fall far short of what Malala has done.

Malala is the sixteen-year-old Pakistani girl who survived after being shot in the head by the Taliban in 2012. She is not on a Model UN delegation or a debate team. But she has won numerous awards, spoken before the actual UN, given interviews on national news networks all over the world and confronted world leaders on their failures to protect the lives and rights of Pakistanis. In October she even told Obama straight up that his drone attacks were fueling terrorism! In a recent interview on CBS, Malala said that she's not afraid of the continuing threats against her life and the perils that face her in the future. She's not afraid of the Taliban, but rather, they are afraid of her. (See full interview here)

The Taliban is afraid. Taliban militants are afraid of providing education for girls because they know that women with an education can be a powerful force for change. Women who break out of purdah (seclusion) pose a threat to the extremist vision of Islam. Women who are given rights and an education may choose to pursue a career rather than a life of endless childbearing. They may have opinions, they may require the men to compromise. They may demand property rights, divorce rights, and control over their bodies. All of this is frightening to the Taliban. In fact, it has been frightening to men throughout the centuries. The oppression of women is nothing new. The battle that Malala is fighting is as old as civilization, but today, she has some powerful forces on her side. Centuries ago the entire world was dominated by men. Today, women in the Western world have a voice (and a bank account). I believe that reading Malala's story reminds us to join in the fight. We need to ally with this courageous teenager.

Of course, let's not forget, there is another important element to this story -- the parents. Some have criticized Malala's parents, and particularly her father (a Pakistani education leader) for essentially putting their daughter in the line of fire. On the one hand, I can understand this criticism. By allowing their daughters to attend school, many Muslim parents are putting their children at risk. Yet if they do not send them to school, what is the alternative? Would they prefer to have their daughters alive but illiterate? A life of economic dependence on a forced marriage partner? A life dictated by men and devoid of rights? I think that is a greater peril. That is no life. I applaud these parents for recognizing that though their daughters may be taking a risk to their physical well-being, having life is far more than being able to breathe. To truly be alive we need to be able to think, to read, to dream, to choose. I admire Malala's parents for being courageous enough to allow their daughter to take risks. The Yousafzai family shares in the vision for girls' education and they are willing to make sacrifices. I find that commendable. 

After reading this book I am reminded that my female students can come to school every morning with virtually no threat of being attacked. In some parts of the world girls are putting their lives on the line every morning when they step outside the door to go to school. Malala's story reminds me to be thankful for what we have in this country and also for how far we have come. When I look at my classes I see a diverse palate of faces. White, Asian, Indian, African-American, and Middle-Eastern all come together in one school building, sitting side by side. They play together on sports teams, act in the school plays, become debate partners, and even date one another. I know there are still racial and ethnic barriers, but so much of what I see on a day-to-day basis would not have happened in this country a mere 60 years ago. Fortunately there were nine courageous children in Little Rock, Arkansas who demanded integration. Children in Birmingham Alabama were thrown in jail, attacked by dogs, and sprayed down with fire hoses all for demanding equal rights and an equal education. James Meredith demanded entrance to the University of Mississippi. Countless other college students were doused in ketchup, thrown in jail, and even killed for simply demanding their rights. That was only two generations ago. This gives me hope. It gives me hope for the girls in Malala's hometown and all over the world, who are being kept out of school purely on the basis of their gender. Maybe it is possible to change centuries-old cultural traditions in only one generation. 

The Taliban has every reason to be afraid. Malala is raising the ire of educated women around the world. In doing so, she is raising awareness, raising money, and expanding education. The Malala Fund is sending 40 girls to school in Pakistan's Swat Valley and is currently expanding its mission into Syria. I believe expanding education to girls will slowly change the social fabric of the Middle East, and one day, will make those Obama drones truly unnecessary. 

I hope and pray that Malala Yousafzai will create a legacy. I believe her influence will raise up other Malalas, and one day education will kill the Taliban. 

If you read the book and would like to donate, visit malalafund.org

Rurally Screwed by Jessie Knadler

When I picked up the book Rurally Screwed from the library the other day I thought this was going to be a light summer read. I figured it would just be a humorous glimpse into the life of a city-girl gone country. When I told my husband that the premise of the book was about a girl from New York City who falls in love with a cowboy, he pretty much verbalized what I'd been thinking all along: "That sounds like it won't work out." But sometimes people's bad ideas make great summer reading, so I plowed forward.

What I did not expect was a genuine love story between a woman who is remarkably similar to me and a guy who is really, truly not a jerk. (Nice guys have been in short supply among my summer reads) The author, Jessie Knadler, chronicles her journey from the yoga studios and bars of Manhattan to Lexington, VA where she currently resides as a mom and chicken farmer.  The first part of the book lived up to my initial expectations of light summer reading. Jessie was the epitome of a trendy, urban 30-something with a fast-paced career, a solid income, and an identity crisis. She gave all that up when she met Jake while on assignment in Montana. Jake was the complete opposite. He was a horseman, a soldier, a country-music fanatic, and a Republican. A few months later Jessie was moving to Lexington, Virginia and helping her new husband build a massive portable chicken coop.

In the early years of their marriage Jessie thought she'd solve her identity crisis by making a 180 degree transformation into the Martha Stewart of country living. Far away from journalism and yoga classes, she now devoted her days to growing her own food, making artisan bread, raising chickens, brewing beer, and canning pretty much everything. She was the goddess of country living. And yet, she kept comparing herself to her husband, feeling that she fell short of his strength, his work ethic, his emotional stability. While he encouraged her and cheered her on, she tore herself down. She felt inferior for staying home canning all day. She questioned her choice of a very traditional marriage and retrogressive role as a housewife. She stressed out when she friends suggested that she should start having children. All the while she secretly compared herself to the "sexy horsewoman" down the road - the one who she feared Jake should have married. And Jake, the silent, stoic country cowboy never communicated how deeply he admired his wife - until the day she hightailed it back to New York City.

Now, since the book jacket says that Jessie is currently living with her husband and daughter in Lexington, VA, I don't feel too guilty about letting on that Jessie does not stay in New York City. She does not fit there either. During her time in the country the city trends have shifted. Everybody in NYC has been gripped by the back-to-nature lifestyle. They are raising chickens on the roof and growing tomatoes on the patio. But Jessie is struck by the fact that they are doing it all wrong. They busy are buying expensive artisan pickles, while Jessie's homemade ones sit unopened in the pantry!

This is about where Jessie's story nearly brought me to tears. She has spent her life trying to fit herself into some socially prescribed box. Neither the trendy urban box, nor the organic, country housewife box fit perfectly. She has nearly given up on her marriage because she couldn't fit into the box that she had built for herself. Jessie must accept that she does not have to earn her husband's love. Jake, she realizes, loved her all along. Yes, he enjoyed her pickles, but he was happy just to have her.  She drove back to Lexington, made up with Jake, and went to McDonalds.

Jessie writes, "I finally understood that identity comes once you stop searching for it, once you stop looking to conceptual thought for definitions of who you are or think you should be." But how does one stop this cycle of selfish thinking? The answer: have a baby. With a baby, Jessie says, "I was finally too busy to think about myself."

I don't can. But I've frozen about 30+ pounds of local fruits and vegetables. I have homemade artisan bread rising in the kitchen, I just finished making bruschetta and pesto, both with produce from my patio garden. I get up early on weekends and run about a dozen miles (literally) then hightail it to the farmer's market. I'm a member of a CSA where I frequently go to pick my own fruits and vegetables. I also knit and drink smoothies made with local peaches and kale. And yes, I have a lot of time to think about myself while I'm in the kitchen or out on the running trail. I try to drown out some of those thoughts with NPR or country music, but let's face it, neither one of those things totally stop the vain, foolish, and futile thoughts that start running through my mind. Things like, "Do I really want to have kids? What if I gain weight? How can I raise kids, keep my career, maintain a clean house and cook delicious, homemade meals from scratch? Oh dear, I should have gotten local honey to use in that recipe. Is it worth it to exchange my cheap Club Pack of chicken breasts for expensive grass-fed chicken?"

I've been trying so hard to transform myself into this paragon of a physically fit, kale-smoothie drinking locavorian that I've stressed myself out. It's ridiculous how we women go to such great lengths to fit into our ridiculous molds. That is why Jessie's story is so refreshing. (more refreshing than a peaches n' kale smoothie)

I'm glad Jessie Knadler wrote this book and has been continuing the story in her blog (www.rurallyscrewed.com). I'm glad that a woman who didn't like babies had one and enjoyed it so much that she's having another. I'm glad she confessed to using formula. (because apparently when mom doesn't make enough milk, formula gets a hungry baby to shut up!)  I'm also glad that she's still canning, still raising chickens, and still married to her awesome husband.

And I am seriously craving some Papa Johns.

Book Review: Coming of Age in Mississippi by Anne Moody

Anne Moody's Coming of Age in Mississippi was a hard book for me to wrap my mind around. Not because it wasn't a good read, but because I still cannot seem to get how, only 50 years ago, white society could have supported - vehemently supported - the de jure segregation and blatant racism that was rampant throughout the South. I certainly know the causes of racism in terms of the sociological and economic forces as play, but I just do not get it. There is nothing in me that says: "Yeah, I think he or she is misguided, but I can certainly see the rational reasoning for thinking African-Americans are inferior." Nope. Don't get it.

I get classism. I get elitism. I just don't understand arbitrary racism. I understand why people railed against Rachel Jeantel when she testified at Zimmerman's trial. I even kind of understand why George Zimmerman might have racially profiled (if in fact that's what he did) a teenage African-American kid lurking about in the rain. There was crime in the neighborhood and statistics show more African-Americans are in gangs and found guilty of violent crime. While I would not have quickly jumped to the conclusion that Trayvon was up to no good, I can see why someone might have that reaction. There is some logical reasoning there and even some facts to back it up.  But I don't understand the mentality that says African-Americans have to use the back door, or they can't sit in a restaurant, or we're going to kill them for registering to vote. It's completely irrational.

After reading Anne Moody's account of growing up in poverty in rural Mississippi, working for whites and eventually leaving her dysfunctional family to attend college and join the Civil Rights Movement, I was stunned not only at the complete irrationality of southern whites, but also by how far we've come in such a short time. I mean, my PARENTS were born during this era. They are old, but not THAT old. When I read about Anne getting ketchup dumped on her for sitting at a "White's Only" lunch counter and compare her struggles to the racial battles we're fighting today, I think we've come a long way. However, the media's agenda was not crafted with that sense of historical perspective in mind. While I was reading this book, I found it ridiculous to turn on the T.V. and see all kinds of African-American pundits arguing that America is still racist or that the legal system is still racist, etc. African-Americans voted in a black president (because they aren't subjected to ridiculous literacy tests or KKK violence) and they are allowed on juries. (Most likely the reason they were not on the Zimmerman jury is because they knew too much about the case beforehand, thanks to media hype) Of course, there are still some individuals who are racist, but society as a whole, including the media, the government, and the justice system is NOT rallying behind those skinhead quacks. They are the outliers now. White supremacists used to be the rule, you couldn't get into office in the South if you weren't racist. Now, any remark that could be even remotely racially charged constitutes political or economic suicide. (think: Paula Deen) Racist whites were ruling the media in the 1960s. Now CNN (based in Atlanta, a former hotbed of white supremacy) and many other major news outlets are actively supporting and rallying for racial, gender, and sexual equality. I'm not complaining. The end of racism and sexism is a very good thing, but I think as a society we need to celebrate these strides rather than make mountains out of molehills. I often feel that the media, aided by publicity-starved feminists and civil rights activists are trying to advance an agenda that that racism and sexism are widespread in this country. Now, I'll rant particularly against the feminists (because I'm a woman and I can do that.) I don't believe my society as a whole is sexist. I believe there are sexist people (i.e. Daniel Tosh ) and people have their sexist and demeaning moments (i.e. when they watch Tosh.0 or look at pornography), but overall, women aren't held back from doing what they want to do just because they are women. I believe that women make less than men because they get to a point where family becomes important and they CHOOSE to not accept certain promotions. I believe they do have natural God-given instincts toward mothering and that causes them to pursue a different path from many men. If you want to see REAL sexism read my post on the Bin Laden book - or just go to Saudia Arabia. If there is some racism and sexism still lurking about in society, I think it's of the more rational sort. We may link African-Americans with higher rates of crime (which is at least statistically proven) or guys may think of women as sex objects because they appear scantily clad on the covers of magazines. In short, racism and sexism are still subtly here, but they are present because some members of those communities won't change their negative behaviors. That's a whole different animal than the racism (and sexism) that was present in the early to mid 20th century.

So, if you want to see racism, I'll show you racism. Or rather I'll give you Coming Of Age in Mississippi. Yet, be prepared - it's an honest picture of whites and blacks. Anne Moody doesn't mince words in talking about members of her own community that are "Uncle Toms," or sell outs. Furthermore, she decries her own family and other poor, rural African-Americans who choose to bury their heads in the sand and accept the status quo rather than be a part of change. However, I can understand that. A lot of African-Americans never cared about registering to vote, never spoke up for their rights, and even decried those who did. Why? Because they had to feed their families. If speaking out meant you lost your position as a servant or field hand, then how are your kids going to eat? If registering to vote meant the KKK was going to come burn your house down and lynch you in front of your children, would you register to vote? You can understand then why the Civil Rights Movement depended so heavily on the contributions of young people. College students had less to lose. And yet, as Anne pointed out, many of them did risk their lives and put their families in danger. The KKK came after members of The Movement and their families. As Anne was actively campaigning to get African-Americans registered to vote, her mother and siblings were living in fear that the Klan would burn their house down and kill them.

Which leaves me wondering...would young people today be that brave? Perhaps they would if there was something compelling enough for them to fight for. But even the Zimmerman protests a few weeks ago died out rather quickly because, let's face it, it's not a huge problem - at least not compared to what it was in the 1950s and 1960s. History helps us put things into perspective. I just wish more journalists and pundits had a sense of historical perspective.

Book Review: Growing Up Bin Laden by Najwa Bin Laden, Omar Bin Laden, and Jean Sasson

When Osama Bin Ladin was killed in May of 2011 he left behind four wives and dozens of children and grandchildren. We have not heard much about their story since, and to my knowledge, Growing Up Bin Ladin is the only inside account of the Bin Ladin family life before the attacks.

The book is a disturbing memoir of a wife and son who watch the man they love descend deeper and deeper into radicalism. The chapters alternate between those authored by Najwa, Bin Ladin's first wife, and her and Osama's fourth son Omar. The book opens with Najwa, young, innocent, and marrying her deeply religious cousin. He is from the well-to-do Bin Ladin family and offers her a life of comfort and safety in Saudi Arabia. Najwa leaves her home in Syria to join the Bin Ladin clan in Saudi Arabia, were she dons the hijab and remains virtually secluded within the confines of the family home. But all of these things are perfectly acceptable for a Middle Eastern woman from a traditional Muslim family. Her husband, not yet a religious extremist, treats her well, provides for her, though urges her to live simply, and rejoices with her at the birth of their sons.

This is the life that Najwa, and many other Muslim women, yearned for. For a few brief years it was the life she had. But her husband, always the devout Muslim, began taking his religion more and more seriously. He spent longer time periods away from home, fighting the Soviets in Afghanistan. Eventually that war ended, but the fuel for Jihad had been ignited in Osama's heart. He asked her if he could take another wife to produce more sons for Islam . These sons would be raised in the service of Allah. Many would later serve their father's nefarious purposes. Osama eventually took four wives, the maximum number dictated by Muhammad the Prophet. He spent equal time with each of them, alternating the nights that he stayed in each wife's quarters. The wives became friends. Truly, they had to. They had no one else. As Osama's activities became more radical he was exiled from Saudi Arabia, and they moved to Sudan where the women and children lived in seclusion, with only occasional trips to the family farm outside Khartoum.

Omar, a young child when his family left Saudi Arabia, mourns the loss of the horses on his families horse farm in that country. Growing up, Omar became an avid animal lover. He loved dogs, a species deemed unclean by Islam. He was an avid horseman like his father. He seemed to understand animals better than he understood the people in his world. Better, certainly, than he could understand his father who grew increasingly distant and radical during their days in Khartoum. Osama once trekked his entire family, wives and sons included, into the desert to sleep with no provisions, in order to train them to survive in harsh circumstances. The day would come, his father claimed, when the comforts of their home will be no more.

These words were darkly prophetic. Osama's actions became more radical, his rhetoric more virulent, and his was kicked out of Sudan, taking his son Omar with him to Afghanistan. The Taliban offers him refuge and a home in the city, and a mountain in Tora Bora. At this point Osama's radicalism had brought him to shun modern conveniences, so he moved his family, and his growing troop of followers all to the primitive outpost at Tora Bora.  Omar is forced into his father's militant movement. Najwa continues bearing children, uncomplaining, yet unhappy. Omar begins questioning his father actions, he begins to consider escape.

Omar and Najwa were not living in the house in Abbottabad, Pakistan on the night that the rest of the family was killed/captured. In fact, this book was written a few years before the raid. They had left the clutches of religious fundamentalism. They were the lucky ones.

Osama Bin Laden has been the villian of our nation's story since September 11th, 2001. Yet, he was not the villian of this story - at least, not for Najwa. Perhaps he became a villain for Omar, yet deep at the heart of Omar's story is a boy just longing for his father's love and approval. Najwa's story is far more stoic. She is a woman telling the facts. She and Osama never divorced, she was still his wife, living in Syria on the day he died in Pakistan. She knew little of his political activity and judged him solely on how he treated his wives and children. He was, in her world, a very good Muslim. He took his devout nature to extremes later in their marriage, and yes, it resulted in much inconvenience for the family, but she remained with him, uncomplaining. She had to be essentially prodded away by her son, who warned her that something big was going to happen -something that would endanger her and her children's lives. I cannot understand this woman. How can you watch docilely as your husband takes another wife, and then another, and then another? How can you become friends with those wives?

Omar was a character that was easier to get. He was the one that rebelled against his father's extremism. Teenage rebellion is not something difficult for us to comprehend, and it's even easier when you're rebelling against the world's #1 terrorist. But through Omar's eyes we saw a man who was not a terrorist. He was a father. Not a very good father, but a father nonetheless. He did not love America, nor did he wish to throw away his religion. He just wanted a normal, Muslim life.

After finishing this book I went back and read the news reports from that fateful day two years ago. However, I read them with a different perspective. In those reports I read the stories of the women and children sequestered in that house, and indeed, in that mentality. They, like so many others in the fundamentalist community, are imprisoned in a world without education, without access to the outside, and with few avenues to change their situation. Nawja did not know what her husband was doing. She trusted that it was in the name of Allah and it was for the good of the Muslim world. But why can't Najwa and other women make that decision on their own?

Sadly, extremist Islam is growing. Though Osama Bin Laden's death caused a major setback for the Al Qaeda organization, extremist enclaves are expanding throughout Africa. We need to fight this battle, but let's do it with less drones and more books. Who's giving these kids education? Who's providing the resources? Who's getting them? Just boys? Or are girls allowed to go to school too? Are girls allowed to choose their path? If they are educated and given the chance to choose, my bets are that they are not going to choose a life of baby-making for jihad.

Book Thoughts: Notes from My Travels by Angelina Jolie

I recently finished Angelina Jolie's journal from her travels to developing nations in 2001-2002. It was pretty much what you would expect. Basically you take a rich and famous movie star, plop her into a third world country, and tell her to write about what she sees. That's pretty much it. While it wasn't a total waste of time, there was nothing overwhelmingly spectacular about the book. It was not particularly well written, but I won't judge Jolie too harshly for that (after all she does warn us at the beginning that she is not a writer and was quite hesitant to publish her journals.) I was more astonished and appalled by Jolie's lack of research in preparation for her visits. For instance, when she arrived in Pakistan the UN contingent had to immediately find her some acceptable clothing. I mean really, Angelina, I'm sure UN workers have better things to be doing than taking you shopping for a burqa.

Another thing that bothers me about the book is that Jolie seems to grossly oversimplify the problems in the developing world. Basically, it comes down to the fact that we (the U.S? American citizens?) are not doing enough to help. We need to give more money. It keeps coming back to money. Money will fix all the world's problems. There is no appeal to the complicated and deep-seeded problems wrought by decades of colonialism (i.e. lack of industry, soaring population growth, environmental degradation, corrupt and incompetent leaders, tribal rivalries, etc). Jolie's lack of background knowledge about the places she's visiting leads her to the most simplistic answers. Quite frankly, she just sounds stupid.

Where, Angelina, should that money come from? Should we borrow money from China to donate to Africa? Or should it come from citizens? Perhaps if we all stopped going to movies we could make a significant dent in world hunger. And how exactly are you helping by traipsing around in a UN baseball cap? I'd venture to guess that the cost of your trips to "raise awareness" probably could have put a village full of kids into school for at least a year.

So, reader, if you want a truly worthwhile book on this topic let me suggest a few from people who have actually  LEARNED about the developing world, SACRIFICED a good deal of money and comfort and ACCOMPLISHED something tangible.

Probably my top recommendation would be Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder. This book chronicles the story of Dr. Paul Farmer, a renown doctor who chose to invest his money and life into building up Partners in Health (PIH), an NGO bringing medical care to the  world's poorest countries. I read this book several years ago and it stuck with me. Dr. Farmer is an incredible man.

Second, try Three Cups of Tea. This is the story of mountain-climber-turned-humanitarian, Greg Mortenson. After getting lost while attempting to climb K2 Mortenson ended up in a small Pakistani mountain village. This experience changed his life. He went on to establish the Central Asia Institute (CAI) whose mission is to build schools in the tribal areas of Pakistan and Afghanistan. Over the years Mortenson has risked his life to bring education to Afghani and Pakistani the boys and girls in some of Asia's most dangerous regions. Again, a truly remarkable and courageous figure.

Meanwhile Jolie is back in LA, having an expensive preventative surgery, followed by another expensive reconstructive surgery. All the while thousands of children are dying because they didn't have money for a simple vaccination. Nice work, Angelina. Enjoy those new boobs.

Book Thoughts - My Beloved World: by Sonia Sotomayor

 

 I've always had a bit of a fascination with Sonia Sotomayor. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps because she's an intelligent woman above the political fray, perhaps because she embodies a sort of intellectual rags-to-riches ideal that I admire, or maybe it's just because she was my company one summer. I was hunkered down in my apartment writing grad school papers with CPSAN on for background noise and she was in the throes of Senate confirmation hearings. It was like a bonding experience - except she didn't know it - I guess it was a rather one-sided bonding. 

Anyway, I began her memoir on Sunday and finished it on Monday evening. I knew I would like her book immediately. I chuckled at the prologue. She warned her legal assistants that she would be taking some liberties with language. They were not to evaluate her book based on the standards for formal legal writing. I appreciate and resonate with that sentiment. My blog posts do not follow the structure or style of the AP essays I spend so much of my life grading. I get it. I get her. She's my kind of person.

 If you know anything about Sonia Sotomayor you know her story. She grew up in the Bronx projects, she went to Catholic school, got a scholarship to Princeton and later Yale Law (true, affirmative action probably didn't hurt) and yes, eventually was appointed to the Supreme Court. That is the metanarrative - the real story that resounded in my heart and mind lay in the smaller narratives, the little pieces of the puzzle that make her who she is today. There are things I admire about her and things I do not. But all in all, I learned a lot by reading her book. I was inspired. I walked away feeling as if there is one person in Washington that I can respect. 

I admired her battle with diabetes. When she first learned of the disease her parents began fighting over who would give her shots each day. Sonia had witnessed many an argument among her parents, but this was the first time they were arguing about HER. So she learned to give herself her own shots. She was young. Probably too young. But she was determined. 

The summer after her father died she found solace in the library. She haunted her local library, checking out books with no rhyme or reason. As a result, this girl who grew up in a Spanish speaking home began to really absorb and learn the English language. A language that she would later have to master in all its intricacy. That was the summer that she became a lifelong learner. 

She joined the forensics team in high school. It was through public speaking and debate that she found her passion. She learned lessons that would eventually get buried by all of her law school technicalities. Later, when she was able to unearth that passion, relight that fire and infuse her words with meaning and emotion, only then did she begin winning cases. The lessons she learned on her high school forensics team were some of the most valuable to her career. 

She figured out how to get her self to college - and not just any college - Princeton. The labyrinthine world of college admission was one that none in her family had traversed. She was the first. She did it by herself. If she got a leg up due to affirmative action, well I think it only makes up for the fact that she didn't have the advantage of expensive SAT prep course, or a mom or dad to proofread college essays and fill out loan applications for her. She was still determined. 

She is a judge by profession, but not by nature. She judges cases and laws, but she does not judge people. She believes that there is something to learn from every person you meet. I do a lot more judging than she does and I don't even wear a funny robe. 

Sonia Sotomayor is an intensely hard working woman. She is a strong, independent, determined, thinking female. I love that. I learned about the Puerto Rican culture and how strong the bonds of family remain. I learned more than I ever expected to know about criminal law and day-to-day life in the district court. Yet there is one area in which I do not admire Sotomayor. She could not master the art of building a strong marriage. And yet, I still learned from her. It is very hard to do both - and to do both well. It is difficult to put oneself on a path to such enormous success and maintain the closeness and intimacy needed to sustain a strong marriage. While I cannot admire her example in this area, I appreciate her wisdom about families and careers. She doesn't beat around the bush. She admits that no woman can have it all without sacrifice. Working moms do sacrifice - they do not "have it all" as most believe at the outset. They can never be ALL there in the way a non-mother can, they are always feeling the pull, always feeling the weight of a bigger responsibility awaiting them beyond the doors of the office. Yet they should not be belittled or judged for this choice. Sotomayor does not believe that they are bad mothers, but that they are indeed making a sacrifice. A stay-at-home mother can invest 100% in her children, but she sacrifices her career. A woman who chooses not to have a family can invest herself 100% in her career but sacrifice the joys of a family. We are humans. We cannot do it all, we cannot have it all. Even Sonia Sotomayor, who has a seat on the highest court in the land, who has oodles of friends, a huge supportive family, degrees from two Ivy league universities and a host of other accolades, does not have it all. 

At the end of the day I can admire her hard work, her intelligence, and her unique ability to analyze the law and think through situations rationally. In all of those things I aspire to be more like her. But I would not trade my life for hers. I realize that for me there are some things greater and more honorable than a seat on the Supreme Court. That is being a good wife, maintaining a strong marriage, and perhaps someday raising children to be intelligent, determined, and hard-working citizens.