Bead 14: I lied through my teeth for the Paris Accord

I get all my best advice from John Oliver.  For example, recently I was wondering how a little old nobody leftist like me could get through to our President as regards the Paris Accord.  Trump seems to be waffling on this one, dragging his decision out across days of front-page headlines.  It's like he's begging us to tell him what to do--and believe me, I want to.  But how?

All I had to do was recall last week's episode of Last Week Tonight, entitled Stupid Watergate.  In it, John Oliver revealed the twin secrets to gaining the ear of Trump.  You have to: 1) pander to his narcissism, and 2) keep it real, real simple.  Evidently, several White House officials have observed that, in order for a security briefing to be absorbed in its entirety by our Commander-in-Chief, it needs to fit on a single page, and contain visual aids like maps and photos.  Also, it needs to make obsessive use of his name.  Evidently, the goal is to plug "Trump" into as many paragraphs as possible to hold the actual Trump's attention.

Today, while reading another top story about The Most Powerful Man in the World's ambivalence on keeping the world inhabitable, it finally clicked for me.  I need to offer Trump a little guidance!  And thanks to John Oliver, I know just how to do it.

Here is the letter I just submitted to https://www.whitehouse.gov/contact.  I admit, it's super-creepy.  I hope it won't cost me my blog followers, Facebook friends, and real friends.  But I just had to try it.  You should, too!  It was actually quite fun.

Dear President Trump,

When I think Trump, I think big time.  I think success.  Before we elected you as President, you dominated the world of business.  Now you dominate the world. 

Everybody knows it, even if they won't admit it:  You are breathing new life into our nation.  You are a visionary, and Make America Great Again is the vision that will save us all.  Now more than ever, I am proud to be an American--proud for the world to see us come into our birthright as the political, military, and economic force we were always meant to be.

Right now, you are in the middle of a big decision.  You are weighing whether to keep your promise to unburden us from the Paris Accord, or heed the advice of businessmen, other world leaders, cabinet members, and your daughter Ivanka to stay party to the agreement. 

A month or two ago, I might have put in my two cents for you to get us out of the Accord.  But I've started to see things in a different way.  If we leave the Accord, we don't get viewed as stronger.  We get viewed as weaker.  Those of us who voted for you will personally be pleased that you kept your word, but I fear the rest of the world will cut us out of the grown-ups' table.  

Already, China is poised to become the new leader in climate policy.  I don't mean they are about to get the most kudos from environmentalists.  I mean they are about to get the most recognition from other nations, and a bigger piece of the pie.  Even if "global warming" was cooked up in Beijing, the notion of it has gripped the whole world.  A lot of money can be made off of notions.  China knows this.  And we know this, too.

The worldwide notion of global warming has turned solar and wind energy into a major market sector.  I've lived in Kentucky, and I have seen how environmental laws can wreck an industry.  But I also know that above everything, pulsing overhead and keeping our lights on, is the market itself.  It's fickle, and sometimes it doesn't make sense.  But if we want to keep running the show, we have to follow where it leads.

President Trump, I know that tomorrow you will announce your decision.  Perhaps you've already made it, and aren't reading any more letters.  I pray that something will move you to read mine.  You are a great businessman and a great leader.  I pray that you will see that staying in the Paris Accord will further your vision to Make America Great Again, rather than diminish it.

God Bless,

[Bekah]

Bead 13: NPR vs. DJT

I have sort of a chip on my shoulder about my local public radio station.  First of all, it's not really local.  Valley Public Radio, as its name implies, is in the Valley.  I mean the Central Valley, that flat, hot place about the size of Tennessee where all our food comes from, and where I try to never go.  I live in the mountains, just 30 miles from the crest of the Sierra Nevada as the Clark's nutcracker flies.  

Then there is the station's format.  It's classical music, which is not my favorite.  Sure, there is a six-hour helping of Morning Edition if I want to get up at 3:00 a.m., but I don't.  For me, it's more like two potential hours of Morning Edition, of which I actually catch only 20 minutes while driving to work.  There's a break from classical at lunchtime, and another break for All Things Considered and other evening programs.  Then it's Classics All Night until the clock turns around.

Finally, there is the matter of the pledge drive.  It's always the pledge drive.  The on-air volunteers like to say the drives only happen quarterly, for a total of four weeks per year, but I know they're wrong.  Chances are, if I'm on 89.3, someone is suggesting I might be a freeloader if I haven't made a sustaining donation this year.

Be that as it may, I kind of also love Valley Public Radio.  It's National Public Radio, after all, and what's not to love there?  My adoration sometimes waxes more nostalgic than literal, as when I am extra-pissed at America and find NPR too middle-of-the-road for my tastes.  But nostalgia is a big deal.  The Morning Edition theme song sounds like a rich mug of coffee; the All Things Considered song puts me in mind of Dave Brubeck's Take Five because of the one time they merged the two riffs into a medley.  I love Ira Glass.  I love the parts of Prairie Home Companion that aren't too cheesy.  I remember when Bob Edwards got fired.  NPR marked my passage into adulthood; I remember when it dawned on me that the boring news station of my youth had become my FM go-to.

On May 24, Trump unveiled his first full budget plan.  It has a name that sounds like a parody of itself: A New Foundation for American Greatness.  It's too silly to be true--and yet there it is, a big ream of paper marred with the official seal of the Executive Office of the President of the United States of America. [1]

The budget, like the name, is a caricature.  It's everything you might expect from the guy:  big cuts for health, science, education, diplomacy, humanitarian aid, environmental protection, veterans, refugees, poor people, and the elderly.  On the other side of the seesaw are the things we are told need additional support:  the military, federal law enforcement, and infrastructure development. [2]  Stack that side a little higher with the massive tax cuts for the wealthy proposed by Trump just a few weeks ago, and then sprinkle the whole ensemble with absurd assumptions, like annual 3 percent economic growth.  The result?  A balanced budget by 2027!

By now you know where this is going.  Integral to A New Foundation for American Greatness is the dissolution of any federal partnerships with arts and media organizations.  This includes the National Endowment for the Arts, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting.  The former two are actually federal agencies housed in the Executive Branch.  The latter is a private nonprofit that manages federal dollars earmarked for public broadcasting; it uses most of its appropriations to fund PBS and NPR.  Next year, if Trump has his way, each of these groups will be shutting down.  The NEA and NEH don't have a say in the matter, as they answer directly to the President.  The Corporation for Public Broadcasting, as a private entity, can technically choose whether to close, but with an operating budget of zero, it would be difficult to make do.

The thing is, federal funding of the arts and media is a drop in the bucket, when the bucket in question is our government's annual budget of almost $4 trillion.  The Corporation for Public Broadcasting's 2014 federal appropriation was $445 million. [3]  By comparison, the Secret Service's budget for protective operations is more than $750 million, the bulk of which goes to securing the White House, Trump, the estranged First Lady, and Trump's globe-trotting adult children.  If that weren't enough, the recently-passed 2017 spending bill shells out another $120 million for Trump family security. [4]

You have to really value something to want to keep it alive to the tune of half a billion dollars.  With a price tag like that, American taxpayers should get to weigh in.

Er--I mean, we should have a say on whether public broadcasting lives.  Not the First Family.  Mostly.

On the subject of public opinion, a bipartisan polling team found in January 2017 that 73 percent of voters oppose eliminating federal funding for public television.  And it turns out PBS isn't just for highfalutin liberals.  In the same January poll, 66 percent of Trump voters favored either increasing federal funds for public television, or maintaining current levels of funding. [5]

People care about PBS and NPR because they are educational, non-commercial, and generally enriching.  The consensus seems to be that the Corporation for Public Broadcasting is a good place to put our tax dollars.  And when you divvy up the cost of funding CPB for one year, it comes out to the bargain rate of $1.35 per American:  another drop in the bucket. [6]

For me, it's NPR all the way.  I have my car radio presets tuned not just to Valley Public Radio, but Capital Public Radio (Sacramento and Stockton/Modesto) and KQED Public Radio (San Francisco) for road trips.  When all my presets are out of range, I just plod through the lower frequencies until I get what I'm looking for:  that rich cup of coffee, or that Dave Brubeck riff, and maybe a little news.

It was pledge drive time for Valley Public Radio again this week.  Every morning on the way to town, met with the too-chipper voices of volunteers instead of those of Rachel Martin and David Greene, I was disgruntled anew.  "Grrrr, the pledge drive," I would complain to my son.  "This has been going on forever."  For days I was convinced I wasn't the listener they sought.  I donated last year.  Or maybe it was the year before.  I couldn't be expected to pony up again so soon. 

Finally, on Wednesday evening, I had a moment of clarity.  The volunteer was saying something about it being the last couple hours of the drive, and it clicked for me.  NPR is in trouble.  PBS is in trouble.  Publicly-supported arts and media are in trouble.  I care about that.  I should do something.  I picked up the phone and, debit card in hand, I spoke out. 

References

[1]  Trump's budget plan:  A New Foundation for American Greatness

[2]  Summary of Trump's proposed funding cuts and increases:  https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/05/23/us/politics/trump-budget-details.html?_r=0 

[3]  Corporation for Public Broadcasting's operating budget for 2012, 2013, and 2014:  http://www.cpb.org/aboutcpb/financials/budget

[4]  Additional $120 million provided for security for the Trump family:  https://www.nytimes.com/2017/05/01/us/politics/secret-service-trump-protection.html?_r=0

[5]  National voter survey on federal funding for public television:  http://www.pbs.org/about/blogs/news/survey-shows-voters-oppose-eliminating-federal-funding/

[6]  Corporation for Public Broadcasting overview:  http://www.cpb.org/aboutcpb 

Bead 12: Dear Department of the Interior

Dear Department of the Interior,

Officially, I am responding to your invitation for comments on the national monuments review President Trump has asked you to undertake.  As you know, the review encompasses 27 national monuments designated or expanded since 1996 under the authority of the Antiquities Act of 1906.  You've been asked to consider how well these designations/expansions conform to the original intent of the Antiquities Act, whether the monuments support "multiple use" utility of federal lands, whether the monuments interfere with the use of nearby non-federal lands, whether the monuments can be managed properly, and how the monuments might be harming states, tribes, and localities.

You've instructed the public to comment not on the affected national monuments per se, but on the review.  It seems you're eager to do a good job.  You want to know if you are reviewing enough monuments; are there perhaps some you've left off the list?  You want us to weigh in on the various criteria Trump instructed you to use in your review, and to make suggestions for additional criteria you might adopt.  In short, you want us to leave our values out of it.  If I believe that federal lands--and monuments, parks, and wilderness areas in particular--should be managed for ecological integrity and the enjoyment of future generations, you don't want to know about it.  If we, the commenting public, wish to defend the existence of the affected monuments, it must be in terms of the technicalities raised by Trump's executive order, none of which have anything to do with the function monuments serve in our society and our natural landscapes.

I do have comments for you.  Official comments.  But first, since we're talking, I have a few unofficial thoughts I'd like to share with you.  Grievances, you might call them.

Up until quite recently, I thought of you as an old friend.  You were where I fell in love with the desert (Arches and Zion National Parks, 1994) and where I took some of my first steps alone on a trail (Rocky Mountain National Park, 1994).  You were where I got lost for two days in the wintertime and had to bushwhack with skis strapped to my pack (Glacier National Park, 1996), and where I returned in kinder seasons to hike, camp, and swim in the shadow of your glorious Continental Divide (Glacier National Park, 1998-2003).  I stitched myself in and out of you on the Pacific Crest Trail (Sequoia, Kings Canyon, Yosemite, Lassen, Crater Lake, Mt. Rainier, and North Cascades National Parks, 2002) and later the Appalachian Trail (Shenandoah National Park and Harpers Ferry National Historical Park, 2004).  You were where I studied black bears as a graduate student (Cumberland Gap National Historical Park, 2007) and where I encountered nine grizzly bears in a day (Denali National Park, 2013).  For the past seven years, you have been my neighbor; I enjoy slipping past the crowds at your front door to meet you where our souls touch, on Florence, Simmons, Gibbs, Hoffman, Conness, and all the high country in between (Yosemite National Park, 2010-present).  

But a few months ago, when Tioga Pass was deep under snow and I was stoking my woodstove at 3,000 feet, you became a stranger.  It was a cold day in January.  The 20th, I believe.  Suddenly, after a kinship longer than most modern marriages, you turned off.  Now your face is blank, stony (Mt. Rushmore National Memorial, 1993).  Your hands, once gentle, now move with icy precision.  I have no idea what they'll do next.

Denali National Park, 2013

Ahem.  Back to the public comment period, only open for 15 days for Bears Ears on account of all the Native people that support its national monument designation, but lack Internet access.  Open until July 10 for the 26 monuments with lower fossil fuel potential, and less controversy.  Let the record show that I am in favor of all 27 of these national monuments, not to mention the other 130 monuments created under the Antiquities Act.  I stand with that great Republican conservationist, Theodore Roosevelt, who signed the Antiquities Act into law and used it liberally in the years to follow.  I stand with the 15 presidents since T. R. (including another 7 Republicans) who have used the Act to set aside those lands under imminent archaeological or ecological threat, or unable to garner enough support in Congress for a National Park designation, or both.  The Antiquities Act of 1906 became law for good reason, and I support its use.

I know I'm not strictly following instructions.  But I am about to.  In response to your first suggested objective for public comments:  No, I don't think there are any national monuments missing from your to-review list, because I don't think any monuments warrant ex post facto review.

Your second suggested objective for public comments is the application of Trump's various review criteria to the 27 national monuments in question.  In this letter, I will focus on one broad criterion:  whether the monument designations jibe with the original intent of the Antiquities Act.  Trump would like us to consider whether the monuments "are appropriately classified under the Act as 'historic landmarks, historic and prehistoric structures, or other objects of historic or scientific interest'" and whether they conform to "the Act's requirement that reservations of land 'not exceed the smallest area compatible with the proper care and management of the objects to be protected.'"  But to suggest that the original language of the Act is sacrosanct is to deny its evolution, over the past century, in courtrooms and Congress, and in the hands of its primary practitioners, our presidents.

Federal courts have repeatedly weighed in on the Antiquities Act, and have always ruled in favor of the national monument and President in question.  Court opinions have explicitly validated "objects of historic or scientific interest" ranging from early fur trapping trails and glacial formations (Wyoming v. Franke, 1945) to rare desert fish (Cappapert v. United States, 1976) to a caribou herd (Anaconda Copper Co. v. Andrus, 1980), to scenic vistas (Tulare County v. Bush, 2002).  In fact, in Anaconda Copper Co. v. Andrus, the court found that "obviously, matters of scientific interest which involve geological formations or which may involve plant, animal, or fish life are within this reach of the presidential authority under the Antiquities Act."  As to size, federal courts have upheld monument designations as large as 10.9 million acres on land (Alaska v. Carter, 1978) and 89.5 million acres at sea (Dettling v. United States, 2013); it is worth noting that the latter designation was made by President George W. Bush.  In Tulare County v. Bush, the court found that the Antiquities Act does not require presidents to make any particular investigation regarding the "smallest area" criterion of monument designation; it is wholly up to the president's discretion.

Similarly, although Congress has had numerous opportunities to abolish individual national monuments, restrict the size or conditions of designations allowed under the Antiquities Act, or repeal the Act altogether, it has done almost nothing in this regard.  On the contrary, Congress has regularly acted to fund or expand monuments, or to upgrade them to National Park status.  In the political backlash that followed Jimmy Carter's designation of more than 56 million acres of national monuments in Alaska, Congress passed legislation that limited future use of the Antiquities Act in Alaska--but at the same time, validated Carter's efforts by incorporating most of his Alaska monuments into the national park system.  We have Congress's vision to thank for Grand Canyon, Grand Teton, Arches, Zion, Bryce Canyon, Denali, Glacier Bay, Olympic, and Acadia National Parks, all of which got their start as Antiquities Act monuments subjected to no small amount of local scorn.

After more than a hundred years of congressional debate, the Antiquities Act stands, and has managed to retain its original broad language with respect to which lands are eligible for protection, and how much land can be protected.  Moreover, the courts have affirmed that a monument's size and purpose is a matter of presidential discretion, and has upheld monument designations of every stripe.  Like our judicial and legislative branches of government, I trust the judgment of the presidents that designated the 27 national monuments under review.  Namely, I feel the monument designations appropriately protect objects of historic or scientific interest, and are properly sized.

Since the days of Teddy Roosevelt, only three U.S. presidents have declined to designate national monuments under the Antiquities Act.  These are Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, and George H. W. Bush.  Richard Nixon gets props for establishing the Environmental Protection Agency, and signing the National Environmental Policy Act, Clean Air Act, and Endangered Species Act into existence; I will overlook his dispassion for monuments.  

As to our current president, his use of the Antiquities Act remains to be seen.  So far, he appears interested in the Act only insofar as he might be able to spin it to overturn monument designations, which would be unprecedented and almost certainly indefensible.  I can only hope that he--and you, my former friend--can resist the advances of corporate special interest groups and keep the best interest of the American public and our collective ecological and cultural resources in mind.  Please continue to protect our national monuments.  

Notwithstanding your about-face on January 20, I can't blow you off.  In a month or two, the snow will have melted from the High Sierra, and that is where I will be.  I like to think that somewhere, deep down, we still have common ground.  Please don't prove me wrong.

Sincerely,

[Bekah]


References 

Interior Department press release and link to public comment portal:  https://www.doi.gov/pressreleases/interior-department-releases-list-monuments-under-review-announces-first-ever-formal

Congressional Research Service article summarizing the Antiquities Act and its use in national monument designations:  https://fas.org/sgp/crs/misc/R41330.pdf

Cornell Law Review article summarizing the Antiquities Act and its use in national monument designations:  http://scholarship.law.cornell.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2894&context=clr

National Park Service website providing information on all national monument designations/expansions under the Antiquities Act between 1906 and 2006:  https://www.nps.gov/archeology/sites/antiquities/monumentslist.htm

Bead 11: Healthy California

There's nothing like an ambulance ride to make you glad that you have health insurance. 

The patient was my then-eleven-year-old son Zac.  The occasion was his ruptured appendix.  The setting was an October morning in Fresno, California.  The backstory is that we had been in and out of doctor's offices and labs for two days.  Until just a few minutes ago, nobody in a white coat could be convinced anything was wrong.

Zac on the ambulance

 

Our small-town pediatrician is wonderful; it's just that she had never seen an appendix case quite like Zac's.  His pain didn't stray much below the latitude of his belly button, and was milder on the right side.  On a scale of 1 to 10, he gave it a 3.  He smiled and told jokes, and at the end of our appointment, jumped down from the examining table.

Because our pediatrician is wonderful, she didn't dismiss our concerns.  She told us her hunch was constipation, but instructed us to call her if his pain worsened, or settled in his lower abdomen, and she would order a CT scan.  For the time being, she prescribed MiroLax.  

The next day, Zac was indeed worse, and our pediatrician was out of the office.  Now, our tribulations began in earnest.  We drove the hour to Fresno, where a nurse practitioner belittled my fears, repeatedly telling Zac, "You're not an appy!"  The culprit was nothing more than constipation, she said, but to appease me, she would order an X-ray and some labs.  Frustrated, I told her that Zac's doctor had recommended a CT scan as the next step.  She pooh-poohed the lot of us.  "I don't think there's anything wrong with him," she said, "but you seem to think so."  She prescribed milk of magnesia.

I was seething as Zac underwent his X-ray.  X-rays were for broken bones, not appendicitis.  Stupid nurse practitioner.  Stupid Kaiser.  Stupid me for not advocating harder for my son while we were sitting there with her in her stupid office.  Driving home, my eyes smarted.  Zac slept in the passenger seat.  In the backseat, hunched in a stupid small pile, were the overnight things I'd packed just in case.

Late that evening, I received Zac's lab results by email.  His white blood cell count was too high.  I was scared.  Nurse #1 on Kaiser's 24-hour advice line was not.  She told me that I would have received a phone call by now if it were an emergency.  She wished me a pleasant evening.  

Enter my boyfriend, Taylor.  He proclaimed Nurse #1 to be full of shit, and urged me to call back and talk to someone else.  By this point I was exhausted and apathetic.  I just wanted to believe Nurse #1, but to keep the peace with Taylor, I redialed the hotline.  This time I got Nurse #2, who told us to go straight to the ER. 

The ambulance ride came eight hours later, after an ultrasound, an MRI, and a lot of waiting around in between.  It was just two highway exits between the Kaiser ER and Valley Children's Hospital, an easy drive, but the ER doctor didn't want to take chances with a burst appendix.  We finally got the emergency I'd been anticipating, flashing lights and all.  

Zac the morning after surgery

Although, at the time, nothing about Zac's medical emergency seemed luxurious, I now look back at the experience and recognize how fortunate we were.  All I had to worry about, in the six days between our first doctor's appointment and Zac's release from Valley Children's Hospital, was my son's health.  My employer asked nothing of me; I was able to park myself at Zac's bedside, in a cozy private room equipped with a pull-out couch for parents, and give him my undivided attention.  Nobody hounded me about money, and I didn't think much about it at the time.  Zac had insurance, and it was a "good" plan I had purchased for him myself, outside of my employer's expensive group offerings.

Some financial woes did surface later, after I realized that Zac's "good" plan was centered more on outpatient care, and carried a 30% price tag for all hospital-related expenses.  Instead of just covering Zac's $1,250 deductible, as I had optimistically assumed during my hospital vigil, I ended up owing $6,250, the full annual out-of-pocket maximum.  But it worked out.  I was able to pay the bills off in a year, and, for only a few more dollars a month, switched Zac to a better "good" plan.

At previous points in my life, a medical emergency would have been catastrophic.  Although Zac has always had some form of coverage--the Children's Health Insurance Program when his dad and I were together, Medicaid when I was a divorced, impoverished graduate student, and private health insurance for the past seven years of steady paychecks--I have frequently been uninsured.  As luck would have it, I never got sick, and I had Planned Parenthood for annual exams and birth control.  But it was American roulette, and nobody can deny there was a bullet in the chamber.

Here in the United States, it feels like good fortune that I paid $6,250 for Zac's ruptured appendix, rather than the full $30,000-plus that lurked in the invoice margins.  Here in the United States, it feels like good fortune that Zac had insurance at all.  Here in the United States, it feels like good fortune that my employer was understanding, and that I was able to flex my time around to avoid depleting my supply of paid-time-off hours.

Here in the United States, we exist in a vacuum.  Geographically isolated and fed a steady diet of corporate-backed spin, we have no concept of how things are done in the civilized world. 

Zac back to his normal goofy self the morning of his release from the hospital

As the new regime works to fell the Affordable Care Act, our nation's first baby step toward healthcare for all, there is good news in California.  It's Senate Bill (SB) 562, the Healthy California Act.  SB 562 would provide single-payer healthcare to all Californians.  Funded through a combination of federal dollars and state tax revenues, Healthy California would cut insurance companies out of the picture, directly paying for all "medically appropriate" services.  The list spans everything you can think of:  inpatient and outpatient care, prescriptions, mental health, alcohol and drug rehab, hospice, dental, vision, acupuncture, and more.  Although Californians may see a tax increase, they will never see a premium, deductible, or copay.  Healthcare will be, for all intents and purposes, free.  It will be as it should be in the modern era, a basic human right.    

SB 562 isn't there yet, but it's on its way.  Having passed the Senate Health Committee in late April, the bill is now being considered by Senate Appropriations.  It will next go to the Senate floor for a full vote, ideally followed by the Assembly.  Clearing both of those hurdles, it will reach the governor's desk, where we can only hope it will be signed into law.  Nothing is guaranteed, however, and there are opportunities for action at each of these way stations.  In the coming days, my state legislators, Tom Berryhill and Frank Bigelow, will be hearing from me on the importance of the Healthy California Act for my family, and for 39 million of my neighbors.

While Zac was in surgery, the misguided nurse practitioner tried to call me.  I didn't recognize the number, and was too nervous at the time to even think of picking up the phone for a stranger.  I let it go to voicemail.  Her message wasn't exactly apologetic, but she certainly sounded concerned.  She asked me to call her back.  I didn't, not ever.  I don't hold any grudges against the woman.  But her behavior, and what followed, have attuned me to what really matters in healthcare--being heard.  When we have the ear, and the understanding, of our healthcare providers, and when we are not worried about how we are going to pay the bills, we can focus on our role:  getting well, and staying well.