Pragmatic politics focused on the public interest for those uncomfortable with America's two-party system and its way of doing politics. Considering the interface of politics with psychology, cognitive biology, social behavior, morality and history.
Etiquette
Sunday, October 12, 2025
Re: MAGA's seething hate of LGBQT people
Saturday, October 11, 2025
The GAZA ceasefire: Reasonable peace, or a dictator's diktat?
“He has a long tendency — he did this in his first term — to overwhelm things that could be good political news for him, because he can’t resist either going after his perceived enemies or just doing controversial things for the sake of dividing and aggravating tensions. .... In the end, I think he believes chaos benefits him. .... I do think the bigger point is no one overwhelms his own positive news the way he can.”
“This is another fake angle from the failing New York Times. President Trump is working to end conflicts around the world, just like he is working to quell violence in cities across the country. His efforts both at home and abroad have been successful, the end of the Israel-Hamas war is underway, and cities like Washington, D.C., are thanking him for freeing up resources to bring more justice to victims and hold more criminals accountable.”
- The proposed agreement is a take-it-or-leave-it dictat [1], not a negotiated peace deal. The deal came after Trump threatened hell breaking loose if the Palestinians rejected his terms. Senior Hamas official Mousa Abu Marzouk explicitly acknowledged coercion: "This is a risk, but we trusted President Trump to be the guarantor of all the commitments made. Had there been no commitment from the American president, we would never have agreed to take the risk". The terms that immediately and tangibly benefit the Palestinians are the ceasefire and humanitarian aid. If that happens, it would stop the slaughter and starving of civilians.
- The deal negotiations completely excluded the Palestinian Authority (PA), which is the main, internationally recognized Palestinian political force. The marginalization of the PA was deliberate to exclude legitimate Palestinian representation. Hamas explicitly acknowledged that they lacked a mandate to negotiate on behalf of all Palestinians. That is a significant limit on the legitimacy of any agreement. Thus, the deal was decided almost exclusively between US and Israeli negotiators. Hamas and a few other small armed Palestinian groups made requests through intermediaries who were in indirect contact with negotiators.
- What Hamas reportedly asked for and "got" was what circumstances would require the US and Israel to concede anyway. Specifically, the ceasefire includes (1) release of about 1,900 Palestinian prisoners in exchange for remaining Israeli hostages (needed to get the Israeli hostages) , (2) 600 trucks of humanitarian aid daily (needed to avoid more condemnation for genocide), and (3) allowing displaced Gazans to return to their homes under continued Israeli military presence (needed because there's nothing else practical to do). Israel vetted the prisoner list and rejected releasing Palestinian politicians it wanted to keep in Israeli prisons. The 600 trucks of aid is the bare minimum necessary for survival.[2]
- Other major terms of the ceasefire are so ambiguous and fully under subjective Israeli control that they are just illusions. Specifically, Israel keeps control over ~53% of Gaza after an initial troop withdrawal. Later Israel will control 40% of Gaza and eventually 15%. Israeli forces will never fully leave Gaza. There will be a continuation of occupation because Israel gets to unilaterally decide when conditions allow withdrawal of Israeli military forces. If history since 1949 is predictive, withdrawal conditions will never be met by the Palestinians. Only Israel's own choice is at play.
Friday, October 10, 2025
MAGA unleashes a major attack on the 2026 elections: 2026 elections will be MAGA-subverted
Reassigning Responsibility for Prosecuting Election-Related Offenses
from the Civil Rights Division to the Criminal Division. The Attorney General in the next conservative Administration should reassign responsibility for prosecuting violations of 18 U.S. Code § 241 from the Civil Rights Division to the Criminal Division where it belongs. Otherwise, voter registration fraud and unlawful ballot correction will remain federal election offenses that are never appropriately investigated and prosecuted.Voter fraud includes unlawful practices concerning voter registration and ballot correction. When state legislatures are silent as to procedures for absentee ballot curing or provide specific rules governing that curing, neither counties nor courts may create a cure right where one does not exist, may not modify the law on curing, and certainly cannot engage in creating consent orders with the force of law that are inconsistent with the orders of other similarly situated counties.
Very Short Story: The Clutch of Trees
Here's another short story-- this one VERY short. It's a sort of contemplative piece, less plot driven than evocative of the relation of human beings to nature around and within. In a time of dire newsflashes, and under-reported political threats, I hope this gives readers a moment to pause and consider the quiet, but profound serenity of nature-- even in the face of danger and loss. With that, I give you The Clutch of Trees.
In the Clutch of Trees
There is a clutch of trees on the edge of the city, where Riverside meets the hush of the river. All summer, their branches hum with birdlife: a living chorus, each song braided into the shimmering air. No other trees nearby are so alive with sound. On the hottest days, even the city's restlessness pauses here, just for a breath.
A boy named Theo—quiet, curious, and slow to speak—begins to linger on the old park bench beneath these trees. At first, he comes simply to escape the sun, but soon, he finds himself listening with a strange new attention. Morning and afternoon, birds arrive and depart. Their chattering, frantic at times, flows around him like wind.
As the hours accumulate, his ears learn more than language. At first, it's only rhythm and pattern: the tumbling rise and fall of trills, the sharp alarm, the gentle call. Then, as days lengthen, he senses something else—a current of meaning, woven beneath the surface. He listens, as children do when no one expects anything of them, until understanding begins to dawn, piecemeal and imperfect, but real.
In late summer, when heat bleaches the sky, Theo sits longer than usual, notebook in hand. The birds' gatherings grow noisier, but a new tone creeps in—edge, urgency, a flicker of unease. He closes his eyes and lets their voices wash through him. Sometimes he feels joy so clean it stings. Sometimes, dread.
By early autumn, the trees shift their scent, and the chorus changes. He hears not just a gathering, but a council. The chattering, once chaotic, is shaped by a gravity he senses as sadness and fear. Into the hubbub, three voices rise, distinct and urgent.
The first: old and heavy, her song dropping like stones into still water—slow, weighted with memory. She seems to mourn aloud, each phrase thick with loss.
The second: brisk, orderly, sharp-eyed—the call staccato and angular, mapping routes and warnings, a blueprint in sound.
The third: darting, anxious, never settling—voice rising in pitch, flickering branch to branch, naming dangers in the shadows.
Theo shivers. For the first time, he feels the frantic burden under their music. He cannot ignore what is being said.
Over days, he wanders the neighborhood on small, invisible errands. He finds the scattered feathers, the quiet remains. He notes the places named in the birds' councils—quiet alleys, overgrown yards. He tallies. He records. In the park one afternoon, he tapes a single note to a lamppost: Please keep cats inside at night. The birds are dying.
By evening, the note is gone—torn or ignored, he cannot say.
He carries his notebook to the Parks Department. The officials are skeptical at first. One woman barely glances up. But a park ranger, Mr. Ramos, listens and follows him through the affected blocks. That evening, patrols are arranged. Signs appear: Keep cats indoors.
Theo feels a seed of hope, brief and fragile.
But the city returns swiftly to indifference. The trees do not.
One cool October day, when the council above is nearly silent, three birds leave their branches and flutter down to the railing near Theo's bench. For a long moment, they regard him—heads cocked, bright eyes sharp with knowing.
He whispers softly, "I tried to help. I wanted you to be safe."
The birds—elderly, ragged, vital—listen. Something almost like gratitude threads through the world between them. The eldest lets fall a muted trill, not of warning or grief, but of acceptance. The strategist chirps once, crisp and final. The anxious bird fluffs and smooths its wings, as if making peace with uncertainty.
Theo smiles, blinking tears, and for the briefest moment, the distance between ground and sky seems very small.
Then, as autumn deepens, the gatherings thin. The birds ready themselves for journeys Theo cannot follow. One dawn, the branches are bare. Only a lone feather spirals to the bench where he once sat, a voiceless reminder.
He visits sometimes, but the trees are silent now. Still, he listens—catching the river's quiet, the whisper of unseen wings far overhead, the memory of a chorus he will never quite understand but will always hear, in some gentler place within himself.
And sometimes, he hears them there more clearly than he ever did in the branches.
Through joy and loss, presence and parting, he has learned—beauty, when listened to with a full heart, is inseparable from its passing