Wondrous weather and world affairs

I spent most of this week at CU’s 65th annual Conference on World Affairs (a.k.a., CWA), which I also wrote about last year. Over 200 talks and panels by over 100 experts from a variety of fields, with topics ranging from "Perpetual War" to "My Most Disturbing Thought," from "Hamlet" to "The Evolution and Devolution of TV," from "Break out the Cheetos! Pot's Legal" to "Confessions of a Bibliophile." With overlapping sessions, its often hard to decide where to go when, for instance, "Why Lincoln, Why Now?" conflicts with "My Life as a Spy and My Betrayal by the White House" (Valerie Plame Wilson). All free and open to the public.

To add to the excitement, we also had a snowstorm of record proportions. The week provided a classic example of spring storms in Colorado: a gorgeous, sunny spring day on Monday, 14" of snow by Wednesday morning, blue skies and green grass by Friday. Have I mentioned that I love Colorado weather?

[So, I just realized that this got pretty long. It’s just that there’s so much to say about the Conference on World Affairs and so many pictures to share of the weather!  If it seems like too much, you can just go for the pictures and consider those the visual Cliff Notes.]

Folks come to CWA from the Boulder area and beyond to hang out on campus for a week, just learning. There are scores of grey-haired folks toting their knapsacks loaded with jackets, lunch, and water. They ride the bus or park off campus and walk, carrying everything they’ll need for the day. They sit in clutches in the student center in the morning, poring over the day’s schedule, planning what sessions they’ll attend. They eat their lunch during sessions or in the hallways between—and so do the presenters. Students come, too, sometimes singly out of sheer interest in a topic and sometimes in groups as a class assignment. And there I was, in the midst of it all.

I couldn't seem to constrain my lifelong habit of taking notes during these talks. So, although I could go on and on about most any of the 20 or so sessions I attended, I won't. Instead, here’s my log for the week along with some highlights, to tempt you to join me next year—all wrapped in photos of the week’s wonderful, wacky, changeable Colorado weather.

Monday

Opening day of the conference. I arrived for the first talk, walking past this new pedestrian underpass with its strikingly appropriate underground artwork. I love it.

Then I spotted this sidewalk chalk notice alerting (warning?) the campus community that thousands of spare folks would be cluttering the sidewalks, the student center, and assorted venues around campus for the week.

En route to the opening plenary, I joined the crowd along a walkway lined with flags of the world—the iconic image of CWA, shown every year on the cover of the program. Sunny, warm. Students were running around in shorts.

Over the course on Monday, I went to the following sessions. I’ll give very quick crib notes on particular favorites, but if you want to know more about any of these, I have notes. Call me. How about lunch, if you're in the neighborhood? Or email and I'll send a copy of my scribblings. This offer holds for all days. 

Immigration: My Land or Our Land? Ours. It has to be ours.

Who Stole the American Dream?  The growing income gap (we have a “geyser up” rather than a “trickle down” economy) has shrunk the middle class and virtually destroyed the “dream” that went with it. Who stole that dream? The “Powell memo” of the early 1970s, which set business on a path toward greater domination of the political process.

Why Universities Won't Teach Virtue. 

Bipartisanship, Civility, and Dialogue. We need to talk to each other.

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (the movie): I saw this movie decades ago, and it was to be carefully dissected during the week, so I went to see it anew on Monday. Each day for the rest of the week, they show the same movie again, and any audience member can shout “stop” at any point to make a comment or ask a question. The idea is to run through the whole movie in this detailed way by the end of the week. This part, called “Interruptus,” would begin on Tuesday. This is a model created by Roger Ebert, the noted film critic, who died last week. He came to CWA every year for over 40 years, and he provided what has become the conference's tag line, describing CWA as “The conference on everything conceivable.”

Tuesday, snowy Tuesday

The snow started Monday night, and things on campus were sloppy and dreary Tuesday. But loving weather, I actually enjoyed it. The community folks showed up despite the slimy weather, still with knapsacks, but now in winter wear. The flags were beautiful even as the snow kept falling.

My Tuesday sessions:

Belief. Wonderful discussion ranging from “Do I really believe what I appear to believe judging from my practices?” to “If you doubt all the things you believe about who you are, maybe you'll find who you are.”

 Earth from Space: Altering Our Views. Maybe seeing earth from space (the “blue marble”) doesn’t just make us realize that we are all one family, that borders are totally imaginary (the idealistic view). More to the point, it shows us how dreadfully isolated we are, how responsible for this tiny speck in space, and how morally compromised we are as we continue to live as if we weren't responsible.

Junk Science Policy

Sino Spring: Social Media in China

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (Interruptus). I was curious about this process—besides, it’s a shrink movie! So I skipped out on my “American West” class to check out interruptus. Maybe not a good choice for an impatient person with little movie savvy. I found the (very) frequent interruptions more than a little distracting. And as it turned out, most of the comments weren’t about story content but about technicalities (framing, lighting, etc.) and film-buff curiosities (others who were considered for this part, how the protagonist is paired with signs of nature, etc.). Great for real movie freaks. Not so fun for me. So I considered my interruptus experience complete after Tuesday.

Wednesday

It snowed through Tuesday night, and by Wednesday morning, we had a record snowfall for this date. The scene was magnificent. The flatirons were gorgeous, dusted like powdered sugar with snow. It was a bit sloppy and sometimes slick walking on campus, and some older folks came with their walking sticks for safety. But come they did—the sessions were packed all day. Sunshine, blue skies, and fresh snow made for a gorgeous morning.

               

        

I went to a few sessions before heading home at midday to do obligatory life-maintenance chores.

The Geopolitics of Energy

My Most Disturbing Thought. This remarkable discussion began with witticisms (realization that 80% of my pillow is skin and mites; fear of Muppets), moved to politics (faulty assumptions about geopolitics; inability of people to empathize with others they don’t know), and then dwelt at length on the fear of dying. A woman with recurrent cancer is disturbed by the thought “I’m not ready. It may all end, and soon.” And a man who worked on Robert Kennedy’s campaign and was there when Kennedy died reported that his most disturbing thought is that loss is inevitable and unpredictable. Time, he said, is all we have. Spend it well, be present in your life, because time will pass.

What the Frack! Bottom line: we have moved too far, too fast without knowing what we’re doing. The discussion that should have happened before fracking was allowed to begin is only now starting. The industry has already become entrenched and refuses to be forthcoming in providing the information that we need to assess the risks to water and air quality, and the risk of triggering earthquakes. Unfortunately, fracking is exempt from clean air and clean water laws, a concession to the oil and gas industry many years ago. Gee, I wonder how that happened ...


When I left around noon, the sidewalks were clear (OK, wet and sloppy, but not icy), the snow was settling, and spring was in the air. 

Thursday

By Thursday morning, the snow that had seemed a nuisance—if a beautiful one—on Wednesday had been shaped into a playful "receiving line" of snow people, welcoming CWA participants to the flag walk.

The mountains had lost most of their snow to the Colorado sun. The fountain was running again, and Wednesday’s buried tables and chairs would be used by students at lunchtime.

On Thursday, I went to ...

Obama's Foreign Policy: Audacity or Hope. He has no actual policy, because most attention has been devoted to domestic issues. His report card in this domain was decidedly varied.

 Nuclear Nightmares. It’s worse than we think, Obama knows it’s important, and we need to goad him to action.

 Security and Resilience in a Black Scan World. The “black swan” refers to the unpredictable events that we are not prepared to confront but that can change everything. So titled because we believe that swans are white … until a black swan appears. The possible black swans include things like the transition from fossil fuels to alternative energy sources, the increasing income gap, unseen implications of foreign policy choices (e.g., drone attacks), the possibility of nuclear micro-attacks (dirty bombs) or “rogue nations” with nuclear capability. And, especially, the precise speed and precise consequences of climate change.

And then, to escape from this environmental mayhem, I went to my “American West” class, which I had missed on Tuesday. We talked about water use and water scarcity. So much for that escape thing.

Friday

On Friday, I nearly didn't go to the conference. I was tired, and I felt a bit saturated with it all. But then I checked the schedule and decided to go to at least a couple of sessions. As I walked onto the campus, I was welcomed by the total turnaround that is the hallmark of Colorado's weather: the record snow was virtually gone, the grass was greened by the moisture, and daffodils greeted me at the entrance to the campus.

Beside the flag walk, the line of snow people had gathered in a cluster to bid the conference participants farewell. On the lawn, CU students played Frisbee and soaked up the springtime sunshine. 

I finished a great week with these sessions:

Supreme Court: Tyranny of the Third Branch. Bush v. Gore, Citizens United, and “activist judges," oh my!

 Droning On and On. Total agreement across panel members, including an army colonel, that the current use of drones is illegal, immoral, and maybe unconstitutional. They cited issues like national sovereignty, civilian deaths, and the dehumanization of both targets and drone operators. One panelist, who described himself as a supporter of Obama in general, said outright that Obama’s actions in this regard are impeachable. No one—on the panel or in the audience—took exception to his assertion.

 Molly Ivins Freedom Fightin' Memorial Plenary:  This talk is named after Molly Ivins, a brilliant, witty, irreverent, and incisive journalist from Texas, who, prior to her death, was a long-time, frequent participant in CWA. This year, the Molly Ivins plenary, “Truth in Journalism in the Digital Age,” was given by David Corn, the Washington Bureau Chief for Mother Jones. He's the guy who broke the 47% story that may have derailed Romney’s hopes for the presidency. Great set-up, mediocre talk about the impact of digital media on what we take as “the news.”

As I left the plenary, I snapped one more photo of the flag walkway. The weather had done a 180 since Wednesday, back to the sunny skies and green grass of Monday. Hard to believe we had over a foot of snow just two days before.

Heading off campus, I spotted a new sidewalk sign near where Monday's notice announced the impending arrival of CWA. Time keeps on moving. CWA is so over ... International Fest is coming!

I missed hearing about so many interesting topics. Heck, I only went to 19 out of 200 talks! But I can’t imagine sitting through many more sessions. My brain is on overload as it is.

Maybe I should lobby for shorter days, spread over two weeks. Think of the weather tales I could tell then!

Cows?

You may wonder why I’m starting a blog with a (small, dark, somewhat blurry) picture of cows at sunset. Sure, the sunset is beautiful, but couldn’t I have picked a better foreground scene? Or a better picture? Well, as it turns out, I was actually thinking about cows as I drove past this little herd this evening, so it seemed a perfect opening shot. Here’s why:

I’m taking an amazing class from an amazing woman at CU. The class is “The American West,” and it’s being taught by Patty Limerick, arguably the smartest and funniest cultural historian of the American West on the planet. CU has this great “Senior Auditors” program that lets any old person sit in on virtually any class, as long as it’s not full of tuition-paying students. I got lucky and squeezed into this one.

The topic called to me because the West is my home. I’ve lived here all my life, with the exception of graduate school and one other sojourn around the country. I feel like I have a soul-deep relationship with the West. I’ve explored huge swaths of it by car, on foot, on skis, on snowshoes, by bike, by camper, and by canoe. Still, in the first few weeks of this class, I’ve learned more about the West than I even knew. By far. Besides, Patty’s humor and broad knowledge make every class (and even the handouts) a total kick. Recently, she challenged the students to support the argument that CU should have the cow instead of the bison as its mascot … which is why I was thinking about cows driving home.

Lots of what I’m learning goes beyond sheer content, slipping into what some folks have called “revisionist history” or “critical history.” Instead of just a review of people and events, this approach really examines the deeper meanings of what was going on and listens to the voices of people who usually aren’t heard (i.e., voices other than White men being politicians and soldiers). It also challenges long-held assumptions about the nature of the West and its popular portrayals.

Even though only three weeks have passed, I couldn’t begin to list all the mind-bending things I’ve encountered. Let me just highlight a few themes. 

• Question on day 1: What counts as “the West” anyhow? Is it defined by geography? Is Los Angeles part of the West? Is Hawaii? Is it defined by culture? Is Texas more West than, say, Oregon? What makes the West different from other sections of the country? Wilderness? Water (or lack thereof)? Open spaces? Cowboys? Buffalo? Sparse population? If it’s any of those, is it still the West if water is piped in, the Buffalo disappear (or exist only in captivity), open spaces are filled with developments and traversed by highways, and the only “cowboys” are country western singers? Or is it simply the nation’s dumping ground—for people (Indian reservations) and nuclear wastes (Yucca Mountain). And whatever your response to these questions, why? 

• The West has always represented two very different visions, two urges: the longing for wilderness, adventure, unbounded freedom … and the striving to conquer that wilderness. That was true during the westward movement. The “frontier” was wild and dangerous, until it became valuable, and then the cowboys and gunslingers, gold miners and settlers, ranchers, cattle barons, and farmers moved in. The standard story line of Westerns—peaceful little town saved from villainous thugs by the noble lawman—reflects the real-life battle between those who wanted freedom and adventure (gunslingers, cowboys) and those who wanted law and order (towns folks). Some people wanted open range (freedom) others wanted fences, farming, and towns (wilderness conquered). And the conflict persists today. We crave open space, remote wilderness where we can “escape from it all.” But recently, even that remaining remote wilderness has been increasingly paved and developed and populated. Partly by people (still) wanting to “get away from it all”—to find “wilderness” among the manicured lawns and paved walking paths. But mostly by economic interests who found something valuable in the land to conquer. 

• A very huge portion of land in the West (but not in the East) is federally owned. Much of the land that’s farmed, much of the land where cattle are raised, much of the land where minerals are extracted is federal land. Those economic activities take precedence over recreation, over environmental concerns, even over social and cultural values. The ones that make the biggest bucks (mining) take precedence over the less profitable ones (farming, ranching). Put those together, and you have a West that is rapidly being eaten up by energy interests and the cities that support those interests. And the highways and railroads that connect those cities. So now what counts as “the West”? 

• Familiar portrayals in “Western” movies and books notwithstanding, the West was (and still is) an extremely politicized place. Lots of what we “learned” about the West happened right around the Civil War, though you’d never know it, and the history of the West was deeply shaped by that war. Jesse James and his gang, for instance, were outlaws regarded as heroes because they were seen as standing up for the dying South and against the corporate, industrializing North. The other major conflict was between the West, with its frontier mentality, and the Northeast, with its industrializing, corporate frame of mind. Train/bank robbers were seen by some as heroes because they challenged the “incorporation” of the West and by others as villains because they interfered with the imposition of the new industrialized social order. 

• The (mis)treatment of the West and Westerners—especially ranchers and farmers—at the hands of the East and Easterners, both in the “old West” and more recently, has been equated by some to the treatment of the Indians by White settlers moving west. In each case, the people who were on the land were summarily moved off, their lands confiscated, and their lives discounted in the name of “progress.” In the case of White Westerners in the recent past, it has been in the name of energy development. Some Westerners who have been treated this way comment that now they know what the Indians felt like. (Not entirely, I’d say—genocide is hardly the same as losing the farm—but it's an interesting parallel.) The players are different, but the dynamic is the same—as is the direction from which the oppression has come. You begin to get an idea of why Westerners often feel like Easterners don’t understand the West—not the land and not the people.

 All of this has been thought provoking and even moving. But I think the most poignant piece I’ve read so far was the prologue of a book co-written by Colorado’s former Governor Richard Lamm. A few lines from that piece:

There was something special about the West in the 1950s and 1960s.

It was a unique and wondrous place for those who loved the outdoors, who cared about the land. Its air had an unbelievable quality. It literally sparkled. In the mornings, the mountains and desert and farmland stood out in crystal clarity. And the sun shone with a special brilliance, a counterpoint to the coolness of the mountain air.

Not many years ago, you could still catch a native trout. Float a lonesome river. You could escape the regimentation and restrictions of the civilized world.

We took it for granted drinking from a running brook … being able to camp at random, safely and in privacy … the chill feeling of space, infinity, at a mountain dawn.

We saw the West change before our eyes, but the images, the memories still linger.

This was our West.

And it is dying.

A new Manifest Destiny has overtaken America. The economic imperative has forever changed the spiritual refuge that was the West.

We know the West will never be the same again.

We understand.

But still we anguish. For the West we loved and lost.

                       

                        The Angry West: A Vulnerable Land and its Future. (1982)

by Richard D. Lamm & Michael McCarthy. Houghton Mifflin

Now, I can be about as nostalgic and anyone I know. And the West that Lamm and McCarthy write about is a version of the West I know, well. And miss. A lot.

Still, I realize, now, that there is so much more to the West, so much more to understand. And I realize how lucky I am to be taking this class.

BTW: I’m also taking part II of my Spanish class. Estoy mucho aprendiendo, pero aún no hablo español. Stay tuned ...