Book Review: WikiLeaks, Inside Julian Assange's War on Secrecy, Part I

After reading WikiLeaks, Inside Julian Assange's War on Secrecy, I posted this blog.  Now I'm posting a book review.

It's going to be difficult to say everything I want to say about this 300+ page book.  It's packed full of detail on one of the most controversial media stories in the last century.  The story is thought-provoking, philosophically rich in the sense that ethical dilemmas present themselves throughout, and it's exciting reading - like reading about James Bond as an internet hacker.  The book starts out describing a very awkward looking old woman, surrounded by "nerdy youngsters" stepping out of a car and hurriedly into a village home in the English village of Ellingham.  

Looking closer, it became apparent that this was a strange looking woman.  The authors write, "She had a kind of hump!"  They continue, "Close up... it was obvious that this strange figure was Julian Assange, his platinum hair concealed by a wig.  At more than 6ft tall, he was never going to be a very convincing female.  'You can't imagine how ridiculous it was,' WikiLeaks' James Ball later said.  'He'd stayed dressed up as an old woman for more than two hours.'  Assange was swapping genders in a pantomime attempt to evade possible pursuers... In a breathtakingly short time, WikiLeaks had soared out of its previous niche as an obscure radical website to become a widely known online news platform.  Assange had published leaked footage showing airborne US Helicopter pilots executing two Reuters employees in Baghdad, seemingly as if they were playing a video-game.  He had followed up this coup with another, even bigger sensation: an unprecedented newspaper deal, brokered with the Guardian newspaper in London, to reveal hundreds of thousands of classified US military field reports from the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, many of them damning" (14).  

The book tells the story of Julian Assange - a computer genius who, with less counter-cultural tendencies, could have been a Mark Zuckerburg.  He was born in Australia and lived an outrageous childhood.  The son of a hippy mother and a father who abandoned them.  His mother became involved with a young man named Keith Hamilton who was an amateur musician and a member of a New Age group, the Santiniketan Park Association.  He was a psychopath who allegedly had five identities.  

"The Santiniketan Park Association was a notorious cult presided over by Anne Hamilton-Byrne, a yoga teacher who convinced her middle-class followers she was a reincarnation of Jesus.  Keith Hamilton was not only associated with the cult.  He may even have been Hamilton-Byrne's son.  Hamilton-Byrne and her helpers collected children, often persuading teenage mothers to hand over their babies.  She and her disciples - "the aunties" - lived together in an isolated rural property surrounded by a barbed wired fence and overlooking a lake near the town of Eildon, Victoria.  Here, they administered a bizarre regime over their charges, who at one point numbered 28 children.  There were regular beatings.  Children had their heads held down in buckets of water" (38).  

When Julian's mother tried to leave the group in 1982, Hamilton violently pursued her, trying to gain custody over Julian's half-brother.  "For the next five or six years, the three lived as fugitives" (38).  

Julian began hacking computers when he was 16 years old.  By the time he was 19 he was Australia's most accomplished hacker, and quite possibly involved in launching a computer worm against Nasa's website at the age of 17.  As fits his childhood, he was always paranoid about being followed and tracked.  Part of the success of WikiLeaks was probably the result of this paranoia.  Assange went to great trouble to make sure any leaks provided him were untraceable to their source.  Still, the man responsible for the greatest leak in the last 50 years, Bradley Manning, was caught, though not through Assange or WikiLeaks.  Manning passed along the Apache helicopter video, classified field reports from Afghanistan and Iraq, and hundreds of thousands of embassy memos revealing classified opinions of world leaders.

The book tells the story of Bradley Manning, a Specialist with the 2nd Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division, stationed in Iraq.  He spent his work days in a "secured" computer room of the base poring over top-secret information.  The authors report, "For such a young and relatively inexperienced soldier, it was extremely sensitive work.  Yet from his first day at Hammer, he was puzzled by the lax security.  The door was bolted with a five-digit cipher lock, but all you had to do was knock on it and you'd be let in.  His fellow intelligence workers seemed to have grown bored and disenchanted from the relentless grind of 14-hour days, seven days a week.  They just sat at their workstations, watching music videos or footage of car chases.  'People stopped caring after three weeks,' Manning observed" (20-21).

Manning was always a free-thinker - a renegade agnostic in his super-religious small town in Oklahoma.  He had strong liberal political opinions unpopular in his town.  He was also homosexual and therefore an outcast.  A bit direction-less, he followed his father's footsteps and joined the army.  He had a real talent for computer programming, and graduated into the military with security clearance and a job working in intelligence.  

His free-thinking, philosophical mind did not adapt to military culture.  Manning felt like he was not treated with respect and was particularly bitter about the Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.  He frequently voiced his outrage in chat rooms and his Facebook profile said, "Take me for who I am, or face the consequences."  The US government would face the consequences.  

Given the lax security in the base in Iraq, Manning very simply burned classified information onto CDR's labeled "Lady Gaga" and made contact with Assange.  The only reason he was caught was because he confessed what he did to a hacker friend who turned him in.  

He now sits in solitary confinement in Quantico Marine Corps Base in Virginia.  At the time this book was published (2011) it's reported: "Although he has not been tried or convicted, he is being made to suffer under harsh conditions.  He spends 23 hours a day alone in a 6ft by 12 ft cell, with one hour's exercise in which he walks figures-of-eight in an empty room.  According to his lawyer, Manning is not allowed to sleep after being wakened at 5am.  If he ever tries to do so, he is immediately made to sit or stand up by the guards, who are not allowed to converse with him.  Any attempt to do press-ups or other exercise in his cell is forcibly prevented" (88).

I will follow up this blog with Part II.

Leigh, David and Luke Harding.  WikiLeaks, Inside Julian Assange's War On Secrecy.  New York: Public Affairs, 2011.

Foucault and WikiLeaks - What If Our Leaders Were Transparent?

A dear friend of mine, Michael Tyler, is an outstanding photographer and an all around creative and free-thinking man.  He's been writing stories for as long as I've known him (a long time), and he's made a lot of them into full-length indie films that he directed.  About a  year ago, he sent me a story called Post Everest.

The basis of the plot is a world in which governments, agencies, businesses, and citizens were made completely transparent.  They were recorded, videotaped, and broadcasted.  People were even recorded in the bathroom.  No place was private.  It's not that someone was watching them at all times, but rather that someone could be watching them at all times.  The result was nuclear disarmament and peace.

Michel Foucault, in Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, argues that this type of "disciplinary mechanism" is not so far fetched.  In fact, it's already instituted in post 1800 society, just not for governments.  The goal of the transparency of individuals is already functioning to a large extent in the modern/post-modern world.

Ok, don't write me off as a conspiracy theorist and check out another website just yet.  I am not saying that we are being videotaped and recorded right now.  Just take Jeremy Bentham's idea for a Panopticon - a circular building with a tower in the center.  The building is divided into cells in which one isolated person would dwell (this person could be a prisoner in the case of a prison, a student in the case of a school, a worked in the case of a factory, etc.).  The isolated subject could not see their neighbor.  They could only see the tower in the center.  The tower would be the place where the guards/teachers/supervisors/etc. would sit.  Through the use of backlighting, they could see into each cell perfectly well while the inhabitant of each cell could not see inside the tower - they could not see if anyone was really in it or not.

Foucault writes, "By the effect of backlighting, one can observe from the tower, standing out precisely against the light, the small captive shadows in the cells of the periphery.  They are like so many cages, so many small theaters, in which each actor is alone, perfectly individualized and constantly visible" (200).

Bentham never built the thing, but he wanted to, and he came close.  Despite the fact that it was never constructed, it still represents real power relations and existing theories of social manipulation.  Foucault writes, "the Panopticon must not be understood as a dream building: it is the diagram of a mechanism of power reduced to its ideal form; its functioning, abstracted from any obstacle, resistance or friction, must be represented as a pure architectural and optical system: it is in fact a figure of political technology that may and must be detached from any specific use" (205).

Foucault's work illuminates a mechanism of power unique to the 1800s and beyond (still in effect today).  This is a power that maintains control through the excessive individuation of subjects.  Mechanisms of power today test us, rank us, seek to cure us, aim to normalize us, try to discipline us each, individually.  Michael's book is inspired by WikiLeaks, which adds an interesting twist to the modern world.  WikiLeaks founder, and Michael in his book, ask, what if this "technology of control" and this "apparatus of knowledge" that individualizes each subject and makes him/her transparent was placed in the hands of "the people" themselves?  What if the soldier looking at us from the tower in the world Panopticon was exposed and people, living in cells in the periphery, watched him on the internet?  Would the world finally stop blowing itself up?  Would justice ensue - the same justice that already binds the individual subjects in the modern world?

This is the vision of WikiLeaks founder Julian Assange.  Leaders must be as transparent as their citizens.  So long as they are not, a citizen's votes are not made with full knowledge and democracy does not work.  WikiLeaks, of course, flooded the media with the greatest leak of confidential information ever, exposing the internal memos of ambassadors and military leaders.  The US panicked - the veil they looked out from was lifted.  Citizens briefly saw them.

Taking from Foucault, it seems Assange wants to take modern means and methods for creating a disciplined and obedient population to its logical conclusion: applying those same means and methods to create a disciplined and obedient group of world leaders.  Michael's book explored the possibility that, if there were no closed door meetings, no classified memos, no anonymous super pacs, no top secret missions, etc. that the result would be a peaceful world.

The idea is totally intriguing.  This type of transparency already exists for the masses, just not the leaders.  Note Foucault's study:  As power became less centralized in monarchies, reforms to the law ensued.  From punishment as excessive example (the scaffold, the public torture, the public confessions) came punishment as regulated, involving time limits, and as increasingly private (punishment happens now behind walls).  At the same time, punishment became increasingly common.  Crimes and their corresponding punishments proliferated and came to increasingly involve violations or private property (as opposed to pre-modern crimes which were most commonly violations of rights).  At the same time, punishments were focused less and less on the crime and more and more on the subject.  Punishments were less about adequately responding to the injustice done and more about healing an evil tendency in the criminal.  Pleads of insanity ensued.  Criminals started serving time in mental hospitals instead of prisons.  Timeframes for sentences were justified by scientific research - how long until the criminal is ready to return to society healed, ready to remain peaceful?

As you would expect, studies on individuals become more and more detailed.  Research identifies "normal" behavior - goals for normalcy are identified, school children are monitored and ranked.  They are individualized and scrutinized.

In the end, we have a radically individualized way of perceiving society that thrives as a result of each individual's discipline and obedience.  A high level of transparency, as a mechanism for ascribing power relationships, can be attributed to such disciplined, obedient masses.  Even Occupy Wall Street is obedient - protestors seek city permits and permissions, facilitate (usually) efficient vacancies, refuse to react violently even as they're systematically and methodically pepper-sprayed or imprisoned.  These docile, obedient bodies are perceived as heroes (and I won't say they aren't brave - they are far more brave then me!).  The perceived heroism of remaining docile even in the face of violence is part of a whole apparatus of power that pervades modern society.

So, what of Michael's idea?  What if the degree of individualization and transparency no longer eluded the highest echelons of power?  So the person providing the order to pepper spray the masses was watched and recorded and understood by the masses...  Would that person, like the occupiers, become more manageable?  Would the same levels of obedience and discipline apply to exposed leaders no longer able to close a door or stamp a document 'classified'?



I will follow up on this with a book review of "WikiLeaks: Inside Julian Assange's War on Secrecy" by David Leigh and Luke Harding of The Guardian.  After reading Michael's book, I realized I knew very little about WikiLeaks and the greatest leak of classified information in history.  So, when I saw the book on sale at Powell's, I grabbed it.  I'm so glad I did (just as I'm glad I was able to read Michael's awesome work!).

Foucault, Michel.  Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison.  Trans. Alan Sheridan.  New York: Random House, 1995.

On pilgrimage: The John Muir Trail (Part 8)

After Anita suddenly left the trail, due to her episode with "Anti-Chub-Rub", described in Part 7, I headed off alone into a storm.  In three days I would reunite with Anita and at that point I'd once again access showers and fresh food.  In the meantime, I had three days of survival ahead of me from Reds Meadow Ranch to Tuolomne Meadows in majestic Yosemite.

The storm got gradually worse.  What started as ominous clouds turned into sprinkles which turned into pellets which turned into hail.

The storm confronting me as I left Anita and started hiking alone

At the same time, I was getting more and more emotional.  There's nothing as bonding as spending over two weeks with the person you love in the middle of nowhere.  My partner was suddenly, shockingly gone.  I started to think about why she had gone out here in the first place.  Prior to this, she'd backpacked for three days - an arduous trek to the top of Mt. Whitney with my father, brother-in-law, and I.  She hadn't trained and the journey up the mountain was tortuous.  I was literally thinking up emergency evacuation plans as we lumbered on and on, being passed on our second day by hikers doing it in one day.  Of all the overnighters, we were the last group to the top.  It took so long to get up there we ran out of water and had to melt snow in our bottles on the way down.  This three day hike, while ultimately a successful summit, should have convinced Anita never to do it again.  Yet she agreed to a three week hike with seven "Whitney's" scattered along the way!  Why would she agree to this?

I realized at that point how much my fiancé loved me.  She knew how important the trek was for me, and she didn't want to miss out on it.  She wanted it to be a shared memory.  She willingly tortured her body to share an experience with me.  Upon realizing this, I wept harder than the rain pounding me. I spent the entire hike that day crying - really crying.  It felt great.  It was such a violent release.  I knew that my partner would do anything for me.

A cold, sad hike

I hurried past lakes as the rain pelted me.  It was freezing.  I wanted to keep warm by moving and moving, so I hiked a long, long way.  That night I had dehydrated salmon - a freeze-dried meal Anita and I were saving for a victorious day.  I thought about her way back to San Jose and what she would say to her Mom and friends.  When I crawled into the tent, prepared for a freezing night, I thought about how Anita was in a bed with blankets.  Then the snow fell.

I woke up to a wintry scene.  I got up, packed everything, and just hit the trail without eating.  It was too cold to sit around.  After hiking a couple miles, the sun was coming out and it was obvious the storm had passed.  I found a sunny spot to cook my breakfast, and admired Ansel Adams Wilderness.

The morning I woke up

I passed by immense lakes, including Thousand Island Lake - one I was anticipating the whole trip after hearing about it from hikers.  It was outstanding.

Thousand Island Lake

Garnet Lake, another masterpiece

Today I would make it over two passes: Island Pass and Donahue Pass.  To my surprise, unlike any other pass on the trail, I didn't even know when I was over Island Pass.  It was so gradual and easy!  Anita would have loved Island Pass.  Donahue Pass, located at the end of a long trek, was not so easy.  It switchbacked continuously and never seemed to stop.  The top marks the border of Yosemite, so while I was mentally and physically fatigued at the peak, I was very satisfied about summiting.

Donahue Pass, finally in Yosemite

Excited to be in Yosemite but exhausted from a very long trip (Anita wasn't there any more to slow me down!), I camped just over the pass, at an entirely too high elevation (I was above 10,000 feet).  The night was, of course, freezing - one of the coldest on the trip.  Still, I anticipated my great reunion with Anita the following day.

My last morning on the John Muir Trail

Having topped Donahue Pass and camped just on the other side, my last day was all downhill.  I descended steeply into Tuolomne Meadows and once down there, casually and comfortably walked the last leg of my trail (the JMT really ends at Yosemite Valley, so I was cutting it short, as Anita and I had planned all along).  I contemplated the valley as I reminisced over the last three weeks.

First of all - the world is an awesomely beautiful and immense place.

Second of all - you don't need much food.  Out here I ate a small fraction of what I eat in civilization, and I worked out ten times as much.  I felt great.  That was a big shock to me.

Third of all (and probably most important) - you have to do these things, and you have to bring the people you love with you.  Life is such a treasure, and if you are in the privileged situation to experience it, you should not lose that opportunity.  The opportunities many of us have in this country are incredible, and they shouldn't be wasted with materialistic obsessions: attempts to hoard stuff or money or accumulate some kind of public recognition.  We all need to think about our future: our personal future, the future of our family, the future of our community, the future of our world.  We need to invest in ways to make that future secure and hopeful.  I'm not advocating against any sort of social responsibility.  I'm just saying, take time every now and then (more often than not) to experience and love the world, even if it might not make, say, economic sense.  I've found that the most important moments of my life were results of going against the grain - by taking the uncomfortable journey, by quitting your job and going, by not heeding the advice 90% of people give you.  In my experience, if most everyone is telling you no (whether explicitly or not), you should deeply consider saying yes.

Tuolomne Meadows, Yosemite

Song: Layers and Layers

A couple days ago I got an acceptance letter from the University of Hawaii's Philosophy PhD program.  Since then, my mind's been racing.  Here's a jam that reflects my mind's jumbled mess!  I just put down drums, then added a melody, then another melody, and on and on.  This will likely be followed up with different versions of the tune - different drums and keyboard sounds.

On Pilgrimage: The John Muir Trail (Part 7)

After successfully luring Anita off the oasis of Vermilion Resort, Anita and I set off for the final half of our journey.  We were just days from our next food drop, Reds Meadow.  This campground was snuggled in Ansel Adams Wilderness, and Yosemite stretched out just beyond it.

There were a couple passes left, but nothing comparable in elevation to what we'd already crossed.  We were in great shape (a week and a half of trail will do that to you!) and the weather was perfect.  Things were wonderful.  Further, we knew that we wouldn't be too grimy before we hit the showers at Reds Meadow, just prior to drinking more beer.

Virginia Lake

One thing I noticed on the trail was how accustomed I became to expansive views.  All day, every day, I saw as far as the eye can see: long, expansive lakes, mountains off on the horizon, endless skies, stars millions of miles away - nothing impeded my vision.  It was always a shock every night to climb into the tent because the world shrunk so significantly!  It went from endlessness to the length of your body.  I was never claustrophobic, but experiencing this radical difference made me truly appreciative of open space.  I started thinking about life in San Jose - seeing only as far as the buildings surrounding me.  The city is a box that encloses you.  What a relief it is to experience the world going on forever.

The amazing views from Ansel Adams Wilderness

Anita and I made it to Reds Meadow without any problem.  We picked up our second cache of food, excited to have so many new choices.  Reds Meadow was great.  I got my treasured pancakes and Anita ate her eggs.  We had beer and coffee and life was wonderful.  We just stayed one night.

Cards at Reds Meadow

The next day was my biggest blunder on the three week hike.  To this day, Anita has not lost one opportunity to bring this up with me.  To get to Reds Meadow, you have to go on a side trail.  We exited the JMT south of Reds Meadow, and caught up with it again north of Reds Meadow, just past the breathtaking natural phenomenon: the Devil's Post Pile.

So, I will preference the next sentence by saying that, when we met up with the JMT, it was not at the same spot we left it.  Now the incriminating sentence: I directed us the wrong way on a North/South trail.  We headed south, back to where we'd come.  The problem was, it took us hours to realize it.

Things didn't seem right, but we kept walking.  We were in new territory, but it did feel like we were walking backwards.  I'm sure some social psychiatrists will have something to say about why we both kept going, even as we both questioned ourselves, but we did.  We put miles under our boots, and made an already-late departure that much worse.

I take responsibility.  I was in charge of the map.  If today we are driving in a car, trying to find a friend's house, Anita will distrust anything I have to say about the directions, saying, "You got us lost on the one-way John Muir Trail!"  And that's that.

Devil's Post Pile - an amazing natural phenomenon just outside Reds Meadow

We headed back, having lost substantial daylight.  We only made it out to Johnston Lake (2 or 3 miles from Reds Meadow).  To make matters worse, Anita wasn't well.

Johnston Lake

There's a term for people with inner-thigh fat that rubs together when you walk.  The term is "chub-rub".  Anita taught me this term because she was running into a very serious problem which she coined "anti-chub-rub".  It seems that she lost so much weight in her thighs from the constant exercise, that her pants no longer fit her.  Where they were snug against her inner-thighs, gracefully rubbing together as she walked, they were now loose and baggy.  This caused an anti-chub-rub rash.

A rash will take you out.  You cannot walk with a rash.  I had a feeling when I went to bed that night, hearing of her rash and helping her put cream on it, she wouldn't be able to continue.  In the morning, we ate breakfast quietly and mournfully.  I then looked up at her and asked if she could continue.  She nodded her head no, and wept.

We walked back the short, emotional distance to Reds Meadow.  We were just three days from completing our voyage - just three days from Tuolomne Meadows.  I knew that this was my chance.  It's not often you have the luxury of taking a month off of work to hike.  I knew I had to complete this, but I couldn't imagine it without my partner.  We'd gone through so much.

Still, as a violent storm rolled its way into Ansel Adams Wilderness, I had breakfast at Reds Meadow with Anita, and prepared for a tearful goodbye.  Another couple in the restaurant were opting out themselves because they didn't want to face the coming storm.  I had every excuse to leave the trail with Anita, but I felt a calling.  Yosemite was calling, and as I learned on the Camino de Santiago, a pilgrimage has to be your own.  It is a radically personal endeavor, even as you become profoundly touched by the ones you are with.

Anita secured a ride from fellow hikers to the nearest town where we agreed she'd get a rental car and head home.  She would pick me up with her Mom a few days later.  I threw on my pack and headed out alone against a fierce wind.  It was not long before the rain poured down on me.

Our last picture together, just prior to heading back to Reds Meadow, where we would mournfully separate

On Pilgrimage: The John Muir Trail (Part 6)

The original plan was to stay at Vermilion Resort one night and catch the boat back the following evening. We'd just walk a mile or two inland and set up camp again, giving ourselves a good rest day.  Cold beer will change those plans in an instance.

Great Oregon beer served at Vermilion

Vermilion, an oasis to weary John Muir Trail (JMT) hikers, is a campground with a dynamite home-cooking cafe, a washer and dryer, a shower, and a big shaded porch.  Roaming around are dusty hikers, most of whom are JMT hikers but some of whom are Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) hikers with names like "Cloudkicker".

If we had all independently stumbled into a coffee shop or a restaurant in a city, we would never have spoken.  We would have put up our walls and talked only with those we're comfortable with.  At Vermilion, this diverse group got to know each other quick.  The high Sierra gave us an immediate bond, breaking through any social etiquette.  In fact, we wanted to talk and shout and hit each other on the back.  We wanted to grab our neighbor's backpack and compare its weight.  We wanted to clink beers and talk about the lakes and the bears.  The cafe was one big bustling scene.

Anita and I ordered an enormous dinner upon arriving.  We were shocked to find that we could only eat half of it.  Our waitress exclaimed, "That's a John Muir Trail appetite for you!"  Apparently, despite working out all day, every day, your stomach shrinks so much out there that after a while, you literally cannot eat half as much as you'd be able to eat being a couch potato in the middle of some suburb.  The waitress had the business sense, of course, to withhold that information until you ordered your expensive meal.

Heaven on the JMT

Stuffed for the first time in a week and a half, Anita and I slept.  In the morning, we again ordered big and ate small.  We were clean and our clothes were clean.  We spent time sitting at Lake Vermilion with our new friends, including "Token Asian" (he was named this shortly after meeting our fellow PCT hikers).   We felt great, and I started thinking about our plan to catch the boat back.  Anita, however, had different thoughts on the matter.  Dressed in white with soft, shampooed hair, her body repairing itself after carrying a heavy pack over so many passes, Anita was not budging.

Clean and Beautiful

"Token Asian" - a really strong, happy dude who was unemployed and thought he'd spend some time hiking in paradise

I pleaded - I begged - I thought that we were getting sucked in - that Vermillion would be a place we would not be able to leave - like it was inhabited with invisible sirens taking away our odyssey.  I made a deal, we would stay another night, but we HAD to leave the next afternoon (not much of a deal, just a final plea disguised as a barter).  Anita agreed and we put more beer into our bloated stomachs.

The next day was beautiful.  Again, we sat by the lake, looking out.  We didn't walk, our legs felt wonderful.  As the afternoon approached, Anita was still reluctant to go back to the trail, but she was moveable.  I knew if we said we'd leave in the morning, we would not get up early enough and we'd be out another day, spending more and more money in this black hole of wonderfulness.  Other hikers were planning on taking the morning boat in, but I knew we had to cross the lake this night.

The boat ride to and from Vermilion

We did.  Anita, depressed, followed her trail-hungry fiancé back onto the boat and we left the comfort of civilization.  It turned out to be an amazing boat trip: we saw an osprey dive into Lake Vermilion and come out with a huge fish.  The two guys driving the boat screamed with joy!  It was only the second time they'd seen that happen, and they take this trip twice every day.

In the morning, we woke up late as usual.  We watched the hikers, fresh off their morning boat ride, trek past our tent.  Once we got moving, Anita was again thankful for the solitude of the Sierras.

Lake Vermilion

If I Could Tell My Story

Dear friends and family,

For the second time, I applied to PhD programs in Philosophy.  I applied to three: University of Oregon, University of New Mexico, and University of Hawaii.  A new wave of rejection letters are finding their way to my mailbox.  Oregon recently let me know they are unable to accept me.  The other two are around the corner: I'm sure I would have heard from them by now if I was getting in.  The part that makes me sad is that teaching philosophy is the only career I'm passionate about, and it's been extremely difficult to find work as a lecturer with only a Master's Degree.  The work I have found is always part-time, never includes benefits, and is never enough to support Anita and I.  I'm not giving up, and I might apply to PhD programs again, but at this point I feel my professional career has been marked by very small victories and very big disappointments.  I do not blame these institutions for rejecting me.  The field is incredibly competitive, and I have to face the fact that I do not excel in it.  I'm good at research, but I'm not excellent.  The last conference I spoke at really exposed me - I failed.  I was out of my league in a room full of professional intellectuals.

I continue to study because I need to, but a part of me thinks that I will never receive a PhD.  I do know that I'm an excellent teacher - my student evaluations have always been outstanding.  There's a level of passion and thoroughness I bring to teaching that I don't provide other jobs.  Unfortunately, in my three years of seeking teaching work, I got one class at Humboldt State University and I am part of a lecturer pool with Ashford University, teaching one class every 30-90 days online.  I've received dozens and dozens of letters thanking me for my application, denying me an interview.  It's tough but I won't give up.

That being said, my personal life has been remarkable.  My travels and experiences with my friends and family have been unbelievable, and I am truly grateful.  This song I recorded is meant to express that gratefulness.  In life, I have little to complain about.  I have been incredibly lucky, I've made some incredible journeys, and I will make more.  My family gave me incredible opportunities and taught me how to travel without hotels - sleeping at rest stops in the back of a beat up pickup with an overweight trailer.  Wendy and Jenny helped me radically expand my awareness on the Camino de Santiago.  Humboldt State University helped me expand that awareness further.  Riding my bicycle across the US with Josh will always be two of the best months of my life.  The Peace Corps in Ecuador is a cherished year of my life.  San Jose State University helped turn me on to Badiou and Zizek, who you may have noticed come up a lot in this blog.  Recording multiple rock/folk albums with good friends has been a passionate, creative outpouring of energy.  Meeting and marrying Anita has been a great turning point in my life - a treasured partnership.  Hiking the John Muir Trail with her and traveling to Wales, the Netherlands, and Japan has deepened our already profound relationship.

What's to come?  Topping Mt. Hood, Mt. St. Helens, and Mt. Adams, for one.  And much more, I imagine.  Maybe even another round of PhD applications.



Love,
Mike