Video Segments

Video from last year — I wonder what people would have to say about the Pope’s comments yesterday?

Josh Davis's avatarjoshdavisthinks

A selection of video segments . . ..

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for the fog horn when there is no fog :: sarah hannah

Some poetry hits you hard. This is one of those poems.

Reading @nprscottsimon’s tweets from his mother’s bedside somehow brought these words to mind. So good to find them on wordpress. The poet Sarah Hannah, whose words these are, was Sarah Goldstein in High School, when I knew her well.

piapest's avatarpoetry

Still sounding in full sun past the jetty,
While low tide waves lap trinkets at your feet,

And you skip across dried trident trails,
Fling weeds, and do not think of worry.

For the horn that blares although you call it stubborn,
In error, out of place. For the ridicule endured,

And the continuance.
You can count out your beloved – crustaceans –

Winking in spray, still breathing in the wake,
Beneath the hooking flights of gulls,

Through the horn’s threnody.
Count them now among the moving. They are.

For weathervane and almanac, ephemeris and augur,
Blameless seer versed in bones, entrails, landed shells.

For everything that tries to counsel vigilance:
The surly sullen bell, before the going,

The warning that reiterates across
The water: there might someday be fog

(They will be lost), there might very well
Be fog someday, and you will have nothing

But remembrance, and you…

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Waiting

One of the most complicated things we do as people is to wait.  We wait for news.  We wait for change.  We wait for word from people we miss.  We wait for doctors to tell us what we already know (or fearfully worry we know).  No matter the reason, the experience of waiting defies ready description.  Here, with that by way of introduction is a very brief effort.

Time loses its bearings.  Some minutes take hours.  Some days take weeks.  The phone or email stops being something you check and becomes an odd (and inseparable) part of you.  And no matter how careful you are to make sure you won’t miss the word when it comes, it seems never to come.

Books stop being able to distract.  Work starts to seem less important than it is.  Movies you know are funny are not.  In the waiting, there is a palpable sense of loss.  A knowledge that nothing is the same now and that what it looks like next depends entirely on what (if it ever arrives) the word actually is.

For while waiting, we are at sea.  Hoping that the shore is in reach — waiting for the words that let us know what to expect when we arrive.  Because we will arrive at some point.

Won’t we?

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Poems

My oldest son is a poet.  Yesterday, he lost a friend.  He wrote a poem about it.  Along with the rest of his remarkable work, you can find it here — 

http://odobenocetops.tumblr.com/.

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Radio tomorrow

I will be on The Boston Sunday Review on 98.5 FM in Boston (The Sports Hub) from 6:55 – 7:20 tomorrow morning.  The interview covers — the Zimmerman verdict (and the President’s eloquent reaction); the Boston Bombing prosecution; and a quick survey of the Supreme Court’s 2013 decisions (Voting Rights, DOMA and some more).  

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Let’s Go, Boston.

I grew up watching the Bruins on television. As an adult, I have stuck with them through bad years and good years. In spite of a broad love for sports, the only game my kids seem to connect with is hockey. Last night, like many other fathers in and around Boston, I took one of my boys to the hockey game. I was not prepared, walking into the TD Garden, for the emotion that would come with Boston’s first large (17,000 strong) gathering since Monday’s tragedy. Truth be told, I am not sure any of us walking in knew what it would be like to be together. There is strength in numbers and before the hockey started last night, the Bostonians gathered in the Garden gave voice to their collective strength. Together, in silence and singing the national anthem, we shouted at the mad men who attacked our city and we let them know that we were unbowed.

I cannot remember a crowd making so much noise at the beginning of a game. We shared a moment of silence. The Garden created a beautiful montage of images from Monday — capturing both the horror of the day and the grace of those citizens who ran to (and did) provide assistance to the injured. Then, it was time for the national anthem, and Rene Rancourt (the Bruins’ long time singer) made the decision to turn the song over to the crowd. Malcolm and I, standing among thousands of people who will never sing professionally, raised our voices. I took a moment to look at people’s faces. There were tears, but there was a deep pride in the song and in the feeling of singing together. Trust me in saying that I have failed to capture the feeling. Trust me also in saying that the energy following our singing was unlike anything I have felt in a crowd.

After the anthem, the players moved to center ice. As the players lined up, the crowd chanted — “Let’s go, Boston.” My whole life that chant has been “Let’s go, Bruins.” We were not prompted to change it — this was not a jumbotron moment. Instead, the desire to claim our city flowed from all of us. The chants all night were the same. Added to the mix was — “We are Boston.” All of our voices were to the same effect: you can take shots at us, but they’ll miss. This is a strong community and our pride in the city is deep, diverse and vibrant.

We were knocked down on Monday, but we are already standing and we are, if anything, stronger. Our hearts are united in caring for the victims, and our voices are loud in defense of our city — our home.

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Boston

I have spent my whole life in and around Boston. I’ve walked up and down Boylston Street more times than I can possibly count. I have watched the Marathon from many places along the route. For a time, in high school, I thought I might one day run it. I never did.

Yesterday, I was in my car when the news of the explosions broke. For the rest of the day, I saw images of horror in familiar places. Like so many here and elsewhere, I heard and believed news that turned out (mercifully) not to be true. Again and again, I heard the blasts and saw the plumes of smoke. I watched and listened as doctors tried to describe the horror they battled (so successfully, I should note). The news reported a search of a home in Revere. No one had (or has) any explanation of why this happened or who did it. Today, the President called it, finally, “an act of terror.” Seeing the faces on the video, hearing the screams — how could it possibly be seen as anything else?

Friends reached out from across the country to see if we were okay. I said we were — because everyone I love is safe. I know that we are different today than we were yesterday. None of us in this place can be past what happened here yesterday. Indeed, we likely never will be. We will be different because of what we lost. Boylston Street is forever changed.

And I think this very strongly — the way to fight against these horrors is to keep going. I am eager to walk up and down Boylston Street again. Today, sitting at my desk at work, I am determined to persevere. I have an eye on the news; my heart is with the people who have been hurt or worse; and my focus is getting from today to tomorrow. The people who take aim at innocents are cowards. The people who keep moving — and refuse to be afraid — they are the heroes.

Bostonians ran toward the injured to help rather than away from the horror. That’s what I keep thinking about. It makes me very proud to call this great, old, beautiful city home.

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From a year ago — comments on the Masters (perhaps equally applicable today)

The sports world is abuzz because Tiger Woods appears ready to contend in this year’s Masters Tournament. Woods electrified the sports world for decades after winning his first Masters in 2001. Woods’s Masters win mattered not just because of his greatness and promise as a player, but because of his race. For a person of color to win at Augusta was a victory of historic proportions. For his victory to be celebrated by so many who had excluded men who looked like Woods for so long seemed to mark a passage of sorts. At Augusta, somehow, golf escaped its segregated past — with Tiger Woods as the new symbol of the suddenly inclusive game.

Two years ago, Woods was again in the newspapers for reasons that transcended golf. Over the course of a few weeks, his personal life fell apart in plain view as a consequence of serial infidelity of the most sensational sort — porn stars, waitresses, and text messages. It was all so tawdry, it became tedious.

But then, as he returned to competition, it appeared that he had lost his game. Until the Bay Hill tournament a couple of weeks ago, Tiger Woods had not won a PGA Tour event since the night his then wife chased him with a golf club. And he has lost in decidedly unsportsmanlike fashion. He has thrown clubs, whined, appeared frustrated, and hit golf shots amateurs would be embarrassed about. I confess to having enjoyed his struggle and feeling that he somehow deserved it. Watching him win a couple of Sundays ago, I felt disappointed. I had hoped that he would fail.

I feel that not because my own life has been above reproach. Who other than Mitt Romney can claim that? Tiger’s arrogance combines with the lack of joy he shows for the game to make him a completely unlikeable presence. I find I am troubled by entitlement. Enormously successful people, like Romney or Woods, get there in part by skill and in part by good fortune. When they acknowledge and seem to appreciate their good fortune, they can inspire. When they turn petulant, they cannot. If Woods wins this weekend, I will be disappointed. There is no grace in his return to form. Instead, he is without contrition and without appreciation for the gift of another chance.

So this weekend, I am going to root for a young man from Northern Ireland — Rory McIlroy. McIlroy hits the ball a mile and smiles whenever he does. If he were to win this weekend, he might remind us all of the fun and luck that are at the center of the game. Sometimes the ball rolls in the hole; sometimes it finds the water. Like the opportunity to play the game itself, winning is good fortune, plain and simple.

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On speaking truth to Power (from July 2012)

http://www.bostonherald.com/news/regional/view/20220712ex-galpal_details_alleged_rep_attack_i_have_told_the_truth_about_this_incident/srvc=home&position=also

In my Northeastern law class yesterday, we talked about the law that protects individuals who complain about employment discrimination from retaliation. Over the past few years, the Supreme Court’s decisions have underscored the broad scope of this protection. Recently, the Court held that a person who loses their job in retaliation for his fiancée’s complaint can sue (on his own behalf) for retaliation. Said differently, the law protects people caught in the crossfire from actions designed to harm someone who steps forward to report misconduct. However you look at it, it’s an aggressive rule designed to make clear that people who come forward and complain can do so in relative safety. We have no such protections in public life.

Saying that a bad thing has happened is an act of bravery. Yesterday, Katherine Gonzalez, the ex-girlfriend of Rep. Carlos Henriquez, met with reporters and shared her story. She described a fight over a phone, a struggle, and the bruises the disappointed State Rep. allegedly left behind. Her act of speaking out, of facing reporters and sharing her story, is an act of bravery. There is no anti-retaliation law that will protect her — no rule against character assassination; and no assurance that she will not face ridicule and embarrassment. Nevertheless, just as Rep. Henriquez started to deny the allegations on twitter and elsewhere, she faced the cameras and said her peace.

In so doing, she joins Anita Hill and others who have decided that speaking truth to power is worth the risk. Too often, entrenched forces have prevailed and the women who speak up have found themselves disbelieved or questioned by an institutional preference for preserving the reputations of powerful men. Lost in bookstores is Mimi Alford’s story of her affair (when she was 19 years old) with the President of the United States, John F. Kennedy. In her memoir, Once Upon a Secret, Alford details her relationship with the President. Some events resonate months after reading the book — including the President asking her to provide sexual services to one of his aides. Writing that story — speaking that truth (for there have been no denials) — was an act of courage.

In response to the book, which paints a picture of a President whose moral compass was horribly askew, the institutional forces of power painted Alford as a profit-seeker, criticized the writing of the book (which is unremarkable), and suggested that its details were consistent with the already established historic understanding of President Kennedy. Somehow, the notion of the young president pimping his mistress is supposed to not change how we see him. At least so far, the response has trumped the story and the Kennedy myth seems impervious to truth.

A powerful person’s ability to squelch a weaker truth teller is the reason for the vigor of the laws against retaliation we discussed in class yesterday evening. In the unchecked world of public life, people who step forward to report their victimization often suffer even more. The law provides meaningful avenues to counterattack against vengeance in the workplace. In the public sphere it is tougher sledding. When people step forward into that world, we should pay attention. Consider Katherine Gonzalez’s courage and be grateful for it. We should hold her and the women she follows, including Anita Hill and Mimi Alford, in high regard. The truth matters. The courage to speak it, notwithstanding the possible reprisals, is both rare and remarkable.

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Crime and Fantasy (The Charges Against Officer Valle)

Start by thinking about Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Literature reveals the human capacity to imagine the horrible. Psychiatrists and psychologists clock numerous hours listening to patients describe fantasies, sometimes lurid and violent ones. Private diaries include musings about terrible thoughts and feelings. All of these things were true before the internet, and are true today. Now, people who imagine horrible things can find communities of like-minded souls on line and they can communicate with one another about what they imagine. In New York, a police officer, Gilberto Valle, is on trial as a consequence of using his wife’s computer to communicate with a fetish group. His thing — cannibalism. He faces prison for a series of postings in which he described killing his wife and many of her friends. The postings are alarmingly specific. At the same time, published materials suggest he never did anything to act on his fantasies. He just shared them with other disturbed people on the internet.

In the wake of recent tragedies, including Columbine and Aurora, forensic examination of internet use revealed postings that hinted at or described the ultimate crimes. At the same time, parents who talk to their children about their internet use often find that they are participants in fantasy games that are essentially violent. Through these games, young people meet others who enjoy and are engaged in similar fantasies. Who knows what kinds of things they imagine together? Are those imaginings crimes? I don’t think so. Instead, I believe that people tell stories about what they imagine to give their darkest thoughts room to escape — an adult version of the release of violent fantasy Fairy Tales may provide for children . These narratives, like fiction, take the place of action and, ultimately, are forces that have more power to protect than to threaten.

When he ran for President in 1976, Jimmy Carter famously told Playboy Magazine that he had felt lust in his heart for women other than his wife, Roslyn. Detail is unnecessary here, but feelings or fantasies like that are human. They are not the same as actions. Whatever you may think of his admission, and no matter how detailed his thoughts were, Jimmy Carter did not commit adultery by thinking or speaking. Should it be different if, instead of having those thoughts in private, he had found an on-line chat room and described, in meticulous detail, his erotic plans? Of course not — whatever the private implications of such thoughts — the decision to share them is merely the expression of his fantasy.

In some ways, the issue in New York is whether the expression of a fantasy amounts to a criminal act. Officer Valle described, in meticulous and disturbing detail, his imagined murder of his wife. He described putting one of her friends in an oven. And he did so in virtual groups of people who encouraged his dark thoughts. The federal government wants to put him in jail. In their version of the story, his wife’s discovery of her husband’s virtual life saved her and his on-line expression of his thoughts were part of a conspiracy (or plan) to commit kidnapping for which he should spend his life in jail. His lawyer responds simply: “It’s pure fiction. It’s pretend. It’s scary make-believe.” Her point: people in this country do not go to jail for expressing their thoughts. She has the principle exactly right. I do not know enough about the case to know whether Officer Valle should face prison or not. That question is properly for a jury of his peers.
Most of us will go through our lives without imagining or describing taking another’s life in detail. Still, there are many more who will have such thoughts and never act on them whether they express them or not. Part of the privilege of living in this society is the freedom to imagine and even describe dark and worrisome things. If you take that freedom seriously, you must also accept the existence of these dark chat rooms on the internet, where troubled people share their fantasies and, with the release provided by that communication, go back to their lives without ever harming another person.

Our most powerful principles come with a price. Proof beyond a reasonable doubt means that we would prefer to release a guilty person than incarcerate an innocent one. Freedom of speech means even hateful ideas can find a forum. In thinking about fantasies broadcast over the internet, freedom of thought and speech together demand their own price. Absent an act, we should absorb the risk that some of these communications reflect intent in order to enable and protect those communications that do not. In circumstances where there is an act, like the purchase of a weapon or otherwise, such expressions are powerful evidence of criminal intent. By themselves, however, they are simply stories. In some cases, stories that, because they are told, never become crimes.

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