My mom and dad braved the freeways of Los Angeles to come up to see me for Thanksgiving, which is the busiest travel holiday of the year in the U.S. It is like Icelanders on Verslunamannahelgi or something. Well of course someone has to stay home to bake the turkey, but usually at least three or four other households join in, meaning that at least 2/3 of the population is simultaneously leaving their home and heading to someone else's home, all trying to be there by 10pm Wednesday night. That is a lot of traffic on the road all at once. Today, the Sunday after Thanksgiving, the same thing happens again: everyone tries to head home. But the timing is less strict, since some people get sick of their families already by Friday and head home then.
My parents stayed all the way until Sunday morning, which is quite an honor really, since they'll have to hit a lot more traffic on their way home than they would have had they left yesterday. So that is nice.
Even nicer is that my mom--always thinking ahead--brought up my Christmas gifts with her, and this morning, I got to "unwrap" them (none of them were actually wrapped in wrapping paper, but most of them were in plastic or in the box still, so same difference).
And just like on Christmas day, we saved opening the biggest gift for last.
So I can now report on what I got for Christmas, a month early. It is a triple crock pot, the kind of thing a caterer uses or the sort of thing I could use at a fondu party. There are three 3 quart pots in one large metal tray, each of which can be set on a different temperature. I could serve an entire meal to 30 friends all at once with this thing, make myself three different dishes at once, or even start my own little catering business with it.
If I were still in Iceland, I know I would get a ton of use out of my triple crock-pot, because there were so many occasions in Iceland where I got to see my friends and family, where we all came together at one relative's house or another. But in the U.S., that rarely if ever happens. We are a world apart from one another here, and it takes something as formal as Thanksgiving to really bring people together.
But maybe if I'm lucky, I'll get to use my handy-dandy triple cooker, sometime before next year.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Salvation army
I read about a church taking donations of frozen turkeys to give to families for Thanksgiving, so today when we were at the store, Palmer and I bought a frozen turkey. The store was offering a discount to anyone who bought over $50 dollars worth of groceries, giving 50% off the price of the turkey. Since I spent over $100 I must have gotten an even better discount, because the turkey was only $7 dollars.
But when I brought it over to the church, and saw all the people in line waiting for groceries in order to make a Thanksgiving meal, including many families and older couples, well, that turkey seemed very valuable.
But when I brought it over to the church, and saw all the people in line waiting for groceries in order to make a Thanksgiving meal, including many families and older couples, well, that turkey seemed very valuable.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Busy week ahead
This week is Thanksgiving week here in the U.S., and as seems, elementary school kids in most of the U.S. get this week off. At least Palmer does, and every other child I know. This is different than when I was a kid; we only used to get Thanksgiving Thursday and the Friday afterwards off. But now it is a whole week. So Palmer is coming to stay with me this week, which will be fun. And my mom and dad are coming up on Wednesday evening or Thursday morning. Dave is, as always, going to do the honors in terms of most of the cooking, but I think I will at least make some sweet potatoes and a pumpkin pie or maybe lemon bars (my mom left a package of that at my apartment last time she was up, and it is about time it get used!).
But actually I am not thinking all that much about the holiday. My mind is still rather preoccupied with the Occupy protests and what has been going on at University of California Berkeley and Davis campuses.
On top of that, I have a lot of work issues I am thinking about. A professor from my department is coming to observe my class on Tuesday, so I need to have a rather effective lesson plan in place, rather than just winging it (which I of course never ever do ;). The Tuesday after that, I am meeting with another professor for lunch, and was just now thinking about what I would say to him while vacuuming my livingroom. I have never met with him before, but he strikes me as having a rather strong personality, so I suppose I will let him lead the conversation mostly (which is unusual for me!). And I am also thinking about my student's papers, hoping I have given them an assignment that is not too difficult, although with students as bright and hard working as I have at Berkeley, they always manage to impress me.
Plus Thanksgiving is always around the time when it hits me that Christmas is just around the corner, and another year has almost past away. Next year I will be 40 years old.
I am happy I lived in Iceland before I got to be 40. I guess that is one thing I will tell the Professor, if he asks.
But actually I am not thinking all that much about the holiday. My mind is still rather preoccupied with the Occupy protests and what has been going on at University of California Berkeley and Davis campuses.
On top of that, I have a lot of work issues I am thinking about. A professor from my department is coming to observe my class on Tuesday, so I need to have a rather effective lesson plan in place, rather than just winging it (which I of course never ever do ;). The Tuesday after that, I am meeting with another professor for lunch, and was just now thinking about what I would say to him while vacuuming my livingroom. I have never met with him before, but he strikes me as having a rather strong personality, so I suppose I will let him lead the conversation mostly (which is unusual for me!). And I am also thinking about my student's papers, hoping I have given them an assignment that is not too difficult, although with students as bright and hard working as I have at Berkeley, they always manage to impress me.
Plus Thanksgiving is always around the time when it hits me that Christmas is just around the corner, and another year has almost past away. Next year I will be 40 years old.
I am happy I lived in Iceland before I got to be 40. I guess that is one thing I will tell the Professor, if he asks.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Real problems
One of my students was a witness to the police shooting that took place here at UC Berkeley on Tuesday. He came to see me during office hours, and we had a long discussion about the horrible event. He said the man who was shot and killed by police was a student he had taken a class with last semester, a rather quiet and sullen young man. The information he had heard was that the young man was a security guard, and the gun he pulled out of his backpack was the one he had been issued at work. It is unclear if the police over-reacted in terms of shooting him when he did not immediately drop his weapon. It could have been that the student simply was sitting down to do some lab work and wanted to have the gun where he could see it, instead of in his backpack; he should have known however that bringing guns onto campus is not allowed. So in that sense it seems more likely that the student might have thought Tuesday--when demonstrations were going on and most of the classes cancelled--would be a good day to carry out some sort of shooting. Students have been known to commit suicide during finals week, or go on shooting rampages. So it is hard to say what the truth is.
Although my student seemed pretty calm about the whole thing, he also seemed more aggressive and uptight than he had been before. I am sure witnessing an event like that makes a person feel out of control, and puts them very much on edge. He could smell the gun powder and heard the shots, saw the cops rushing around. The whole thing must have been disorienting and upsetting. Plus it turns out he knew the student who was killed, and although they were not friends, no one thinks about students loosing their lives. The kids here are just supposed to be starting their lives.
I heard a report from a community activist who works with gang members, and he said that for gang members, there is a whole range of terminology around shootings. They make distinctions between being at a shooting versus being shot at, for instance, like the way Eskimos are said to make distinctions about snow. But for most of us, we never do experience any sort of gun related violence in our lives, and cannot imagine just what that is like.
I think I will be careful about using gun related metaphors, like taking aim, pulling the trigger, taking a shot, finding the golden bullet. None of that seems so innocent any more.
Although my student seemed pretty calm about the whole thing, he also seemed more aggressive and uptight than he had been before. I am sure witnessing an event like that makes a person feel out of control, and puts them very much on edge. He could smell the gun powder and heard the shots, saw the cops rushing around. The whole thing must have been disorienting and upsetting. Plus it turns out he knew the student who was killed, and although they were not friends, no one thinks about students loosing their lives. The kids here are just supposed to be starting their lives.
I heard a report from a community activist who works with gang members, and he said that for gang members, there is a whole range of terminology around shootings. They make distinctions between being at a shooting versus being shot at, for instance, like the way Eskimos are said to make distinctions about snow. But for most of us, we never do experience any sort of gun related violence in our lives, and cannot imagine just what that is like.
I think I will be careful about using gun related metaphors, like taking aim, pulling the trigger, taking a shot, finding the golden bullet. None of that seems so innocent any more.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Cultural tourism in Iceland
I just finished writing a chapter of my dissertation, which resulted in a much larger discussion of cultural tourism in Iceland than I had intended.
But the fact is, this is an issue I have been extremely interested and concerned about for at least 15 years, if not 20. I have never, ever liked the way Iceland is marketed to tourists in the U.S. Everything from the unspoiled nature to the crazy city life in Reykavik. It has always left the part of Iceland I loved--the simple joy of being in a relaxing and lovely place with my family--completely out of the picture.
In 2001, I went to Hvollsvöllur to examine the Saga Centre as part of a study commissioned by the National Park's service to look into cultural landscapes as heritage tourism. I thought that endeavor might represent a change in how Iceland was presented to tourists. But in the last 10 years, and especially while working at Vikingaheimar, and at meetings with the Saga Trails Association, I came to see just how completely the marketing mechanism of Iceland Excursion and Icelandair work against genuine cultural tourism in Iceland.
It is an absolute shame in my opinion that the cultural ministry of Iceland has not done much much much more to amend this situation. They seem perfectly content to let the foreign perception of Iceland be radically off kilter. It is as if they have never read any of the anthropological literature that demonstrates how detrimental such a disjuncture can be for the local population. Because what foreigners think of Iceland comes to influence what Icelanders think of themselves.
Last September I was at a conference in Reykjavík where a small group of professionals, including myself, talked about the use of the term "Viking" in Icelandic history, tourism, and archaeology. The audience was primarily workers in the cultural tourism industry in Iceland, and the discussion at the end was almost heartbreaking. The people running the centers out in the countryside that the intellectuals in Reykjavík find so unacceptable were literally begging for cooperation, for shared knowledge, for discussion, for--simply put--help. If anyone is looking for a project to do, something that would actually make a difference, there you go.
But instead the Penis Museum gets all the attention, and everything else gets ignored.
But the fact is, this is an issue I have been extremely interested and concerned about for at least 15 years, if not 20. I have never, ever liked the way Iceland is marketed to tourists in the U.S. Everything from the unspoiled nature to the crazy city life in Reykavik. It has always left the part of Iceland I loved--the simple joy of being in a relaxing and lovely place with my family--completely out of the picture.
In 2001, I went to Hvollsvöllur to examine the Saga Centre as part of a study commissioned by the National Park's service to look into cultural landscapes as heritage tourism. I thought that endeavor might represent a change in how Iceland was presented to tourists. But in the last 10 years, and especially while working at Vikingaheimar, and at meetings with the Saga Trails Association, I came to see just how completely the marketing mechanism of Iceland Excursion and Icelandair work against genuine cultural tourism in Iceland.
It is an absolute shame in my opinion that the cultural ministry of Iceland has not done much much much more to amend this situation. They seem perfectly content to let the foreign perception of Iceland be radically off kilter. It is as if they have never read any of the anthropological literature that demonstrates how detrimental such a disjuncture can be for the local population. Because what foreigners think of Iceland comes to influence what Icelanders think of themselves.
Last September I was at a conference in Reykjavík where a small group of professionals, including myself, talked about the use of the term "Viking" in Icelandic history, tourism, and archaeology. The audience was primarily workers in the cultural tourism industry in Iceland, and the discussion at the end was almost heartbreaking. The people running the centers out in the countryside that the intellectuals in Reykjavík find so unacceptable were literally begging for cooperation, for shared knowledge, for discussion, for--simply put--help. If anyone is looking for a project to do, something that would actually make a difference, there you go.
But instead the Penis Museum gets all the attention, and everything else gets ignored.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Sex scandals
Wednesday afternoon, my son's father started talking to me about the Penn State football coach criminal sexual abuse case. Although I had seen a headline that day about Joe Paterno stepping down, I did not pay it much attention, mostly since Joe is 84 years old and I have been expecting his retirement for a while. But also, I must admit, because I generally speaking keep much better track of Icelandic news than U.S. news.
So the sex scandal I had been following was not the one most American's were following. I was instead reading all about the book written by the daughter of a deceased bishop accusing him of repeatedly sexually molesting her through her childhood, and the reaction to that book by the woman's family. Of course I am referring to Iceland's child sexual abuse story of the week.
With all due respect to everyone in Iceland involved in this, and with full cognizance of the status and power of a bishop, the child sexual abuse case at Penn State so completely dwarfs the Icelandic issue, I feel honestly rather upset at myself for not paying attention to it as it was unfolding. It now appears that the entire football program at Penn State colluded to keep the ongoing predatory rape of children from public attention simply because it would harm the reputation of their football program.
The Icelandic case is comprehensible in a way; I have heard of father's doing this sort of thing before to their children, and I can understand a family wanting to try to cover it up somehow. Families are supposed to love each other, for better or for worse. But here was a man who went out and sought victims, brought them to his place of work, and although his coworkers had direct evidence he was doing this, they did nothing to stop him because of money, because of some convoluted, artificial, overinflated sense of school pride?
At times like this, I do indeed miss Iceland. But the fact of the matter is it does not look like I will be going back to that idyllic little island in the North Atlantic anytime soon, and I need to start paying more attention to what is going on right here, in my own back yard.
So the sex scandal I had been following was not the one most American's were following. I was instead reading all about the book written by the daughter of a deceased bishop accusing him of repeatedly sexually molesting her through her childhood, and the reaction to that book by the woman's family. Of course I am referring to Iceland's child sexual abuse story of the week.
With all due respect to everyone in Iceland involved in this, and with full cognizance of the status and power of a bishop, the child sexual abuse case at Penn State so completely dwarfs the Icelandic issue, I feel honestly rather upset at myself for not paying attention to it as it was unfolding. It now appears that the entire football program at Penn State colluded to keep the ongoing predatory rape of children from public attention simply because it would harm the reputation of their football program.
The Icelandic case is comprehensible in a way; I have heard of father's doing this sort of thing before to their children, and I can understand a family wanting to try to cover it up somehow. Families are supposed to love each other, for better or for worse. But here was a man who went out and sought victims, brought them to his place of work, and although his coworkers had direct evidence he was doing this, they did nothing to stop him because of money, because of some convoluted, artificial, overinflated sense of school pride?
At times like this, I do indeed miss Iceland. But the fact of the matter is it does not look like I will be going back to that idyllic little island in the North Atlantic anytime soon, and I need to start paying more attention to what is going on right here, in my own back yard.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Novels
Yesterday I gave my students an article entitled "The Aesthetics of Reading" which was published in 2002 in the journal Aesthetic Education. The articles thesis was that there are several exceedingly important mental skills that we acquire from reading novels that we do not acquire from watching movies, or even from reading other types of printed material. Specifically, he identified three things 1) the way time is treated in novels, which is rarely a natural chronological flow; 2) the way we have to remember characters, part of a skill he called "funding" and 3) the depiction of conciousness, in the form especially of reading a character's internal thoughts. In all these things he said that the reader's experience of a novel over a very long period of time, at least days if not weeks and months, makes for a very different mental experience than seeing the same narrative in movie form. The elongation of the unfolding of the narrative heightens our reliance on the mental skills of memory and gives us, more importantly, critical time to process and understand the narrative. Breaking up the continuum of time gives us an opportunity to reflect on the reality of time, and by getting to know a group of characters through a novel we have an opportunity to reflect on human nature.
It was this latter point I have been thinking about a lot lately, as we have been reading Smilla's Sense of Snow. We also, by the way, watched the movie. But it seems to me Peter Hoeg's point in writing this novel was not so much to describe a crime, but rather to delve deeply into the human psyche. Novelists are surgeons of human emotions, always wanting to dissect them more and more finely. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I do note that Smilla's Sense of Snow ends specifically with the point that there will be no resolution.
It was this latter point I have been thinking about a lot lately, as we have been reading Smilla's Sense of Snow. We also, by the way, watched the movie. But it seems to me Peter Hoeg's point in writing this novel was not so much to describe a crime, but rather to delve deeply into the human psyche. Novelists are surgeons of human emotions, always wanting to dissect them more and more finely. Whether this is a good thing or a bad thing, I do note that Smilla's Sense of Snow ends specifically with the point that there will be no resolution.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Holiday Plans
Tomorrow is Veterans Day, and Palmer has the day off school. When I noticed this two weeks ago, I thought it would be fun to drive down to Southern California with him, to visit my parents. Then I started having car trouble. And my mom starting having back trouble. And a large rain storm was predicted for the exact day we'd be driving. So on Monday of this week, we decided to postpone the trip, and go down there over Thanksgiving instead. Then last night, things changed again. My dad said he would rather come up to see me in Northern California, than us come down to Southern California for Thanksgiving. So as of today, that looks to be the plan. Thanksgiving is though two weeks off, so things could change again, of course.
Do I have Christmas plans yet, you ask? You tell me.
Do I have Christmas plans yet, you ask? You tell me.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Little red corvette
I am having car troubles. On Friday, my Saab worked just fine, getting me safely back and forth to lovely Stanford University. But on Saturday morning, when I tried to get her in gear to take me to Palmer's soccer game, nothing doing. The clutch pedal was completely flat against the floor, and any attempt to shift gears made a tremendous racket. I just had the clutch worked on by a shop called Svensson Automotive (yes, they specialize in Swedish cars; yes, the owner is of Swedish decent), which is (like any good Swedish company) not open on the weekends. So yesterday was spent getting the car towed from my apartment to Svensson's.
Dave was kind enough to let me borrow his second car until my car is fixed, a red Chevy HR2. And that worked out great this weekend for Palmer and I when we went to a birthday party Saturday night and when I took him to school Monday morning. This morning I also took him to school no problem. Then the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me with a car happened. I drove the car into a parking spot, put the car in park, and then tried to turn the key so that I could turn off the car, planning--obviously--to get out. Nothing doing. The key was not only stuck in the ignition, it was stuck in the on position in the ignition. There was literally nothing I could do but keep driving the car. After proving to Dave that this really was not just a matter of me not knowing how to turn a key, we took it to a shop where they disengaged the wires in order to stop the car. Otherwise I guess the thing would have just kept running all night. It was bizarre.
And as if that was not weird enough, when I got to the Bart station, and put my card into the reader, I got an error message. It was a really old card, but the attendant said that shouldn't matter and told me to try going through the gates with the card. I put my card in, and EVERY SINGLE GATE opened simultaneously. The attendant looked at me with a stunned look on his face, and said he had never seen that happen before. Then he told me to try again. That time everything worked OK, and I was able to get on the train. But it was spooky.
I seriously have not a clue what is going on.
Perhaps an electronics curse was put upon me. Perhaps this is a divine sign I am not supposed to go anywhere. Perhaps it is a sign to stop driving. Or perhaps it was all just a super weird coincidence.
As usual, however, I have found a way to look on the bright side. Because I took the Bart into Berkeley today, and then back home, and then rode the bus from there to my apartment, I had a chance to have a long chat with my neighbor, Beverly. She lives in the apartment right next door, but until we rode the bus home from the Bart together tonight, we had never had a good long face to face chat.
Dave was kind enough to let me borrow his second car until my car is fixed, a red Chevy HR2. And that worked out great this weekend for Palmer and I when we went to a birthday party Saturday night and when I took him to school Monday morning. This morning I also took him to school no problem. Then the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me with a car happened. I drove the car into a parking spot, put the car in park, and then tried to turn the key so that I could turn off the car, planning--obviously--to get out. Nothing doing. The key was not only stuck in the ignition, it was stuck in the on position in the ignition. There was literally nothing I could do but keep driving the car. After proving to Dave that this really was not just a matter of me not knowing how to turn a key, we took it to a shop where they disengaged the wires in order to stop the car. Otherwise I guess the thing would have just kept running all night. It was bizarre.
And as if that was not weird enough, when I got to the Bart station, and put my card into the reader, I got an error message. It was a really old card, but the attendant said that shouldn't matter and told me to try going through the gates with the card. I put my card in, and EVERY SINGLE GATE opened simultaneously. The attendant looked at me with a stunned look on his face, and said he had never seen that happen before. Then he told me to try again. That time everything worked OK, and I was able to get on the train. But it was spooky.
I seriously have not a clue what is going on.
Perhaps an electronics curse was put upon me. Perhaps this is a divine sign I am not supposed to go anywhere. Perhaps it is a sign to stop driving. Or perhaps it was all just a super weird coincidence.
As usual, however, I have found a way to look on the bright side. Because I took the Bart into Berkeley today, and then back home, and then rode the bus from there to my apartment, I had a chance to have a long chat with my neighbor, Beverly. She lives in the apartment right next door, but until we rode the bus home from the Bart together tonight, we had never had a good long face to face chat.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Árbók hins Íslenzka fornleifafélags
I think I spelled that right.
The library here at Cal has the issues of this journal from 1926 to 1936 bound together and on the shelves. That is it. Nothing from before 1926, and nothing after 1936.
Other university libraries in the UC system (UCLA and UC San Diego) have earlier issues, but nothing later. So I went online to look at the digital holdings. I found a Google Library version of the issues from 1885 to 1890. I am reading through that now. And then bingo, the website Timarit.is has all the articles, 1881 to 2001, online.
I am enjoying the issue from 1885 though. It is fascinating because back then, 125 years ago, Icelandic was written different. Jeg instead of Ég. Sjer instead of Sér. I suppose these spellings, which make Icelandic look more like Danish, were removed for just that reason. It is also fascinating because of the way archaeologists back then used the sagas in their work and knew all the saga characters and events. Very different from today.
So, thanks to the miracle of the internet, I am spending tonight in conversation with a long-dead Icelandic antiquarian. And I can also keep perusing to my hearts content the journal holdings of the National Library of Iceland, from thousands and thousands of miles away.
Of course I would rather have the actual books, either have all the volumes here in California, or be in Iceland myself. Either way would be OK with me. But I can't fix the budget of the University of California, and I can't fix the job market in Iceland.
All I can do is be grateful that at least the internet if free, and useful, and not to be taken for granted.
The library here at Cal has the issues of this journal from 1926 to 1936 bound together and on the shelves. That is it. Nothing from before 1926, and nothing after 1936.
Other university libraries in the UC system (UCLA and UC San Diego) have earlier issues, but nothing later. So I went online to look at the digital holdings. I found a Google Library version of the issues from 1885 to 1890. I am reading through that now. And then bingo, the website Timarit.is has all the articles, 1881 to 2001, online.
I am enjoying the issue from 1885 though. It is fascinating because back then, 125 years ago, Icelandic was written different. Jeg instead of Ég. Sjer instead of Sér. I suppose these spellings, which make Icelandic look more like Danish, were removed for just that reason. It is also fascinating because of the way archaeologists back then used the sagas in their work and knew all the saga characters and events. Very different from today.
So, thanks to the miracle of the internet, I am spending tonight in conversation with a long-dead Icelandic antiquarian. And I can also keep perusing to my hearts content the journal holdings of the National Library of Iceland, from thousands and thousands of miles away.
Of course I would rather have the actual books, either have all the volumes here in California, or be in Iceland myself. Either way would be OK with me. But I can't fix the budget of the University of California, and I can't fix the job market in Iceland.
All I can do is be grateful that at least the internet if free, and useful, and not to be taken for granted.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Occupy vs. Tea Party
Yesterday, or maybe the day before, I heard some commentator saying that the Tea Party movement and the Occupy movement were two halves of the same coin. In a way, this is good news, because it means that there is space for productive cross-dialogue between the two movements. And indeed they are both upset about overlapping issues, as illustrated in this diagram.
But what this analysis misses is that the two movements have at their core fundamentally different moral codes. The Tea Party wants to go back to the conservative values of the 1940s and 1950s in the U.S., in which Christian Religion was central to defining behavior. The Occupy movement--although it has been depicted as somewhat amoral--has instead a very different moral code at its center. I had heard the term "socially progressive" lots of times here at Berkeley and San Francisco, but I never really understood what it meant, until yesterday when I was reading coverage of the Occupy Walnut Creek event on Saturday and found myself suddenly defending that stance.
Social progressivism is not about gay marriage or universal health care or any of these single buzz issues. Social progressives believe, unlike people in the Tea Party, that our society is evolving into a community of cooperation, support, shared knowledge and understanding. In fact, the internet has made this evolution happen much faster than anyone could have imagined in the 1960s. And the key difference here is that Social Progressives believe this is a good thing, not a bad thing. And that the government needs to catch up, and stop treating us all like rats competing for scraps off a table.
That is why comparisons between the Occupy movement and the Arab Spring are far more apt. Because in both cases, the idea is that current forms of government are completely unable to deal with a truly informed, knowledgeable, and socially responsible populace.
But what this analysis misses is that the two movements have at their core fundamentally different moral codes. The Tea Party wants to go back to the conservative values of the 1940s and 1950s in the U.S., in which Christian Religion was central to defining behavior. The Occupy movement--although it has been depicted as somewhat amoral--has instead a very different moral code at its center. I had heard the term "socially progressive" lots of times here at Berkeley and San Francisco, but I never really understood what it meant, until yesterday when I was reading coverage of the Occupy Walnut Creek event on Saturday and found myself suddenly defending that stance.
Social progressivism is not about gay marriage or universal health care or any of these single buzz issues. Social progressives believe, unlike people in the Tea Party, that our society is evolving into a community of cooperation, support, shared knowledge and understanding. In fact, the internet has made this evolution happen much faster than anyone could have imagined in the 1960s. And the key difference here is that Social Progressives believe this is a good thing, not a bad thing. And that the government needs to catch up, and stop treating us all like rats competing for scraps off a table.
That is why comparisons between the Occupy movement and the Arab Spring are far more apt. Because in both cases, the idea is that current forms of government are completely unable to deal with a truly informed, knowledgeable, and socially responsible populace.
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