a few interesting reads

Man, it's been so long since I wrote anything on here that the last article I put up is entitled "Why American Conservatives Need Herman Cain." Kinda stuck my foot in my mouth on that one...

On almost a daily basis I get a grip of interesting reads from friends of mine scattered around the world. I don't know if I'll make this a habit, but here are a few recent ones that have been sent my way. From:

-Brian Krohn: on social/cultural evolution and the internet

-Abdulrahman El-Sayed: on money and college sports

-Luke Fenwick: best long essays of 2011 (Stoner Arms Dealers is a phenomenal read)

-Peter Fenwick: does the God of the Bible exist debate, Lennox v Singer

Laying low in New Zealand and possibly Australia until Feb 21. Looking forward to an uncluttered season of reflection, training, and travel.

beat cal

why american conservatives need herman cain

The Republicans Party needs to nominate Herman Cain for President.

As Wesley Snipes says in Passenger 57, when in a tight spot "always bet on black." Until the past few weeks, Cain's polling average has been somewhere between Jon Huntsman and Ron Paul. Given Cain's recently surging poll numbers, however, it seems Republicans desperate for a contender who isn't Mitt Romney have decided to heed Snipes' advice.

From the standpoint of pure electoral math, Cain has a much better chance of attracting minority votes, particularly among African Americans, that would almost certainly be inaccessible to Perry or Romney. This could prove decisive in close states. As important as this could be in November 2012, though, Cain's race really matters because it positions him to challenge deeply-held dogmas of the American right and the left. This, in turn, points the way toward a new kind of conservativism, decoupled from much of the baggage of conventional Republicanism.

Responding to Harry Belafonte's quip that he is a "bad apple," Cain asked "Okay, what's a good apple? A good apple is a Democrat, a liberal, who shuts up and does what he or she is told and doesn't make waves. That must be a good apple." Implicit in Belafonte's remark is the assumption that good, sensible black people are democrats, while the occasional befuddled/opportunistic black person goes Republican. Democrats support social welfare, empathize with the plight of the working poor, and are the historical defenders of the civil rights movement. As a black American, why would you ever fall out of line? There are good reasons that so many black Americans have internalized this logic: it's an unfortunate paradigm that the right and the left have co-created for decades now. Herman Cain challenges this orthodoxy, shaking up the way Americans think about racial identity and politics. Black Americans and poor Americans can be political conservatives just as much as rich, white Americans. To be conservative doesn't imply that one ignores very real problems of economic disenfranchisement or racial injustice. Rather, to be conservative implies a view of the role of government in meeting our political and economic challenges. Historically, far too many white, Republican leaders have not seemed to care about these challenges or to exhibit the slightest hint of solidarity with millions of Americans who do not share their experience of privilege. As the demographics of this country change, so must the ability of political conservatives to relate authentically and compassionately to non-white Americans. Cain helps get them there.

Perhaps because of his different cultural experiences, Cain falls decidedly outside of what many, particularly in my generation, perceive to be the Republican party's dominate culture of white bread, prickly evangelicalism. Cain's approach to his faith is refreshing: he's been a staunch Christian since he was 10 years old, he says, I just don't wear it "on my forehead." Subtext: I know who I am, and am not going to thump on my bible to convince you all about my Christian bona fides. I grew up listening to Rush the radio and receiving regular Focus on the Family bulletins. Believe me: conservative Christian voters need to be confronted with a candidate who isn't half as tightly-wound as them. Cain's nuanced--some would say muddled--views on abortion, gay rights, and gun control stand to challenge many Republicans with the idea that values voting does not equal political conservatism. In fact, in many instances it is squarely at odds with it.

Of course Cain's value as a presidential candidate far-surpasses his skin color. His record as CEO of Godfather's pizza suggests that, in spite of being a relatively novice politician, he is an effective leader and administrator. And anyone with questions about his conservative credentials or formidable intelligence should watch his exchange with President Clinton in a 1994 Town Hall meeting. Blending his characteristic, plain-spoken style with a meticulous arithmetical precision, Cain effectively highlights how the President's presentation of his universal health care

plan grossly understates its true costs.

Every candidate has his downsides. Conservative primary voters are going to expect a much clearer position from Cain about where he stands on social issues like abortion. In the general election he would have to answer for past statements such as his view that communities have the right to ban mosques (remarks for which he soon after apologized). From an outside observer's perspective, many of Cain's missteps are more characteristic of a political novice from a conservative upbringing who is used to talking off-the-cuff, than they are of a bigot or "flip-flopper." With a bit more polish, as well as a couple convincing explanations, this authenticity could be yet another valuable asset to Cain's candidacy.

Cain is no one's savior. The challenges that America must rise to in the coming years far outstrip the change-making potential of a single presidential administration. He is, however, an authentic, capable leader who challenges our notions of politics as usual. The political right in this country is approaching a split path. One route leads toward a more radicalized, nasty Republican party rooted in a vision of America that is arguably anything but conservative. The other route leads toward a vision of conservative pragmatism, enabling social and economic change through the applied energies of markets and individuals. This kind of conservatism understands that markets aren't infallible and that government is still needed to meet our collective challenges.

I believe that Herman Cain, by virtue of his background and experience as a business leader, is this kind of conservative. Whether leaders like him can gain a leadership foothold in the Republican party may say a lot about the political future of this country.

letter to the President via LinkedIn

Looks like LinkedIn will be hosting a town hall meeting where users are invited to ask President Obama about his job creation program. It's a long shot, but here's mine. I'd be glad to hear any comments you have about this proposal. I think I read something like this in a NYT Op-Ed recently, though I can't remember who to attribute it to:

--

Mr President

Rahm Emmanuel is famous for saying "you never want a serious crisis to go to waste." Yet in this dire economic climate, where America's need for bold and innovative policy leadership is as acute as it's ever been, we seem to be doing exactly that.

Please evaluate the following proposal for overhauling America's income tax code: (1) eliminate all corporate taxes, (2) eliminate the investment income exemption, and (3) increase the marginal tax rate for millionaires and up with a simplified, effective rate.

Corporations do one of three things with their profits: (i) pay their board, (ii) pay dividends to their investors, or (iii) reinvest in the company through acquiring labor and capital. The above proposal shifts incentives in favor of option (iii), which leads to greater demand for workers, goods, and services. It also reduces the incentive for companies to seek friendlier business climates abroad, while preserving the individual financial motive necessary for a dynamic business environment.

Very respectfully,

Aaron Polhamus

no words are good enough

Many great men and women have done their best to render suitable tribute to those who suffered and died in the tragedies that unfolded today, 10 years ago. It seems that the most fitting remembrances have been the spoken names of the dead and the tears of grief from those who loved them. Remember the thousands that came after, too: Muslim and Christian, American, Iraqi, and Afghani, young and old, men and women, white, black, and every color in between--so many have paid the ultimate price for the events of that day.

Lacking anything else to say, I offer two pictures for your reflection:

9/11/2001

9/11/2011

a facebook conversation about capitalism

***this post is pursuant to one i hope to write soon concerning something in the way of a reflection on our changing world, and the implications of these perceived changes for my generation. in the meantime, here's what i hope is a somewhat intelligible defense of markets***

---

these are some heart-felt, well-spoken reflections, all, thanks for sharing. i've been putting off writing something of my own in the way of a reflection on our times, but for now i'll settle for a comment or two:

at the risk of sounding like an economist, i tend to think that markets are generally good things: millions of people deciding individually what they need/want and what they would like to pay creates a huge market from producers of goods and services looking to make money by providing for those needs. organizations that are particularly effective at doing this (e.g. WalMart) do become enormously rich and powerful, though, and i think it's reasonable to worry about the corrupting influences that power and profit motive may have on the decisions of these firms. Furthermore, markets don't provide for everything, like schools, public infrastructure, and firemen. So the people need a strong advocate to (a) make sure that the markets function impartially with respect to all participants, including the biggest players (that's what the FTC exists for: shttp://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/news/2011/06/ftc-launching-antitrust-probe-over-google-search-ad-businesses.ars) and (b) that our common interests not provided for by the market will be looked after. 'Capitalism' refers to a system of economic management whereby those who control/acquire productive assets (machinery, money, an innovative idea) put them to use in ways that meet a demand of the market, often making the managers extremely wealthy. As an example, take Facebook and any of the several companies who make the computers we're using to have this exchange: Mark Zucherberg and the folks at Lenovo won from pushing these products in a MUCH bigger way than any of us did. But that's because they gave each of us something that we value a lot: access to information and computing power. Within the right parameters, I think it's a good deal.

So what are we concerned about? In theory this whole thing sounds great, but we know from looking around us that the wealthy do often run roughshod over the poor, that corporate power is not always restrained, and that the growing wealth gap in our nation seems at odds with the notion of america as a place where, whatever 'fifth' you’re in, initiative and perseverance can be your ticket to a better life. I'm worried, too, but I'm less confident that the solution is a wholesale rejection of capitalism or a corporate boycott of WalMart. To chase that particular example, consider why so many people shop at WalMat: because it's cheap. And why does that matter? Because a lot of folks are tight on cash. So if enough of us boycott WalMart and bring it down, what happens to the people who rely on it for clothes and day to day staples? Their cost of living goes up, and our anti-corporate hubris is vindicated at the expense of those less fortunate than ourselves. There's also decent evidence that WalMart leverages its enormous influence in the market for good ends. See: http://business-ethics.com/2010/05/15/1411-assessing-walmarts-environmental-impact/. for controversial but well-argued piece by paul krugman regarding labor conditions in the third world see: http://www.slate.com/id/1918/. in spite of its failings, i think that a market is a better system than the alternatives human societies have tried so far.

time to wrap this up. as Thabisile, quoting Ghandi, said: 'be the change you wish to see.' What kind of change do i wish to see? i wish that business leaders were innovative and ambitious, but more compassionate and less driven by greed. i wish our politicians were more courageous, willing to lay their offices on the line for the sake of promoting policies they actually believe in. i wish more parents hung in there with respect to their marriages and children. so what kind of man am i going to be, and what will be my contribution? what about you? the economy we live in is changing along with our times, and one of these days i hope to sit down and think it all through for a while. One thing is certain, though: women and men of strong character, determined to act with mercy, courage, and integrity, are need now as much as, if not more, than ever before.

Warren Buffett on Reaganonomics

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/15/opinion/stop-coddling-the-super-rich.html?_r=1&hp

finally out of my hands

I spent this Wednesday with a group of 12 or 13 other SEAL officer candidates (or candidate candidates??) at the Amphibious Warfare Facility in Coronado. After close to a year of physical training, seeking references, hacking through stacks of paperwork, and answering thousands of bubble sheet questions in three separate psychiatric appointments, I had one morning of physical testing and an interview to prove to a committee of battle-hardened SEAL officers that I would be a good fit for their community.

The Navy kindly paid our way, putting us all up at the Coronado Inn for the nights before and after the screening. I drove in from LA after work, chatted with a couple of the guys I met at the check-in desk, and tucked in around 10pm. I couldn't shut down, even when I steered my thoughts away from the morning ahead, and slept for maybe 2 or 3 hours the whole night. It was as if the warm, dark silence of the hotel room was a protective barrier between me and the test that was waiting at 6am. I knew how badly I needed the rest, but on a subconscious level I was reluctant to give myself to the night because then the morning would come that much quicker. I'd done dozens of physical tests since I returned from England, but this one was going to be different: the guys would be tougher and stronger, and the officer panel would be waiting for me on the other side.

At 0530 I flipped the light on, rolled out of bed, and ate a Clif Bar before getting my gear together and heading to the lobby for the 6am muster. A few fellas were already milling around in the parking lot, and we introduced ourselves as the remainder showed up. New York, Pennsylvania, Texas, Virginia, California--we were from all over. All of us in our mid-20's, all of us in awkward career limbo, and all of us hungry to earn our spot and get going.

As we were chatting, a big white school bus pulled up to the curb and a guy with blue/black cammies got out and looked at us. He didn't need to say anything. As we shuffled on board, the driver, an enlisted SEAL who would help proctor our PST, smiled at us "Mornin' ladies!" My nerves started to settle down: this was looking like what I expected it to. When I transition from anticipation to participation it's easier to stuff the anxiety. On the ride over the driver asked us who had eaten breakfast. Only a few guys raised their hands. "And you're supposed to be leading us?!" he said. I asked him if a Clif Bar counted as breakfast. It didn't.

We drove to the pool where the SEAL candidates workout and got a bit of a surprise: in spite of the fact that we all train for 25 yard lengths, this pool is 50m long. That means half as many pushes off the wall and half as many deep breathes in the turn around. We got changed into our swim gear and hit the deck. I looked around at the other guys and struggled to fight off a sense of intimidation: a lot of these guys had played football or other contact sports at the D1 level in college, and were absolutely stacked with lean muscle. I was easily the most slightly-built dude, and knew I would have my work cutout for the rest of the test.

The proctor, another enlisted SEAL with blue, red, and green tattoos swirling up his forearms and onto his wrists spoke up: "When you get your score, make sure you watch my guy write it down. If I hear you complain later on that you didn't get the right score I will make it my personal mission to shit-can you. If you can't keep track of one single number I don't want you leading my friends. Now get in."

The swim was hard. It was the first time I'd done a PST in a long pool. Same for most of the other guys. I still managed to improve over my past performance of 9:35 in a 25 yard pool with a time of 9:33 in the 50m. An improvement, but still 8 seconds behind the second-to-last place guy. I wasn't off to a great start. I pulled myself out of the pool and headed to locker room to change into my running gear. "Just stay locked in. Four more events to go."

We headed to the field, paired up, and got going on the strength. Things started getting better. I hit 101 pushups, 107 situps, and 24 pullups. The first two scores were right in the middle of what the other guys were posting. 24 pullups was one of the better scores. I felt like I'd got some momentum back--all that remained was the run.

The run has always been weird for me. I feel kind of sick and weak after the strength portion of the PST, and it's hard to do drills or warm-up sprints during the 10 minute rest. But once I get in it my body settles down and finds the strength it needs to push out a mile and a half. As we walked up to the line all the fear was gone. We had 4 1/2 laps around the concrete track to make 1.5 miles. The group leaped off the line when the proctor said the word, and I quickly took a spot at the front of the top group, but about 10 meters behind the leader. The pace felt comfortable and no one was making any moves that I needed to follow, so I just held that position for a couple laps. Around lap 2.5 the gap started to widen a bit between me and the leader, and some of the guys in the top group pulled up next to me. A question inside: "you good with a respectable finish, or are you here to compete?" I stepped it up and closed the gap. The guys who were on my shoulder fell back. We hit lap 3.5. One more to go. I'm starting to hurt, but keep notching the pace up. With about 400 meters to go I'm 15 meters behind first place. I hold it there for a little longer. 300 meters to go. It's decision time, and I ask myself the question again "you good with a respectable finish, or are you here to compete?" It was like a throwback to high school track and field. I flipped that switch inside where the mind totally dominates the body, and starting sprinting. I blew by first place. 200 meters to go and the race is mine to lose. I don't do a shoulder check. All that matters is keeping my foot on the gas pedal. 150, 100, 50, 25, 10, 5, done: race is mine with a time of 8:48. Not an amazing time by any stretch, but the best on that field on that day. It was a good thing I made my move when I did because the ROTC guy from Ole Miss had the same idea, finishing right behind me with a time of 8:49. Totally didn't see him coming. It was nice to have some redemption from the swim and to be at peace with a strong finish. I felt like I'd not only proven my fitness, but justified a year of training for this single event.

After some parting words of advice about the interviews we would sit for that day, the proctor told us to go get "dolled up" before the bus would take us to the SEAL compound. As we got off the bus to enter the room where we would hang out and take written exams while awaiting our interview slot I learned that I was first up. One of the enlisted guys helping to run things led me across the infamous courtyard known at the "PT Grinder" and up to the balcony of the adjacent office facility where the interviews would be held. I took a seat and waited. After a little bit a guy who took the PST with us sat down in the seat next to me. He was wearing Navy Whites. "What's your story, man?" I asked him. "You ROTC, too?" "Active duty SEAL. 15 years. Looking to make a change to officer." Damn. I apologized but he didn't seem annoyed. We struck up some small chat. I tried to feel the gravity of the moment and prepare myself mentally, but I couldn't put myself in that zone. I didn't feel that I could prepare myself any better than I already had. Better to just go in unrehearsed and be as transparent as possible, I thought.

A junior officer stepped out of the conference room and motioned me in. It was time. I walked into a room that was smaller than I had expected, with a group of around seven officers surrounding a small table with one empty seat. I stood there for just long enough to signal that I was waiting to be told to sit, before the chief of the board motioned me to the chair: "Take a seat, Mr Polhamus."

It was good that I'd spent time around these kind of men before. They were all like Captain Curtis or Commander Pugh--different personalities, but with a common demeanor that absolutely crackled with intensity and confidence. "What was the path that led you to become interested in our organization?" the chief asked. I gave as short of an answer as I could, ending my sentence with something along the lines of "and I'd be glad to speak more about why I am specifically interested in special forces if you would like me to do so, sir." "Please," he replied. I articulated my belief in the mission of special forces operatives--to serve as innovative warriors on the country's cutting edge of defense, capable of thinking flexibly and taking charge in chaotic situations, and contrasted this with what I perceived to be the cultural rigidity of the Marine Corps. An officer to the Chair's left, who was wearing a "thoroughly unimpressed"-looking scowl edgily interjected: "You think we're less regimented than the Marines?" "Not less disciplined, sir. But yes, less bound by doctrine in situations where it doesn't serve the mission." "Where did you do you research?," he asked. I explained that I had started a packet with the Marine's prior to pursuing the SEALs and interacted personally with men in both organizations through the recruitment pipeline.

Right around this time my phone went off. Shit. I knew for a fact that I silenced it before hand, but had forgotten that on my cheap 50 cent phone you have to click the OK button to confirm the altered sound settings. It would be difficult to think of more unfortunate timing. They seemed to laugh it off--"just chuck it out the door, happens to the best of us"--but my heart sank. This was not the impression I wanted to make.

I won't describe the rest of the interview in detail. My overall impression was that they believed in my level of motivation and intelligence, but that a few of the men on the panel were skeptical about my motives and what they perceived to be an imbalance between my amount of book learning and my investment in sports and physical training. They asked me what I would do if I wasn't accepted. I told them I would either enlist or pursue a tech or consulting path in the private sector. One gentleman, who I actually felt was one of my advocates, said "just speaking personally, I recommend that you take the hint and go for McKinsey if you're not picked up this time. If we don't see you doing great things in the military, we want to see you doing great things outside of it." On the one hand I was humbled by his affirmation of my ability. On the other hand, I'd rather that none of those guys be thinking in terms of me not being selected. They asked me if I had any questions. Nothing came to mind, though in hindsight I can think of a few questions that would have been good. They thanked me and stood up. One officer said "keep yourself in shape." As I shook the Chair's hand he said "oh, by the way, your impression of us versus the Marines: spot on." I thanked them for their time, and walked out.

There were some written tests to take--an IQ test, a personality score, and a training habits questionnaire--but I'd made it through the main events. I spent a few hours filling out the tests and chatting with the other guys who were waiting for their interviews before a group of us left the base. Couldn't sleep so I went for a walk along the beach in front of the Hotel Del, wondering if I'd have the chance to do the four mile timed runs there in BUD/S next year. Made a couple calls, ate some food, watched some TV. Felt at peace, but somewhat unsettled at the same time: I have no idea what to expect when decisions come out in September.

Spent that evening at dinner and drinks with the other candidates. Awesome dudes. It will surely be an honor to train and serve with some of them should I get selected. I'll know in a month. Until then, for the first time in a year, the process is finally out of my hands.

30 mins of good TV

This was an incredible episode of the Daily Show. If you have 30 minutes it's well worth the time. John Stewart is unabashedly liberal, and many folks find him snarky to a fault. All the same, this episode contains what I found to be a generally on-point reflection about the recent semi-resolution of the debt ceiling crisis and a completely sincere tribute to the American troops he met over the weekend in Afghanistan.

http://www.thedailyshow.com/full-episodes/mon-august-1-2011-freida-pinto

Life lessons at In-N-Out

I am a fiend for the In-N-Out Burger here in Pasadena. Particularly after a long day and a hard workout, nothing sounds quite as good as a double-double with grilled onions and a chocolate-strawberry milkshake. I am definitely one of the regulars.

Tonight, however, I encountered a new situation. As I pulled into the drive-in area I saw that one of the drive-in lanes was empty, while the other had three cars in it. My first thought was "great, a clear lane; this will be the shortest wait I've ever had for a burger here." Then the social animal in me spoke up: "hold on, though: there's got to be a reason that everyone is in the right lane. The left lane must be closed or some of these people would be in it." I had never seen this lane closed, and there were no indicators anywhere that this was the first time. Furthermore, a perfectly reasonable alternative explanation for the situation existed--namely that the cars in the left lane had just made it through a little quicker than the cars in the right, and I just happened to drive up at an opportune time. With about 3 seconds to make my decision, however, none of this came to mind and I defaulted to the herd mentality. About 5 seconds later a woman drove up behind me, got in the left lane, and ordered her meal.

I stewed over this as I sat in my car, childishly resenting that lady for being more sensible than me. It wasn't the wait that bothered me, but the realization of how easy it had been for me to follow a completely mindless decision making process. I like to think of myself as an apart from the crowd kind of guy, but here I was confronting powerful evidence to the contrary. And it wasn't just the weight of what I perceived as the group wisdom that introduced the seed of doubt. It was also an irrational fear of failure and embarrassment--"what if I take the left lane and it is actually closed?!"

Whether it's holding your own in a discussion dominated by group-think, adhering to your moral values in an environment that undermines them, or making tough judgement calls as a leader that run contrary to the prevailing wisdom, the ability to make a cool-headed assessment of the situation and act according to what you know/believe is an essential life tool. This example may seem trivial, but the same principle applies in situations where the stakes are higher than how long I have to wait for my burger.

The cure to a herd mindset? Self-reflection, brutal honesty about one's intentions and motivations, and the willingness to try despite the possibility of failure. Cultivate these virtues, and a substantially more independent mindset will follow.

a reminder

Worked out with the usual crew of fellas in the Navy Special Operations pipeline today. After we finished Coach Jackson looked over our scores: "Polhamus, you did better than everyone at everything except for the swim. You need to lead the way in PT."

Hopefully a foreshadowing of many more training sessions to come...

two good articles

The first, thanks to my friend Rakim Brooks, suggests the development of a federal banking institution in Europe as a means of addressing European debt crises. In pointing out that Alexander Hamilton thought of this over 200 years ago, the author seems to implicitly celebrate the American ingenuity that would lead that young nation to become a global power just 100 years later:

http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2011-07-01/will-crisis-ridden-europe-find-its-own-alexander-hamilton-view.html

A question that a lot of people seem to be asking now is whether our present day elected officials can rally in a similar spirit of ingenuity (and compromise--Hamilton surrendered New York's claim to hosting the capital) to meet this generation's pressing fiscal challenges. Hopefully they figure something out before August, when the U.S. Treasury will exhaust its means of meeting current financial obligations and slowly begin to default. Unfortunately, it seems to be an article of absolute and unchallenged faith among congressional Republicans that any move to raise taxes would be a mortal sin against 'the American people.' In spite of holding core conservative convictions, I see no compelling reason why certain tax loopholes are continually left open and believe it is appropriate to tax the personal incomes of America's millionaires and billionaires at a higher marginal rate. Nicholas Kristoff made this point today in a decent Op-Ed.

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/07/07/opinion/07kristof.html?_r=1&src=ISMR_HP_LO_MST_FB

something that doesn't happen every day

This week my church has been hosting a ministry team from out of town--from Pittsburgh, I think--and they've been leading the congregation in a Holy Spirit revival weekend. Despite being a protestant Christian of a moderately-charismatic persuasion, I tend to be extremely skeptical about anything involving the Holy Spirit. This is the result of (a) the fact that I'm kind of a cerebral person whose bias is to believe that everything that we encounter in our day-to-day can be explained in terms of the non-supernatural, and (b) disappointing experiences I've had in the past when I tried to connect with this enigmatic presence.

It was mostly a sense of obligation that prompted me to sneak into the Sunday night meeting two hours late, after enjoying a pool party in Beverley Hills. I'd told one of the elders in our church that I planned to make it after morning service, and didn't want to let him down. I took a seat in the back, still wearning my sandals and a too-small white v-neck, pleased by how easy it was to slip in more or less unnoticed.

Between songs and praise, our guests would call up members of the congregation to the front and pray over them so all could hear. In these prayers they would give them prophetic words about things God was doing or planned to do in their lives. I've heard these kinds of prophetic words before, and have never been convinced that those who administer them speak with authority or divine insight. I take most prophetic words to be comfy generalities that can apply to most people in some way. After the giving of the words one of the pastors would put their hands on the individuals' forheads, and they would drop to the ground, 'slain in the spirit.'

I wasn't at all convinced, but as I have so often in the past I offered up a short, silent prayer, that went something like 'Lord, if you are in this, if this is real, please affirm your presence by slaying me in the spirit. I dare you to show yourself to me tonight.' Then I sat and absent-mindedly started reading the lettering on the logo T-shirt of the kid in front of me.

Then I looked up and realized that the guest pastor who was leading this time of prophecy was about four feet away, pointing to me and motioning to come with him to the front of the church. 'Yeah, you--you were hard to find all the way here in the back!' Whatever else you want to make of this, I was bewildered right away by what seemed to be an extraordinary coincidence of timing, since I'd issued my challenge to God only 5 or 10 minutes before.

Once we reached the altar, this man stood before me, and in front of a congregation of several hundred people said something like "Man, I don't know what it is that you do, but you have such joy! It's all over you. I see that through your life people are going to come to Christ. Many people are going to hear the Gospel preached." Cool, I thought, I'm familiar with this. I welcome this word, but don't see anything prophetic in it. But then he went on, "And I actually see that you're going to reach a lot of people in the military. The Navy, I think. You're going to end up in San Diego and have a big impact on that community" Now I was paying attention, and a look of bewilderment came over my face. "How do you know all this?" I asked him. Instead of responding he laughed and put the microphone in my face: "How do you know about me?" I asked him, and the whole church started laughing joyfully. "Brother," he said, "the Holy Spirit knows all of us inside and out." He continued, saying that he saw my life reaching young people, as well. Then the woman who had been slaying people in the spirit said "You remind me of my grandson--are you musical?" I told her that I played guitar, and she prophesied an expansion of my ability to play and bless others through music.

Then they laid hands on me and started praying. The woman put her hand on my forehead, and as she prayed I could feel her starting to push on it. This was an interesting dilemma. I was reasonably convinced that I had just been blessed by the giving of an authentic, prophetic word, and yet here I was being pressured to support the kind of church theater that I'm so skeptical of. Stand tall, and resist the peer pressure to fall down, or let the moment take over? I chose the latter, and as I lay there on the ground not really feeling much different for having been 'slain in the spirit,' but still very much moved by the word I'd been given, I tried to pray through the experience.

I'm still wrestling with it, but with a bias toward accepting its overall authenticity. There are very few people who know enough about me in my church, particularly among the leadeship, that could have provided that kind of detail about my aspirations to the speaker. Both of the two that I know of who could seemed genuinely thrilled about the event, apparently believing whole-heartedly that they, too, had witnessed something supernatural. If the speaker had heard about me (because, naturally, I would be a topic of conversation during his short time with the church leadership), it's highly unlikely that he would be able to connect my face with those stories, even if I am one of the few young white guys in my church. It's possible that all the pastors had a meeting beforehand to discuss what they know about which members of the congregation and decide in advance who they will 'prophecy' over. This, however, would require a level of intent to decieve and manipulate that I see absolutely no evidence of in the whole-hearted, joy-filled community that I've found in Pasadena Church. In spite of the hardness of my heart, I feel compelled by the alternative explanation: God told that man some things about me that are true and wonderful, and I should hold on to them.

And yet I know from the engineered slaying that not all aspects of the experience were from the Holy Spirit, and a seed of doubt lingers. Even something that feels like it should be so clear requires an act of faith to believe. An encounter with God's divine pressence is mixed with the theatrical and artificial.

the world passes overhead

Every so often at the Al Wooten Center I have a conversation with a kid that reminds how different their young world is from the one I grew up in.

The girls met my sister when she came to visit me a few months ago, and haven't stopped asking about her since: "Where's Bethany," Natalie asks, "is she ever coming back?" "She'd like to," I said, "but she's all the way over in Chicago. And you know what? This summer she's actually going to India!" Natalie's mouth opens and her eyes get big--clearly this bit of information is interesting to her. "You mean she gunna get on a airplane?! Oh my God, I would die!!" and she turns with Elia to join the rest of the girls in their game of wall ball.

I laugh softly to myself--without meaning to be, the kids are often hilarious and completely endearing as they verbalize whatever comes to their mind. I don't think anything more about that short conversation until after most of our kids had trickled out of the center and I was left alone on the playground, shooting three attempts in the pleasantly muggy late afternoon. As I stand there enjoying the relative quiet, I suddenly become aware of another sound, one that's always there and therefore just part of the normal, unnoticed background noise in South Central. Initially it sounds far-off, but then gets closer, until it's right overhead--the vaguely eerie rumble of jet airplanes passing overhead as they fly in and out of nearby LAX.

I look up at the plane, and think of Natalie. I'm suddenly aware for the first time of how the sky is actually crisscrossed with planes. I think of the enormous bustle of people, cargo, and ideas that move in and out of LAX every hour, brought in by those planes from across the United States and the world. If you look hard enough you can almost see the invisible arteries that connect LA to the rest of America and the global economy.

But if you're Natalie what you see is this massive aluminum rocket that you would be terrified to sit in. You see this because for you the act of getting on a plane and going somewhere is likely as foreign as the world beyond South Central, and we humans are naturally hesitant when encountering the unknown.

The big wide world flows like a river in the sky over the heads of the kids. I wonder how many of them will learn to reach up and touch it.

getting after it, day to day

On Thursdays I meet up with a couple Navy recruiters and a group of aspiring enlisted guys looking to join EOD, SWCC, Air Rescue, Dive or SEALS. Before running hill sprints and going for a trail run we gathered up in a large dirt clearing for some 'beat down.' This is a colloquial term they use in the Navy to describe group PT sessions that are typically very intense, with lots of repetitions, little rest, and long static holds in various uncomfortable positions. I don't run into that many other officer candidates in the recruiting pipeline that I'm in, and this group is no exception. Out of eleven or so enlisted candidates I am the only officer candidate, and this means that the recruiters running our training often expect me to step up into a leadership role.

Halfway into the beat down, and shortly after completing 50 pushups and holding the position for two or three minutes a lot of us were starting to fail. I could feel myself losing strength in my core. That's when Petty Officer Quinteros calls me to front of the company, facing the rest of the group: "Alright, Polhamus, mountain climbers. 25. Go." As the leader it's my job to yell out the four-count rhythm, making the exercise doubly-tiring. "1-2-3, ONE! 1-2-3, TWO!".... In the midst of the pain a voice inside asks why I'm here in the dirt suffering like this, but I keep the tempo moving. We finish the mountain climbers, chests burning, but are kept in the pushup position for close to another minute before we are allowed to drop to the dirt.

Five seconds of rest and then: "On your backs! Flutter kicks. 50. Go!" I begin the count again: "1-2-3, ONE! 1-2-3, TWO!".... We're getting pretty damn tired. We finish the count and are told to keep our feet six inches of the ground. The recruiters, along with a retired former SEAL who's joined us, wander through the crowd, loudly castigating anyone who's slacking or falling behind. "Alright, once all those feet are six inches off the ground I'll start the count down!" the SEAL says. Some guys are really hurting. We get from 10 to 6 before one guy drops his feet. Officer Quinteros didn't miss it, though: "Get 'em back up! Start again!" 10... 9... 8... I can hear the labored breathing of a bunch of suffering dudes, and my hip flexors and abs are burning. Then something clicks inside. I realize that we're all at our limit, but that it falls to me as the aspiring officer to set the tone. "KEEP EM UP! COME ON!" I yell at the guys. 7... 6... 5... "COME ON! DON'T DROP!" 4... 3.. 2... 1... and done.

A SEAL I greatly respect recently told me that to lead lions you have to be one. As I aspire to that privilege I find myself becoming a stronger man and hungering for more. That's why I spent the morning in the dirt at Eaton Canyon.

a longer road ahead

It's been since July 2010 that I've been pursuing officer training with Naval Special Warfare in earnest. This road's been fraught with more adversity than I expected--the rigors of physical training, challenges navigating the military bureaucracy, and an unforeseen curve ball regarding my medical eligibility have all tested my resolve. I posted a good physical screening test (PST) score two weeks ago, re-wrote my essays, and submitted my application packet ahead of schedule. After a few months of intense training and fighting illness I looked forward to a couple months of lifting weights and letting my cardio fitness sag.

No such luck, though. For the first time ever in the NSW OCS application process the selection boards are going to be interviewing candidates, and part of this involves taking a PST the day-of. Since I've been on this path I've had the constant experience of the rules of the game changing just as I'm getting to know them. I'd hoped this would be a season to rest my body a bit and focus on building strength and muscle mass that I tend to lose in the pool and on the track. As it is, it's time to put my head down and focus on getting faster, stronger, and tougher than ever before. When I see that board in August, I will destroy my current best posted score. This is an important part of the test. There is no room for self-sympathy here. Mental and physical preparation for combat and to lead men under the harshest of circumstances is an ongoing work. Rest has its place, but the kind of discipline I have to subject myself to now pales in comparison to what will be required of me in BUD/S and the training evolutions to follow should I be successful in reaching my goal.

Upon reflection, what at first had the disheartening impact of a shifting goal post looks like a blessing. I don't have the luxury of complacence--a luxury that so frequently has a toxic affect on our sharpness of the mind, softness of the heart, and strength of spirit.

--

On a completely different note, here are links to two topics that have been getting me thinking recently. The lesson? Whether in economics or physics, always question your paradigm.

http://www.nationaljournal.com/magazine/neo-voodoo-economics-why-can-t-washington-get-its-act-together--20110519

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqIubmnzckY

White house correspondents' dinner

Whatever your political bias, these are good for a few laughs. The first is President Obama's address at the White House Correspondent's dinner, and the second is from the keynote speaker, Seth Meyers. My friend, Ire, and I were marveling at the fact that the President manages to be just as, if not more, funny/charismatic than the guy who's paid to do this for a living.

President Obama: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9mzJhvC-8E.

Meyers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7YGITlxfT6s

When in England I found myself wishing that we had an equivalent of Prime Minister's Questions back home. It's encouraging to see that the state of our Democracy is such that an event like the Correspondent's Dinner can take place each year. We're a bit less off-the-cuff here in the States than our British counterparts, but the effect is nonetheless similar--to promote a climate of openness political discourse where, post-theatrics, real conversations about policy can occur. We're quickly approaching a season when we will need this kind of conversation as much as we ever have before.

starting this up again

I've been surfing around online looking into literature for young adults that I might use to engage the college prep class I teach at the Al Wooten Jr Heritage Center in South Central every Tuesday. The kids are bored out of their minds with my current program of mini online research projects and math homework assignments... I was discouraged to the point of throwing in the towel last week after a particularly fruitless session. Yet I realized after last Thursday's fundraising dinner in honor of the center's founder, Ms Faye Rumph, that the kids and staff are too much a part of my new LA family to just walk away. If I'm going to stay, then, a change of strategy is called for. Thus my research into good material for a potential book reading.

After a few hours of fruitless searching for something that would connect directly to the experiences of South Central kids while at the same being an interesting, easy read, I paused to think about stories that moved me at that age. The top two I came up with were 'Outsiders' by S.E. Hinton and the memoir 'This Boy's Life' by Tobias Wolff. Wolff's account of his own coming of age, much of which takes place in the backwoods town of Concrete, WA (less than an hour from my hometown), resonated with me in a particularly deep way. It's become easier with time to look at myself more in terms of who I am without at the same time ruminating on the road that led me here. Just thinking of the book, though--about what it meant to me as a freshman at Options High School and what I hope it could mean to my kids, opened up the floodgate of carefully contained memories and emotions.

When Robert LaRiviere assigned us that book I devoured it. A screwed up, sad, confused kid with little sense of direction, at the time I fooled myself into thinking that my life was riddled with a comparable amount of adversity to young Tobias'. It would take me until well into college to begin to disabuse myself of that self-sympathetic notion, but the fact was that I identified in a profound way with his sense of displacement, yearning for identity, and a way out. Wolff's description of the grey, rainy days in the backwaters of Skagit county, in a small town hidden in the middle of a rolling, evergreen forest hit me right in the heart. Some people like the peace and quiet, but I had a sense since I was a little boy that lives get lost out there. Beautiful as it is, I sometimes felt those forests were full of ghosts lamenting what could have been but never was. That I looked out of the window in Robert's portable classroom at the same grey sky, felt the same misty cool rain slowly work its way into my coat sleeves on the walk to the downtown bus station, and heard the same rustle of the pines on a windy day as young Tobias would have connected me that much more intimately to his story. Wolff's bruising, haphazard, relentless struggle out of an abusive home and the gloom of Concrete planted something deep inside my heart that would sustain and drive me in the years to come.

And I only fully realized this just now, sitting at my computer on a lazy Sunday night, wondering how on earth I can grab the attention of a group of kids full of such boundless promise but confronted with such difficult circumstances. That restless, 14 year-old me made his way to Stanford eventually, and it changed everything. That's also where Mr Wolf is currently a professor, though for absolutely no good reason at all I've never met that great man. It was totally improbable that either of us would ever make it there, but that deep restlessness that 'This Boy's Life' helped stir up in my first year of high school made me willing to try. Hunched over my desk at the SAT testing center as a sophomore at Western Washington University, rain dripping off the pines outside, I felt worlds apart from that incredible campus to which I was seeking to transfer. I threw the dice, though, and hit a pair of sixes. In life sometime all your tenacity, all your carefully planned energies, hinge on factors beyond your control. But you've got to play to win, to dare to say 'this can be, and will do all that I can do bring it about.' I pray that at least one of my kids will do the same.

Thanks Prof Wolff.

so that's where this craziness began...

As I'm approaching my sixth late night of writing up stats reports in LaTex for this take home exam that's due tomorrow afternoon I ask myself "why am I doing this, again? A stats degree doesn't make me a scientist anyhow, and those kids in Comparative Social Policy have way more free time than I do..."

So it occurred to me tonight, as I was biking home from watching a panel of a Muslim, a Jew, and a Christian talk about religion in the public square, that my dad would frequently share a bit of thinly-veiled statistical wisdom with me as a boy. "Aaron, what's the probability that if you flip a coin 10 times and it comes up heads every time, that the next flip will be tails?" "Mmmmmmm, I don't know," I would say, as kids who aren't quite sure where their parents are "going with this" do. "Exactly the same!" my dad would say with a gleam in his eye and that little boy's grin that he still has today when he gets excited about something (probability theory?!). How incredible that, in spite of all that past baggage, all those failed attempts to be tails, an evenly-weighted coin had a clean slate, a 50% CHANCE, to be tails at each new trial.

"Wait a minute," I thought, "something about this seems fishy..." But of course I was still learning to do things that I still struggle with today, like basic arithmetic, multiplication by 11, and spelling, so I just let that sense of unease percolate in the back of my brain. Day, after day, after day. And only now, after stomping off on this wild goose chase of a degree, am I able to frame the issue more clearly. You see, it's a very simple question of joint versus individual trials involving an outcome that can only take one of two values. As it turns out, the probability of flipping a coin 11 times and only observing tails on the 11th flip is (almost) exactly 1/2048, even if the probability of each individual flip attaining that outcome is constant at 1/2. Remember that, guys: joint trials of independent events tend to be less probable than the aggregated individual outcomes of which they are composed. There's some real life-directing wisdom in this, so use your imagination and reach for it.

But where I was going with all this is to say that it's your fault, dad, that the muddled fascination (or perhaps confusion) with mathematical quantification of uncertainty that you planted in my brain 17-odd years ago drove me into this masochistic choice of degree here at Oxford. Which is, of course, my back-handed way of saying that I am in awe of your fascination with the world and deeply grateful for all that your sense of wonderment, especially in things as simple as a coin flip, has contributed to the odd character I am today.

Thinking of coins and campfires as I write time series models and wrestle with spatial statistics tonight,
Aaron

home(?) again

Man, that was quick. The time in South Africa blinked by, and I'm once again settled quietly back into life at Oxford, preparing for the upcoming term. But though this was a quick trip it was also a full one, and in some ways it feels like I've been away from Oxford for much more than two and a half weeks.

I spent most of the day after arriving back in Cape Town from Zim with Matthew before rejoining my crew at the Zebra Crossings hostel. As alluded to in the last post, the time with my cousin was very significant relationally. It was an enormous blessing to learn a bit about this person who I've always looked up to from a distance, but with whom I'd never moved much beyond casual conversation. Matthew is sincere, warm-hearted, and well-spoken, and as we talked about everything from life goals and relationships to favorite beers I felt that we connected as friends. It was also good to speak about our common side of the family: where we come from shapes who we are, and over the course of the trip I was filled once again with deep appreciation for the extraordinary trials that my father and his sisters braved to become the caring, accomplished, intellectually-alive people that they are today. Polhami are strange folk, as well, and we spent about as much time joking about our foibles as reflecting on our trials.

The rest of the time in Cape Town was filled with more good things: trips to the townships, including lunch at Mzoli's in Guguletu after church, touring Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela wrote "Long Walk to Freedom" during his long tenure or imprisonment, and visiting an election day rally during a pitstop on a road trip to Knysna. We also had the honor of meeting Desmond Tutu the day before last Wednesday's elections. This remarkable man was the first black Archbishop of Cape Town, chaired the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in post-Apartheid South Africa, and is a renowned advocate of peace and justice in the world. He recently came under fire from many of his colleagues when he denounced Jacob Zuma, head of the ANC and soon-to-be president of South Africa, as unfit to lead. The ANC and its founding fathers led South Africa to freedom, yet the party has been wracked by corruption and fraud in recent years, and many argue its leadership has been inept in meeting the country's most pressing challenges. Jacob Zuma--who has claimed that cold showers prevent HIV transmission and just recently succeeded in having charges of money laundering in a multi-billion dollar arms deal dropped on procedural grounds--represents the worst of what the ANC has to offer in the eyes of many South Africans. Though Tutu expressed no desire to see the ANC voted out of power, his hope was that the minority opposition parties could rally to prevent it from obtaining the two thirds majority necessary to unilaterally amend the constitution. Dissenting voices are essential to functioning of healthy democratic institution, and Tutu's view was that the ANC had grown lazy and corrupt over the course of its unchallenged stay in power.

But this little diversion into politics distracted me from what I wanted to say about the man himself. At age 77 he shows his age a little bit, yet his quick laugh, bright smile, and self-demeaning sense of humor reveal a warm and gentle spirit that has not hardened through years of trial. It was humbling to sit in the presence of this man, who three weeks earlier I had watched break down weeping on film as he listened to one of his African brothers describe how he had been tortured under apartheid. As we sat down together in his office he said "let us begin with a prayer," and invited the Holy Spirit to come and animate our hearts, giving us joy and inspiring us to love one another as Christ first loved us. That place in his heart where God's spirit dwells is the secret of the man's charisma, and though his political perspectives were helpful it was simply seeing his joyful spirit that moved me the most.

As in Rwanda, the limited amount of time spent with community leaders and servants in South Africa affirmed my belief that what the world needs more than anything else is men and women who are alive in their gifts, and having oriented their lives around a purpose beyond their own gratification. I met a lot of people in South Africa who exemplify this, and challenge me to consider whether I am doing the same. I believe that the most fulfilling purpose around which an individual life can be oriented is Christ, yet I am convinced that God smiles all of those who strive to live fully, sincerely, and selflessly, partnering together through his Spirit to bring about a renewed creation. And lofty theological musings aside, people like Desmond Tutu, Edwin Cameron, Lindela, Kanisua, Sindatenda from BEEP are incredible because they are down-to-earth, joyful, passionately-committed people who give more to their communities than they take.

Big words. Words come easy. The nagging question in the stillness and quiet of a lazy Sunday morning, though, is whether I live this way. Here, back at Oxford, exams a month away, I continue to pray for wisdom to make the most of this time, and for a heart that desires to do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God in the world.