The Bull of Anglesey Returns!

ABC News has a clip about the newest royal couple paying a visit to Wales.  In their first outing together since the announcement of their engagement, Prince William and Kate Middletown (looking fantastic in one of those peculiarly English fashion statements called a fascinator) visit the Isle of Anglesey, off the northwest coast of Wales.




The broadcaster calls their visit "probably the biggest thing ever to happen in Anglesey, this remote little island in Wales."  O ye of little dynastic awareness!  The Tudor dynasty came out of that exact area--in fact Henry Tudor, who later was crowned Henry VII (and fathered Henry VIII), was nicknamed the Black Bull of Anglesey.  And Henry was William's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather.

                                 I left the Firm in damn good shape, kid.  Don't blow it.

But probably the biggest thing to happen today.

What's *Your* Favorite Wonder of the Ancient World? (Part I)

I had an encyclopedia series as a child, the Golden Book series.  I used to curl up with one of these in my Mom's papasan chair and read from beginning to end, which is how I first learned about the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.  I loved the idea of a complete, neat little set and the simple, somewhat stilted illustrations fired my imagination.

(Someone on the Golden Book editorial staff must've had a classical background--there were tons of articles on various Greek and Roman figures, including one of Diogenes with his lamp.  I clearly remember the entry on Damocles, looking up to see the sword hanging above his head.)


(From memory--I promise!)

• The Statue of Zeus
• The Colossus of Rhodes
• The Alexandria Lighthouse
• The Mausoleum
• The Hanging Gardens of Babylon
• The Temple at Ephesus
• The Pyramids at Giza

When I was a child, my favorite Wonders were the statue of Zeus and the Colossus--I think I probably thought of them as huge dolls and then their glamour, what with all that gold and precious gems, fascinated me as well.  Just imagine sailing across the Aegean Sea and seeing that flash in the distance, the light shining off that enormous golden figure, standing against the sun.  Helios, incarnate, towering over the people of Rhodes.  The sad thing is, the Colossus only lasted 56 years before an earthquake destroyed it.  Not quite three generations grew up in its shadow, basking in its protective glory--and then an earthquake toppled their patron and its fragments were scattered about the harbor.

Two vast and trunkless legs…
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies...

The earthquake happened in the 3rd century BC--and for the next 800 years, people from all over the Mediterranean, including Pliny the Elder and Strabo,  came to marvel at the remains.  The Rhodesians wouldn't rebuild; they were afraid the earthquake* was a sign they'd offended their sun god.  And so he lay there in the harbor for 800 years.   The Colossus was the shortest-lived of the Wonders--but perhaps no other has so seized the popular imagination... albeit in error!  Though typically pictured standing, as Emma Lazarus put it,

With conquering limbs astride from land to land          

The Colossus was NOT in fact built standing astride the entrance; the statue was either standing  beside or overlooking the harbor.  For one thing Rhodes would've had to have closed down the > harbor during construction (which was obviously economically unfeasible) but more importantly, engineering technology at that point was not advanced enough to build such a statue.  And so Maarten van  Heemskerck's lovely, detailed, hand-painted 16th century illustration          

is imaginative rather than accurate.  An image of genius indeed--Shakespeare references this Colossus at least three times, most notably in Julius Caesar who is described as a man who




...doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs and peep about...


Three different eras are telescoped into one in this passage--Shakespeare's time toward the end of Elizabeth I's reign (ca. 1599), the last year of Julius Caesar's life (44 BC), and finally some two hundred years before, when the Colossus was still standing.  Each with their particular set of attitudes, expectations, connotations, unspoken associations...and the picture of that bronze statue burning gloriously through them all, still evocative.


And as Lazarus's poem title ("The New Colossus") indicates, the Statue of Liberty was an homage to the Rhodes Helios.  Both pedestalled metal statues, both facing east (like cathedrals, in fact, now that I think of it!), both invoking light, both as monuments to Liberty and Freedom (the Helios was built in thanksgiving for Rhodes having resisted invasion during the chaotic period after the death of Alexander the Great).  Lady Liberty is wearing considerably more clothing than the Colossus is usually portrayed, however!  Well, I suppose Rhodes is hotter than New York City.


Here in our sea-washed sunset** gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning and her name
Mother of Exiles...


*The Rhodesians needn't have felt singled out--this being the Mediterranean, most of the seven Wonders were done in by earthquakes eventually


**Since Liberty faces east, this is an odd note.


Next, Part II: Nebuchadnezzar landscapes his city within an inch of its life, all to get some sugar.

San Francisco, November, 1978

Sean Penn plays Harvey Milk.



This is one of those fascinating, only-in-the-'70s, historical narratives to which I am always drawn. I first became interested in Harvey Milk's story back in Virginia when I was called in to audition at the Source Theatre for a musical about Milk's life and death.  In preparation for the audition I did a lot of research about the man, and then later saw a documentary about Milk. The story is compelling: Harvey Milk, the first openly gay elected official in the country, elected to the San Francisco Board of Supervisors in 1977, just as the gay liberation movement is unfurling across the country. And even then he probably would not have been elected if San Francisco hadn't reorganized their election process.  Previously all supervisors had been elected on city-wide ballots but the procedures were changed so that supervisors were now chosen by their district instead of running at-large.  So basically, the gay district elected him--he called himself "The Mayor of Castro Street."


But progress like this rarely goes unchallenged and across the country there were a lot of public figures who, from either principle or a political strategy, opposed gays being allowed any kind of public role.  This was the era of Anita Bryant's successful campaign to overturn an ordinance in Florida that prohibited anti-gay discrimination (which earned her a pie in the face).





This was also the era of the Briggs Initiave, a bill pushed by California gubernatorial hopeful John Briggs who saw in Bryant's victory an exploitable power base (namely, evangelical Christians) and drafted a bill prohibiting homosexuals from teaching positions throughtout the state--a bill which failed with the help of then-Governor Ronald Reagan (which--whoah--there's an interesting topic for a future post).   But as Briggs assured journalist Randy Shilts, he didn't really hate gays deep down--"it's politics.  Just politics."


Back in San Francisco, Dan White had also been elected to the Board--a former cop and much more conservative, meat-and-potatoes, "traditional values" kind of guy. George Moscone was the mayor, and he and Milk were much closer politically. White and Milk used to tangle on issues--in fact, after Milk reconsidered his support on an issue and ended up voting against White on a particular bill, White opposed Milk on every single vote.  Eventually White finally got fed up and quit, claiming the position of Supervisor didn't pay enough to support his family. His support base convinced him to ask to be reappointed; he tried and originally Moscone was going to, but Milk and two other progressive supervisors convince Moscone otherwise.  A couple of days later White shows up at City Hall with a gun, climbs through the window to avoid the metal detectors, goes upstairs and murders Moscone, reloads, goes downstairs and murders Milk. He shot them both in the head; according to the medical examiner, they both probably would've survived the body wounds had they been treated promptly.  But the head wounds were instantly fatal..


The murders gave a huge impetus to Dianne Feinstein's political career--as President of the Board of supervisors, she now became Acting Mayor and announced to the press what had happened.





White got a slap on the wrist--a 7-year sentence (which ended up being 5 years) for murdering two people. His lawyer claimed White was less culpable due to "diminished capacity," arguing that his increased consumption of junk food was key to his state of depression.  (The media turned this into the Twinkie defense--most people misunderstood the argument, thinking that the junk food binge caused him to snap and murder.  What the lawyer was arguing was that the junk food binge was an indicator of diminished capacity, because White was normally a fitness freak.)  Unbelievably, in light of the indisputed evidence that White had planned out the murders quite thoroughly, the jury bought this theory and found him guilty only of voluntary manslaughter.  The gay community was outraged and responded with what became known as the White Night Riots.


*and in fact later confessed not only to premeditation, but had also intended to kill the two other progressives who'd lobbied with Milk against his reinstatement.


What makes the whole story even sadder and more fatalistic, was that news of the Jonestown tragedy had just broken.  The People's Temple was very much connected to San Francisco--the city had been their base before relocating to Guyana and in fact Jones had close ties to both Milk and Moscone. Just the week before Moscone had attended a memorial service for Leo Ryan, the US Congressman who was murdered by Jones's guard right before the order for the mass suicide was given. In an even weirder coincidence, the practice runs that Jones would order for the massacre to test his adherents' loyalty, where his guards would command the cult members to drink liquids they were told were poison--were known as White Nights.


I have a theory (unprovable admittedly) that, as Ecclesiastes tells us, there are times for things.  That sometimes events all come together not from coincidence but because they're all acting on each other in unperceived ways, influencing each other somehow--that there's a mystical element to the events that affect us most strongly.  When I try to imagine San Francisco at that time, that one singular month, November of 1978, I imagine a cloud, dark and thick, hanging over the city, obscuring the light.  What can possibly make sense of such a black hole of sadness and death, why two such terrible tragedies happened so close together?  Maybe it was just time.


(This material originally appeared, in edited form, in my personal blog.)

The Children's Hour

There's a fascinating article in this week's New York Times Sunday magazine, about Shaken Baby Syndrome and how some guilty verdicts are being called into doubt in light of growing medical uncertainty about the syndrome. As soon as I read the blurb ("Some doctors are taking issue with the diagnosis of the syndrome, raising the possibility that innocent people have been sent to jail..."), I immediately realized the parallel with the daycare sex abuse scandals of the '80s. The McMartin case might've been the best-known but the one with which I'm most familiar is the "Little Rascals" case in Edenton, North Carolina which was addressed in a brilliant PBS documentary in the '90s. Just as in similar cases across the country, children made suggestive remarks to their parents, who then questioned their children, consulted with medical and psychological experts on sexual abuse, concluded that their children had been sexually abused by their daycare providers, and pursued prosecution. What makes these cases so remarkable--and disturbing--is the rush to judgment even in light of some literally incredible testimony from some of the "victims." The Edenton children, some as young as two years old, testified that the Little Rascals providers killed babies in front of them and fed them to sharks. They testified that they flew to outer space in hot air balloons. And yet they didn't volunteer any of this testimony about all of the abuse they claimed to be suffering, until the parents started questioning them--until an investigation started and they were surrounded by lot of authority figures showing them pictures and asking them questions. One of the parents said, point blank, "I know now that children don't lie about things like this." But were these children actually lying--that is, misleading these adults with intent? Or were they responding the way they sensed the adults around them wanted them to respond? One parent in the documentary started having doubts when she was riding in the car with her son, who began casually pointing to strangers on the sidewalk. "That one abused me--oh yeah, and that man over there..." as though it were some kind of game, saying what he thought Mommy wanted--or needed--to hear. Were these children some kind of mouthpiece, did they serve as a mirror into the fears of their parents?

There's an interesting intersection of factors on display here--the belief in the essential infallibility of children; the faith in the jury system; the heartbreak of parents who believe their child had been horribly violated; and the special fury reserved for those wrongdoers who attack our society's most vulnerable members: children, old people and pets. One especially disturbing revelation in the Frontline documentary was that a juror had lied during the voir dire process. When asked if he'd ever been sexually abused, the (at that time, potential) juror had said no--he was hoping to be on the jury, and knew that if he answered yes, he would not have been chosen. He wanted to get on the jury, because he'd already decided that the defendants must be guilty.   Another juror did not believe the prosecution had proved its case, even after a third juror had brought in outside material supporting his point of view into the deliberation room (again compromising the process) but, worn down by the grueling trial, eventually allowed himself to be pressured into a guilty verdict.

But there's another factor here, one less obvious to the contemporary observer--the self-imposed and culturally-enforced guilt of the working mother. The American woman had made solid inroads into the corporate culture by the mid-to-late '80s but this came at a price and there was, and remains, a lot of debate about the effects of outsourced childcare--on the children, the parents and the providers. I say parents but of course it is usually the mother who has to defend her choice to work and frequently the mother who has to negotiate the childcare arrangements.  (According to Sarah Bradford's biography, even the Princess of Wales was uncomfortable with Prince William's first nanny.) Which brings us to the Shaken Baby syndrome article which, again, pits the parents against the childcare providers. As before experts are summoned who attest to the "facts" about the effects on children. As before the ensuing conversation includes those who  see it as another reason why "mothers/women should be the care giver of their babies and children and not people outside of the home" (rather telling choice of words there!) and who call for a "return" to the days when women didn't work outside the home and "mom stays home." As before there are defendants who end up pleading guilty or no contest--not from principle but just so they can have their lives back. It's the same narrative, over and over.

And the day care sex abuse hysteria (literally, since the root word of hysteria is the Greek hysterikos, meaning of the womb) wasn't the first iteration of this narrative. When I first watched the Frontline documentary, the first thing I thought of was the Salem Witch Trials. Indefensible testimony that defies logic or common sense but which the experts assure us is incontrovertible fact (the "spectral evidence" in Salem), the rush to condemnation combined with the expectation to deliver a specific verdict (Rebecca Nurse, one of the Salem accused whose standing in the community was seemingly untouchable, was first found innocent--until the magistrate asked that the jury "reconsider"), the exhausted and confused defendants eventually pleading guilty to get their lives back. (Or in Salem--to get their lives, period. Not one defendant was exonerated, and every single one who insisted on pleading not-guilty were all condemned to be hanged, never to a lesser sentence.)  The exaltation of the child witness, speaking truth to power, beyond all common sense--The Children's Hour. The girls in Salem claimed that the defendants were sending out their souls to afflict the girls. They said they saw the Devil in the form of a yellow bird perched on the rafters in the courthouse. Is that really any different from claiming to fly in UFOs?

The parallel isn't perfect, of course--for one thing sexual abuse really does exist, as does Shaken Baby syndrome.  Which is where one aspect of this tragedy lies (along with, obviously, the prospect of innocent people having their lives ruined and going to prison for something they didn't do).  Every day children are abused sexually.  Babies are shaken unknowingly and sometimes die as a result--and the Whitmer baby, profiled in the Times article, really is physically disabled.  We can't turn away from his parents' obvious suffering.  And we can't just reject those who are experts in their field--blind denial of peer-tested, peer-reviewed science isn't a solution any more than blind faith in that same science.  It's just--daunting to realize how imperfect the jury system still is in this country, even with the best of intentions.