For most of the week after flying back home, I’ve felt achy and weak. Naturally, I saw this as a portent of pain to come. And maybe it is. But at the moment, I rather think that it’s being under the weather. I’m hoping that tomorrow things will brighten up. Tomorrow I’ll meet Jim and Nancy for dinner.
It was good to have dinner with Jim and Nancy. They are good-hearted and sensible as always. They could call themselves Socialists, Social Democrats, or Christian Socialists. Historical socialism would have embraced them and been embraced by them. I suspect that there are many about whom this can be said. However, the reigning spirit on the Left is identitarian. It discourages those who might be ready to join on principle but don’t feel comfortable with an ideology of special differences. Identitarianism fits into the advanced capitalist system as one more articulation of our specialism. Everyone has to have a special subgroup, an identity, a way of “branding” themselves. To disrespect a group’s identify is tantamount to genocide. The term “dead-naming” says it all. The socialism of DSA is a malleable adornment, put on to give specialism a jaunty radical air. “Socialism” is a chic feather in the identity cap.
We also talked about the destructive net effect on our healthcare system incurred by our prioritization of keeping the individual alive at all costs. I know that massive statistics support me on this, but I gave as an example of this spirit the tone of the (otherwise quite laudable) ALS Association: Every story has to be a narrative of successes, of marching from victory to victory. Every mailing contains the sign off, “No White Flags!” Well, speak for yourselves, comrades in suffering! I know when and how to hoist my white flag. I’m not going to march under your banner of “Me at All Costs.” I know and you know that we—let me say it bluntly!—are losers. There are many invisible strata of losers in our society. I’d rather claim my place among them. And yes, they include those bewildered by or taunted for their gender identification. I’m with them the way an atheist can stand with persecuted Catholics and Jews without endorsing their theologies.
Just as Jim and I were discussing our old colleagues and Nancy was in the women’s room, I sensed a tall female presence to my left. I turned and tried to respond to a warm and surprised greeting. But who was this statuesque blond-haired woman with Oriental features? Her Russian “privet” gave her away: it was Lyudmila, my erstwhile Russian tutor from back before I traveled five years ago across the Russian Federation from Kaliningrad to Kamchatka. Lyudmila is a Siberian. Her mother is a Buryat, her father an Evenk, both professional dancers. I’m not familiar with the Evenks; but I have met and spoken with a fair number of Buryats including Lyudmila’s dydya or uncle in St. Petersburg. They are Russified Mongols and, in my experience, a very handsome and outgoing people. I didn’t recognize her because she has dyed her hair blond. It has a good effect. I noticed her high cheekbones and was flattered by the sincere affection in her voice. As usual when we meet, we made vague pledges to get in touch sometime. But then on the way home, I had a brilliant idea. Laura, another of my Russian teachers, was planning to drive over from Urbana for a visit on Sunday. Both have an interest in meeting other Russian speakers. I would invite both and make a small soirée of it. Lyudmila has many contacts in the Slavic immigrant community. She has a teen-aged daughter whom I have met. Perhaps they could help me find the part-time help I will soon need.
Signed,
Andrew (Weeks)
Normal Thoughts 