Category Archives: Essays

This is a very boring name for me writing about the stuff that’s on my mind. I strive to make the essays more interesting than the word “essays” and this description.

The Price of Mental Health

20141208_140004The soda and the 30-day prescription in the top shelf of the cart cost almost exactly as much as everything else in the cart put together.

This is a nice illustration of the price of mental health.

I’m fortunate. I only see these numbers at the end of the year when I hit the cap on my insurance. Also, I can afford to spend as much on one bottle of pills for one person as I spend on an entire month’s worth of food for one person (not to mention the fact that I can afford to buy luxury items like bulk frozen pizzas and fancy cheese.)

Also, next year there won’t be a cap. The prescription will cost about as much as that box of five dozen eggs.

(Note: The complete contents of the cart, top and bottom, set me back $306. Also note: That particular bottle of pills is only one of the three monthly prescriptions I must fill. It just happens to be the one that put me over the cap.)

Law Enforcement, Violence, and Racial Bias

Police kill more young, black males, per capita than any other demographic, and when they do, they are very unlikely to be indicted, let alone convicted. National news has covered this extensively. Locally, here in Utah we’ve learned that police officers kill more people than gang violence or drug crimes do.

There are those who will dispute these facts, citing holes in the data due to the large number of police departments that don’t provide information. Personally, I suspect that if all police departments provided data on Officer Involved Shootings we’d be collectively appalled and ashamed of ourselves. Assuming we’re not already, what with so many police forces not telling us what’s going on.

The law says that police officers have the right and responsibility to use force, up to and including lethal force, in the discharge of their duties. I agree with the law, but I also believe that it takes an enormous amount of training and skill to operate justly, ethically, and morally under that law.

I am afraid that our police officers are currently embedded in a culture where a number of factors, including racism, increase the likelihood that they will use lethal force against unarmed black males. Training and skill notwithstanding, bad things are happening.

I said “factors.” Racism is the big one, but the word “racism” is a heavily overburdened term. It has baggage. When I use it, I’m not suggesting that cops are consciously racist*. I’m saying that there is an unconscious bias in place, and it centers upon skin color. I’ve found racism and other biases in my own work, and they’re hard to root out. So when I say “racism” it’s not an accusation. It’s a diagnosis. (*Note: See “UPDATE” at the end of this post.)

Another factor in play is a bias commonly found among social workers and customer support representatives as well as police officers. Its sufferers tend to suspect the worst in people. It’s like confirmation bias with a dash of PTSD thrown in. In the case of police officers, it increases the likelihood of violent confrontation across the board.

Unfortunately, the mechanisms we have in place to counter this, to discipline officers for excessive violence are too closely tied, organizationally and personally, to the officers subject to discipline. District attorneys and chiefs of police work together closely. In their day-to-day operation, police departments and prosecuting attorneys benefit from departmental and personal cooperation. It’s how they get their jobs done. But this effectiveness has a price: it prevents departments from fully disciplining officers who abuse the powers granted them under the law.

Summarized and oversimplified for impact: Our culture is driving police officers to shoot unarmed black men, and law enforcement agencies default to protecting those officers from the consequences of their actions.

If I were black, I’d be outraged, and terrified, and I would feel helpless to change the system.

I’m white, and frankly, I’m a lot more afraid of police officers than I used to be. I’m outraged, and terrified, and I feel helpless to change the system.

I’m also grieving. I hurt for those who have lost loved ones. I identify with them. I have a daughter Michael Brown’s age. I have a son Tamir Rice’s age. My kids cosplay like Darrien Hunt did.  I’m a little older than Eric Garner, and like him I have asthma, and children. Some might say that it’s a good thing my family and I are white, but that shouldn’t have to be a good thing, and it hurts to know that some might say that.

I am encouraged, however, by the attention this issue is getting. This no longer feels like a story-of-the-week to me. We’re paying attention now, and that means we can change things.

(Aside: “Now that white people are paying attention, we’ll see some changes.” Yes, it kind of reads like that, and yes, that suggests that our entire society operates within a fog of racial biases. I say “fog” because fog is one of those things you don’t really see until you collide with things that it was hiding.)

I have friends, some of them quite close, who are police officers. I hold them in high regard. They tackle a demanding, dangerous job with an attitude of selflessness that I admire and aspire to. One of those friends once told me that he’d rather take a punch than throw one, and would prefer to take a bullet than take a life. In his work, he daily seeks to defuse situations so that they do not come down to kill-or-be-killed decisions. His approach demands a skill set that looks like a mash-up of dual PhDs in sociology and psychology along with being a champion of speed chess.

If all police officers were like him, we wouldn’t have this problem. Of course, if all people were like him, we wouldn’t need police officers.


 UPDATE: After reading the DOJ report on their investigation of the Ferguson, MO police department, I’m afraid that in their case I gave them too much benefit of the doubt. While bias-based policing is often unconscious, in Ferguson it was conscious, deliberate, and vicious. From the introductory paragraph to the chilling section entitled “Racial Bias”:

Ferguson’s approach to law enforcement both reflects and reinforces racial bias, including stereotyping. The harms of Ferguson’s police and court practices are borne disproportionately by African Americans, and there is evidence that this is due in part to intentional discrimination on the basis of race.

Investigation of the Ferguson Police Department, p4 (PDF p.7)

That DOJ report is exactly the kind of information that the American people need to have about those who police us, and it serves as a horrifying example of what happens when police forces become institutionally unaccountable for their behavior.


(NOTE: Comments are off, and will remain so. This is a position piece, not an invitation to have a discussion. I’ve written my thoughts, and if they inspire you to write yours, there are lots of better places for you to do so.)

Muting, And Why I’m a Selfish Twitterer

Twitter has a mute function, and I use it rather indiscriminately. I’m kind of selfish that way. Life is short, and while there are thousands of people willing to listen to me (a happy accident no doubt related to how I earn my keep) I don’t have the time to listen to each and every one of them.

But I have friends whose tweets I want to read, and with whom I want to converse. Publicly, even. I also enjoy interacting with random fans, assuming the interaction is a nice one. I especially enjoy interacting with interesting people, and learning new things.

Unfortunately, Twitter creates the illusion that we are right there in the room while our favorite entertainers banter with one another. The temptation to interject is strong. So we interject. I know, I’ve embarrassed myself doing this exact thing.

In the real world, walking up to a conversation and dropping a one-liner is a bit of a faux pas, and holding up your tablet to show everybody a video, even if it’s related, will get you shouldered out of the circle in short order. (I could tell you a story about that exact thing happening in a bar at Westercon, but then you’d want names, and the location of the body, and I may have already said too much.)

It shouldn’t be surprising, then, that Twitter works similarly. Conversations are interesting to listen to, but we should take care before jumping into them with our two cents.

Sometimes I’ll invite all kinds of random input by putting a call out to “the Hivemind.” Recently I asked about Android devices, and got lots of good feedback. The only people I muted were the people who replied by telling me I should stick with the iPhone.

And that brings us to my criteria. Here are a few of the things that will likely earn a muting from me:

  • At-messaging me with unsolicited advice, especially medical advice
  • Tweeting unsolicited links at me
  • Tweeting a video link at me without telling me what it is I’d be watching
  • Answering a question by haranguing me about the context
  • Complaining about a joke I told
  • Not getting the joke, and replying with unsolicited medical advice, or a video link, or really anything
  • Complaining to me about something I retweeted
  • Trolling (sometimes this merits blocking)
  • Spamming (this usually merits blocking)
  • Tweeting at me a lot, especially in a short period of time, when we’re not actually having a conversation.

Does this sound selfish? It should, because it is selfish. But I haven’t listed the worst one yet:

  • Telling me a lame joke.

Jokes are everywhere, and while most people can find the easy punchline, it takes a lot of thought to reach beyond the low-hanging fruit and find something genuinely funny. And as I’ve said before, Twitter is the garden of low-hanging fruit.

Sometimes I’ll tell a joke on Twitter, reaching high into the tree for a good punchline, and somebody will reply at me with the low-hanging fruit that I reached past. Tweets like that correlate strongly with feeds full of underdeveloped jokes, and the desire to share them indiscriminately.

Muted. Life’s too short for me to listen to the same joke over and over.

(Note: if I’m ever guilty of these things, and that bugs you, by all means mute me. Or unfollow me. Because life’s short, and frankly, your time is worth as much to you as mine is to me.)

They Know What To Do, But You Have To Tell Them

There was a minor medical emergency on Friday night at World Fantasy. I share my account of the events, and my role in the process, because the event pointed up the fact that some people don’t know how to respond to this sort of a problem.

I didn’t do very much, and anybody could have done what I did, but somebody should have done it ten minutes earlier.

I was engaged in a late-night conversation in the lobby bar when one of the bikers with whom we shared the hotel approached our group.

“You guys, man… you guys gotta take better care of your own.”

“I’m sorry, what’s wrong?” I was puzzled. He seemed frustrated and worried.

“One of your girls, she’s sick drunk outside. She needs her friends to take care of her.”

At this point I excused myself from the conversation, and strode quickly out the door and around the hedge to where we’ll-call-her-Jane was sitting slumped against one of the bikers.  A couple of other people from the biker event were standing close trying to wake her up and get her attention.

I read her name tag, leaned in (without touching her) and said “JANE, WAKE UP PLEASE.”

No response.

“I’ll be right back.” I strode into the hotel, marching with purpose to the front desk.

“There’s a woman on the bench outside, and she’s non-responsive. It looks like alcohol overdose.” (Note: I used the word “overdose” because I wanted to make sure they took the problem seriously — not because I have any medical training in the matter.)

That conversation was the point at which my involvement effectively ended. Hotel security arrived within seconds. They DID touch Jane, checking for a pulse, and attempting to roust her by loudly explaining that unless she answered them RIGHT NOW, they were going to have to call an ambulance.

They called an ambulance. Summing up, after an overnight in the hospital Jane was okay, but I didn’t see her back at the event until Sunday night. Apparently the alcohol didn’t agree with one of her medications. (See? Not an overdose. I was wrong!)

Here’s the salient point, the take-away for you, and for any convention-goer who finds themselves in a similar situation: HOTEL SECURITY KNOWS WHAT TO DO, BUT SOMEONE HAS TO TELL THEM THERE IS A PROBLEM.

When I returned to the group I’d been conversing with, they treated me as if I had done something amazing, like I performed CPR, or a field tracheotomy. Guys, I didn’t even call 911. I thought about it, then realized I didn’t know the address of the hotel. All I did was take ownership of the problem for just long enough to hand it off to the folks who knew how to solve it.

To be fair to the bikers, they probably see a lot of friends overdo the consumption, and they take care of those friends on their own. They’re a tight group, and they know each other. Still, the moment one of them realized that Jane was out cold, they should have called hotel security.

I’m an Eagle Scout. I can staunch bleeding, and feel for a pulse. I can do the Heimlich, and though my CPR skills are rusty, if I’m the only guy around who can do it, I’ll do all I can. But the critical skill in this particular situation, and in most of the convention medical emergencies I’m likely to run into, was the ability to speak clearly.

Oh, and the ability to decide to speak.

You can do this.