The Teachers Mutiny

T’was the week before Christmas and…

“…we had a coup d’état,” in the words of Jaime.

Who should know, being a lawyer and an astute observer. So what happened? Well, the governor of the island called a special session of the legislature to pass a “reform” of the teachers’ retirement system, which currently has almost 40,000 pensioners. This follows a move in April to reform the government workers retirement system, which caused protests across the island.

It’s not the chickens but rather the eagles come home to roost; since 1952, governments have had two or three essential strategies to reduce unemployment. The first was legitimate—manufacturing, especially pharmaceuticals. That Valium you mother chugged down to tide her through your terrible twos? Thanks, Puerto Rico!

The other modes were a little less kosher….

“He shipped ‘em all off to New York!” sputtered Mr. Fernández, when someone suggested that Luis Muñoz Marín—a close relative of the devil, in the eyes of Mr. Fernández—had reduced unemployment.

The other solution? Put everybody on the government payroll, give them one task to do, and pay them substantially less than the private sector. So you had an enormous government; if memory serves... well wait. Here’s a graphic:

So everybody knew for years that we were heading for disaster. And thus the last governor passed legislation that slashed 30,000 government jobs. Last April, the present governor took the machete to the government retirement system and raised taxes. And now, it’s the teachers’ turn.

There are two reasons for this. First, the system is broke; here’s what the president of the Senate, Eduardo Bhatia, had to say:

To have a retirement system you have to square the end of the month and it is broken. For every dollar you have to give a person who retires today there are 17 cents in the piggy bank. The question is where the other 83 cents go, and that is the decision we have to make as a country. Are there additional 83 cents in the General Fund? No, not there,’ said the Senate leader.

Put it another way—the norm is to have a plan 80% funded, we are only at 17%.

The other factor at play? A little company called Moody’s, which has our credit rating one notch above junk, and is watching Puerto Rico closely.

Well, “watching” may be generous. Moody’s, in fact, has Puerto Rico quite securely by part of a gentleman’s most prized anatomical possessions. And Cate Long, writing for Reuters states it openly: she wrote, “Moody’s identified this reform as one of the factors that will compose its review of Puerto Rico.”

So what happened? The governor sent legislation to one of the two teachers’ unions on the island, and they erupted. And as you can see in the video below, they not only protested but broke the doors to the Senate and charged in. So soon, the entire island was glued to their televisions, watching as hundreds of chanting teachers gathered in the capitol.

Damage? $55,000. One part of which may have been a senator’s chair, on which, according to The New Day, a child was permitted or possibly urged to urinate. Oh, and a security official got bitten, though the attacker didn’t draw blood.

And what did the Senate do? Well, they got the hell out of Dodge City, which in this case meant retreating into an adjacent room, the Hall for Illustrious Ladies. They continued the debate until seven PM, when they adjourned.

To make a sorry situation worse, the teachers do not receive Social Security, and so their pension is the only thing they have.

The reaction from the guv? He came out and called it “reproachable,” which seems a bit mild, given the damage done and the precedent it sets.

You can argue—the teachers should have seen it coming; it was clear that the system was unsustainable. It’s also true that we have a very expensive government, and that our legislators make a killing, both when they’re in office and when they come back as “advisers.” Nor does it help that—according to Mr. Fernández—the Department of Education has the highest proportion of non-docent versus docent personnel in the country.

The saddest thing? According to an analysis by Joanisabel González in the print edition of El Nuevo Día, “Lo increíble es que Puerto Rico entrará en esta nueva parte del ciclo sin garantías de que escapará a la degradación crediticia”.

Simple translation! Even if we do this—and the House has in the last hour just passed the legislation—it may not be enough.

Those Randy Republicans

Who knows how I stumbled on to this? Perhaps it was meeting a very engaging professor of English at the University of Puerto Rico, and discovering—what did we do before Google?—that she had written an article about the convergences of Wisconsin under Walker and Puerto Rico under our former governor, who is so conservative that he was rumored to be a member of Opus Dei. (caps by tradition and nothing else….)

Right—read the article, which is excellent, and then remembered having seen something about Paul Ryan. But what was it? Well, it was three in the morning, so I tripped—almost literally—off to bed; this morning I remembered: Paul Ryan’s ideological mentor is or was Ayn Rand.

Look, let’s be fair. When you are 17, and when the beauty of purely abstract thought is freshly sprung upon you, you can be forgiven for loving Ayn Rand. Similarly, when at the same age you choose to bathe in the emotions, you are permitted to love Tchaikovsky. The point? You’re supposed to grow up.

Rand’s philosophy, which she called Objectivism, is deeply attractive to the adolescent mind; in fact, it almost feels that it was created for it. And there may be a reason for it—Rand could have stopped her cognitive development because of a traumatic incident. At age 12, she saw the Bolsheviks seize her father’s pharmacy in St. Petersburg.

She was told it was for “the people;” she saw it as rank injustice to her father, who had worked and struggled and dared and succeeded. And so she developed a philosophy, the philosophy of Objectivism. Its cornerstone was reason, and the first floor was selfishness, which she hailed as the greatest good. From that, the corollary was a hatred of altruism, or doing anything that was not in some way in your self-interest. And then came a hatred of religion—Rand was a staunch atheist, because who was more sickeningly altruistic than Jesus, curing all those lepers and washing whores’ feet? Screw that.

Now then, anything that prevents you from your capitalism, from making your fortune or pursing your goals, is bad—so that means government, unions, social groups pressuring on you or regulating you or even just taxing you. So—zero, or at least minimal, government.

Rand came to the United States and started writing—she cranked out The Fountainhead, which was pretty good, and then got to work on her magnum opus, Atlas Shrugged. At 1200 pages—60 pages of which are a long speech that the main character presents outlining Rand’s objectivist principles—it makes an excellent doorstop. The hitch? It’s completely unreadable.

“What’s it about?” you may be asking.

Well, I got through, those days when I was reading Rand, but only because of the discipline practicing cello six hours a day had given me. And confession time—the book is so bad, it’s a soporific. In the same way that new mothers are said to forget the agony of labor an hour past, Rand’s Atlas Shrugged recedes into a fog of words. Or perhaps it’s just buried under them.

OK—here goes. A Great Man, John Galt (did I hear the sharp intake of breath, somewhere? You know, the one the denotes surprise and adoration?) is a great industrialist, but what happens? The fleas, the blood suckers, the leeches—read government, unions, church, social groups—drive him to abandon his enterprise and go off, with everybody like him, to form their own perfect, objectivist world. And so we’re fucked.

Dear Reader, calculate your hourly rate and the amount of time it would take to read a 1200 page blowup of the idea above. Then send your check to me….

Of course everybody hated it, but guess what? According to William F. Buckley—neither an intellectual lightweight nor a rabid liberal—it was the best-selling novel of all time. Is it still, after Twilight and the Fifty Shades of Gray? A better blogger would look that up….

Whether yes or no, it’s sold a lot of copies, and sales of the damn thing spiked two years ago when it was announced that Paul Ryan, the cute and chilling boy senator from Wisconsin whom Romney picked to give some pizazz to his ticket, had read it, been deeply influenced by it, and had given it to his aides as required reading. I presume, by the way, not on the taxpayer’s nickel, which would have driven Rand out of her grave and charging to Capitol Hill.

For the conservatives, you see, have taken the same approach to Rand as they have to the Bible: pick and choose. Rand’s atheism? OK—skip that. Her views on homosexuality, which were that she wasn’t into it, but the government had no business saying one thing or another about it? Err, move on. Her belief that sex…wait, let Wikipedia tell the story….

In rejecting the traditional altruistic moral code, Rand also rejects the sexual code that, in her view, is the logical implication of altruism. In Atlas Shrugged Rand introduces a theory of sex that is based in her broader ethical and psychological theories. Rather than considering sexual desire a debasing animal instinct, Rand portrays it as the highest celebration of human values, a physical response to intellectual and spiritual values that gives concrete expression to what could otherwise be experienced only in the abstract.

Right, maybe a mistake there, though the writing above does give you a fair taste of the 1200 page work itself. I can put it simpler—fuck whom you want. As Rand did, by having an affair for umpteen years with the husband of her close friend. Oh, and there are three adulterous affairs in the book—all very much glorified as the supreme and crowning physical expression of noble, selfish beings.

The conservatives have also forgotten that Rand scorned Ronald Reagan, whom she thought (rightly) was a nitwit. Nor did she think he was a true capitalist, but rather a “mixed-government” type. Here she is:

In conclusion, let me touch briefly on another question often asked me: What do I think of President Reagan? The best answer to give would be: But I don’t think of him—and the more I see, the less I think. I did not vote for him (or for anyone else) and events seem to justify me. The appalling disgrace of his administration is his connection with the so-called “Moral Majority” and sundry other TV religionists, who are struggling—apparently with his approval—to take us back to the Middle Ages, via the unconstitutional union of religion and politics.

The threat to the future of capitalism is the fact that Reagan might fail so badly that he will become another ghost, like Herbert Hoover, to be invoked as an example of capitalism’s failure for another fifty years.

Observe Reagan’s futile attempts to arouse the country by some sort of inspirational appeal. He is right in thinking that the country needs an inspirational element. But he will not find it in the God-Family-Tradition swamp.

Well, we have the John Galt Society and the Ayn Rand Institute and a whole host of organizations that espouse the carefully pruned views of Ayn Rand. In fact, Rand had a whole coterie of followers, some quite influential, like Alan Greenspan. And so Paul Ryan went off to speak to the Atlas Society in 2005; here’s what he said:

The reason I got involved in public service, by and large, if I had to credit one thinker, one person, it would be Ayn Rand. And the fight we are in here, make no mistake about it, is a fight of individualism versus collectivism.”

Or consider this, from 2009:

“what’s unique about what’s happening today in government, in the world, in America, is that it’s as if we’re living in an Ayn Rand novel right now. I think Ayn Rand did the best job of anybody to build a moral case of capitalism, and that morality of capitalism is under assault.”

Well, well—the election came along and it had to be admitted: there were some serious issues that Rand espoused that the right wing didn’t want to get into. So when someone trotted over to ask Ryan about all this, here’s what he had to say:

He admitted that he had “enjoyed her novels,” but, as Mak notes, he stressed that, “I reject her philosophy. It’s an atheist philosophy. It reduces human interactions down to mere contracts and it is antithetical to my worldview. If somebody is going to try to paste a person’s view on epistemology to me, then give me Thomas Aquinas.”

Wow—that’s class! Epistemology? Thomas Aquinas? Well, I looked it up: what was the epistemological view of Aquinas? And here it is:

Thomas believed "that for the knowledge of any truth whatsoever man needs divine help, that the intellect may be moved by God to its act."

Reading further, I came upon this, from the wicked and atheist pen of Bertrand Russell:

He does not, like the Platonic Socrates, set out to follow wherever the argument may lead. He is not engaged in an inquiry, the result of which it is impossible to know in advance. Before he begins to philosophize, he already knows the truth; it is declared in the Catholic faith. If he can find apparently rational arguments for some parts of the faith, so much the better; if he cannot, he need only fall back on revelation. The finding of arguments for a conclusion given in advance is not philosophy, but special pleading. I cannot, therefore, feel that he deserves to be put on a level with the best philosophers either of Greece or of modern times.

Oh, I thought—isn’t that another word for apologetics? So I trotted over to look that up, and yes, it’s suspiciously close—apologetics is the defense of (usually) a religion by making formal arguments (when possible). Oh, and as an example, I found a wonderful graphic used to explain the trinity, a concept that has mystified everyone for a millennium or two. Here goes:

 See? What could be clearer? Well, got that cleared up!

All this, and before lunch!

Fertile Fields

This being a decent blog, I can’t repeat what I said when I saw them, that day with Harry, but it was something like, “what the fuh…?”

Harry was driving; we were on the highway to Ponce, the island’s second largest city. And right there, where Santa Isabel should be, was this:

Yup, 44 windmills in a plain between two mountains. Quite a cite / sight it was, and a bit difficult to overlook.

“They’re completely worthless,” said Harry. “They’re not producing any energy, really. It was another stupid plan of your governor….”

It was a joke—OK, maybe the slightest of jabs. Harry favors independence, but fears gravely that I am a statehooder.

“I’m not surprised,” I said, “that it’s not producing any energy. I tried for years to get Wal-Mart to install windmills, and the sustainability guy told me there’s nowhere on the island with enough wind.”

Actually, if memory serves, the only place with enough wind was alongside of the expressway we were driving on. Cars moving at 65 miles per hour create a lot of air movement.

We had been talking, Harry and I, of the wonderful developments in Puerto Rico. The statue of Christopher Colombus, a monstrosity bigger than the Statue of Liberty, had been shipped off to Arecibo, a town west of San Juan, where it was to be erected. It had been offered to several cities in the US, but curiously, nobody wanted it. Could it be because it looked like this?

“Well, not every statue has to be beautiful,” I said to Harry. And he agreed: there has to be a place for diversity of aesthetics in our society. And went on to tell me that the windmill parts had been stored in his neighborhood, and that each blade was exactly one city block long. He even showed me the block.

“There are two over at Bacardi,” I said, “and one sitting on the municipal dump.”

Right, so Harry had to tell me the story on that.

The governor, wanting to promote this excellent scheme, had erected the windmill on the dump, and they had all watched breathlessly for the majestic white—symbolic for clean and renewable—blades to spin. They were as still as corpses.

Well, that was a problem, but not for long, and not for our governor. What did he do? Rigged it up with electricity, and we now have, as Harry explained it, an enormous fan slowly twirling in public view. See? Instead of producing any energy, it is in fact consuming it….

This made perfect sense, in a tropical sort of way; it was a precise example of a previous, also statehood, governor’s campaign motto: “¿Problema? ¡Resuelto!”

(Problem? Fixed!)

Well, it was a thing to know about, so I looked it up, after I got home. And found that a company, Pattern Energy, had invested 215 million bucks into this project, and were intending to sell the power company 95 MW, enough to power 33 thousand homes.

Yes, and this would be a savings of $13,000 per hour for the company, and thus for us!

Well, the news came out, a week ago. The windmills have been stopped, for the time being. And why? It seems that the turbines have an unfortunate habit—the blades are flying off. So, shut down until further notice.

Fear not, Readers, that we will be sitting in the dark, reduced to rubbing sticks to light the fires to heat our food. For the new director of the energy company—for we have a new governor, so everybody has to change, even the president of the University of Puerto Rico—has just stated what Marc and Harry knew that day in September.

There’s no wind.

The project, in fact, generates all of 3% of the energy on the island. And the turbines are working at only 20% of capacity, not the 40%-50% that is expected. So Pattern Energy, “one of North America’s leading independent wind and transmission companies,” according to their website, has just stuck in $215,000,000 to Puerto Rico, and is getting back…

…what?

“Did García Márquez really say that about Puerto Rico?” I asked Harry. He knew immediately the remark; it’s part of Puerto Rican folklore. When asked why he didn’t write about Puerto Rico, García Márquez said something like, “they didn’t believe me when I wrote about Macondo, so they really wouldn’t believe me if I wrote about Puerto Rico….”

“Absolutely,” returned Harry. 

Good to know. What would I write about, if I woke up and found everything normal?

Our Glorious Gobe

It’s not a jackhammer; it’s actually a tractor with a super-sized jackhammer attached. And it’s right outside my apartment, making enough noise that I cannot hear loud music played at full volume on my iPod.

The purpose? The jackhammer is drilling 6-inch diameter holes in the pavement of the street. After the street has been completely pockmarked, another tractor will come, scoop up the asphalt, and dump it into a truck. Then, the street will be remade in brick.

Why? Well, parts of San Juan have the famous iridescent blue adoquines or cobblestones. Here—have a look….

Very beautiful, very slippery when wet. So the mayor, or rather ex-mayor, decided to make all the streets in Old San Juan adoquined.

The problem? The real adoquines got their lustrous shiny blue because of slag put in the ballast of ships transporting goods to the island. Now, however, there is either no slag, or there are no ships—I’ve no idea which. And anyway, the Institute of Puerto Rican Culture, which defends greatly the patrimony of Old San Juan, would never allow anything new which looked old. Anything new has to look new—see? Otherwise a new thing could be mistaken for an old thing and that would be very, very bad.

The solution, therefore, is to pave the street with a dullish, blue-gray brick—which very quickly becomes stained with whatever fluids cars leak—and that means removing the asphalt and preparing the ground to receive the bricks.

And does anyone need the streets to be brick, you ask?

Of course not. The city doesn’t have a library, much less a zoo. There are very few parks, and those that exist tend to be vacant and disheveled. That means that the only thing a parent with a child can do in San Juan is

1.     go to the movies

2.     go to the mall

The point of this all, then, is not to beautify a city already very beautiful but to spend some federal funds, employ some people, and do something visible in a visible place.

Oh, and speaking of money—everybody wants to know: what happened to the billion dollars that were earmarked for the special communities fund, set up by the redoubtable Sila Calderón? Yes, she was our very first lady governor—evil tongues dubbed her “the governess”—and she was a tigress in championing her special communities.

Yes, these derelict communities of (usually) squatters needed all the help they could get—the roads were unpaved, water and electricity spotty, no recreation fields or basketball courts or baseball diamonds. So Sila stepped into the picture, or rather into one particularly down-at-the-heels community, Barrio Obrero, or the Workers Neighborhood. And speaking of heels, there Sila was, wearing her trademark canary yellow dress with Armani shoes to match, tittering on a plank of plywood stretched over a sea of mud; her eyes narrow with terror, her mouth clenched in a smile. Once in the house, she demonstrated the presence of water in the new kitchen sink by washing dishes—something she had never done before, since her father sold virtually all the ice cream on the island for decades; the lady is loaded. But dishes she did, as a large and very black woman—presumably the missis of the house—stood by and watched in puzzlement.

Well, I was once asked what exactly Sila built with that billion dollars, and wanting to be truthful, I responded—signs. Yes, signs that got put up next to the basketball court with no baskets or the community center with the broken out windows, and which remained there for four years, resting in glorious silence as residents of the special community strolled past with their midday beers.

So—where did the money go? Well, Sila harbors dark thoughts about her successor, a man from her own party who would go on to be hauled into Federal court for various shades of fraud. Oh, and then there was the next governor, of the opposite party—so he’s a likely suspect as well. So now the new governor—of Sila’s political ilk and so to be trusted—is gonna investigate, since the money is gone and the neighborhoods continue special, instead of ordinary.

But here’s the great part. Is La Gobe, as disrespectful tongues dubbed her, content to sit back and let the current governor conduct the investigation? Not she! She’s gonna start her own investigation—to be absolutely sure that there’s no trickery, no chicanery, no playing footsy with the truth.

Well, well—she’s a powerhouse, our Sila. And no, it’s not true that her disappearance for a month after winning the election—time lesser individuals spend thinking about their cabinet choices—was spent recovering from a facelift.

Some people naturally have their eyebrows tickling their ears….

Sort of looks Chinese, doesn’t she? And no, she doesn’t go to the same hairdresser as Ronald MacDonald….

Still a Lot to Do

Somewhere in Puerto Rico, there’s an unhappy and confused twelve-year old girl.

In the grand scheme of affairs, that’s not too bad. Atrocious things are happening all over the world to kids—famine, abuse, displacement. The little girl, whose name no one knows, has two good parents, both professionals, and presumably all the comforts of the upper middle class. In short, she’s well-off, a nice kid living with her two parents who are…

…lesbians.

Ho-hum, you say, and what’s the big deal here?

Well, the mother who is not the biological mother would like to adopt her daughter. In short, she wants to be legally recognized as a mother. And the Puerto Rico Supreme Court has just said, in a 5 / 4 decision, no.

So what, you say. The couple has been together for 25 years, they planned the child together, the I-don’t-want-to-say unnatural mother was the first face the child saw when she was born. No one’s going anywhere….

Yeah? Do we know that? What if the birth mother (don’t know if that’s a term, but it is now) gets hit by a bus tomorrow? Does the Family Department have the right to come in and take the child and assign her to foster care?

There’s also something called divorce, in which case the non-birth mother would be out in the cold. A father could argue for every other weekend and two weeks in the summer, but the non-birth mother? She’d better hope for a good judge.

Predictably, the decision fell on political lines. Our former governor, who was / is a poster boy for the GOP (and implemented the same strategies two years before Scott Walker of Wisconsin) was rumored to be Opus Dei. There were, according to some, prayers—and by no means ecumenical—before meetings. So all of his appointees have dictated the fate of this mothered / motherless child.

The scene is looking potentially better in Washington, where the Supreme Court will begin deliberating on the Proposition 8 decision on March 26. As you remember, the citizens of California—funded liberally by the Mormons—voted against marriage equality in 2008. The decision was challenged, and eventually a federal district court ruled that the citizens didn’t have the right to determine who gets married and who doesn’t. Now, the Supreme Court is going to decide it.

In addition, the Defense of Marriage Act—signed into law by that devoted family man, that upholder of traditional values, that pillar of moral and sexual rectitude Bill Clinton—is up for deliberation by the Supreme Court. Curiously, the court is hearing the DOMA case one day after the Proposition 8 case.

It’s been a long road, this battle for the rights of LGBT folks. So long that it’s a little hard to see how much progress we’ve made in so—relatively—little time. I was born in the worst decade of the twentieth century, perhaps, for gay people—a decade where Joe McCarthy was flaunting a list of “homosexuals” employed by the government, which by executive order made it illegal to be gay and work in the federal government. Gay bashing was not speaking ill of gay people—it was literally assault on men leaving the bars at night. Families routinely invaded houses that two men and women had made homes for years after one partner died—and the legal battles weren’t easy or pretty.

So we’ve done a lot. There’s a reason so many fundamentalists are going crazy: they’re seeing their world vanish.

A lot, yes.

But still so much to do….