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9/2/2008Here we are in the midst of the American political season. The Democrats threw a great party in Denver while the Republicans are gearing up in St. Paul. Whatever happens with the election in November, history will be made.
When it comes to social and political matters, religious groups and churches have always had a voice. And for the majority of Americans, the big voices of religion speaking about political issues has been tolerable or perhpas even preferred.
But this trend has changed in 2008. For the first time in more than a decade, more Americans would prefer churches keep out of politics (as opposed to express their views). This trend holds across major political parties. See article here. 8/28/2008
[note: your NCFR blogger is taking a Labor Day hiatus. I'm going to be lazy and recycle a humor essay that I wrote for our member magazine, NCFR Report. Have a great holiday!]
By Nancy Gonzalez, CFLE
In a recent publication by the Princeton-Brookings Future of Children organization, Isabel Sawhill and Sara McLanahan describe an informal poll given to several scholars. These researchers were asked an interesting question: If you could be born with the ability to choose one of the following advantageous characteristics for yourself—race, class, gender or national origin—which would you choose? The vast majority chose “class.”
From “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” to Horatio Alger, it’s amazing how often the story is told of a naïve but earnest protagonist from the lower strata who aspires to and arrives at a respectable station in life. Bernard Shaw’s 1916 opus major, Pygmalion, has been rewarmed and served-up on stage and screen productions such as “My Fair Lady,” “Tammy and the Bachelor,” “Educating Rita,” and “Maid in Manhattan,” just to name a few.
Alexis de Tocqueville notwithstanding, social class in the U.S. matters big time. The interminable capacity of the Cinderella story to appeal to the collective unconscious speaks to the enduring awareness of social class. The fact that this story reemerges from Broadway or Hollywood every few years is evidence that this sentiment resounds with people in powerful ways. I’m sure if the late Joseph Campbell were still with us, Bill Moyers could get him to wax poetic about the ancient mythological archetype that got all of this started.
Cues and clues as to one’s social class are everywhere. In just a few paragraphs, you’ve learned a lot about me; that I’ve read Democracy in America. That I’ve studied Carl Jung. That I’m a fan of the PBS Power of Myth series. What you don’t know is that wherever I am now, I arrived here via Turnip Truck. If you’re interested in how it feels to come from the rural lower class, bandana-on-stick, and get off the bus at a major university, read on.
When I left the farm, I might as well have called a travel agent and asked for a ticket to Humiliation Island. My hometown is on the Minnesota-Canadian border and about as remote an area as there is in the continental U.S. There was only one TV station, and the reception was snowy on a good day. I don’t think the school library had ordered a new book since the Hoover administration. If there were any major newspapers around, I never saw them. Without any of the home “concerted cultivation” described by sociologist Annette Lareau, my level of cultural literacy was pathetic.
The first week of college should have been a clue. An orientation adviser asked if I was interested in “the Greek system.” Since I didn’t know what that meant, I said “no” which, fortunately, was the best answer. New acquaintances asked me if I would be going through “rush” at one of the sororities. I had no idea what a sorority was or what all of the hurry was about. Afraid I would miss some important deadline, I visited one of the houses and asked a few questions. After their brief sales pitch, I asked why anyone would live in a sorority house when the dorms were so much cheaper. They all exchanged glances. I knew I had just stepped on my first social landmine. Some nice person added that the term “Greek” referred to the “Pan-Hel” system—which offered me no further clarification. I still didn’t know what the Pan-Hel they were talking about.
Miraculously, I managed to get a B.A. in Psychology and an entry-level position as one of the university’s academic advisers. Although I was a caring adviser and particularly empathetic towards those from Hoedown Junction, I had entered another world—the professional workplace, in academia no less—and experienced regular reminders that I was once again destined to walk life’s metaphorical halls smelling of turnips.
I would’ve washed-out within a year had I not had the knack for identifying compassionate cultural translators who took pity on me. One such mentor was my boss of 10 years, who was raised in the upper middle class. Jennie [not her real name] knew the rules. A decade of her coaching early in my career was the best educational experience of my life. Here is a hypothetical illustration; I would attend a meeting with other student services professionals such as the university’s admissions officers. Let’s say we were discussing student admission criteria. One of them would make a comment such as, “I just don’t know which way to go; how do we make the right decision now that we have both Brown and Bakke?” Everyone around the table would sigh and nod knowingly—so I would nod too. On my notepad I quickly wrote “Ask Jennie… Brown/Bach-y.” In the intervening week until the next meeting, Jennie would clue-me-in. I would find out everything I could about Brown vs. the Board of Education and the Bakke decision. News of Supreme Court rulings never made it to northern Minnesota. It was as if I’d spent my childhood on Neptune.
Today when I hear an unfamiliar cultural reference, I can fill in the blanks in 30 seconds using Google or Wikipedia. But I still feel the sting of class differences, especially where the social graces are concerned. Social occasions back home meant potluck dinners at church. Meatloaf and mashed potatoes were served buffet style. Paper plates were de rigueur; for really special occasions, we’d upgrade to the deluxe cardboard type with three discrete sections. Until I left home, I had never heard of an eggroll, a bagel or a croissant. Fresh produce isn’t readily available in remote areas in the winter. Consequently, potluck “salads” consist of a vat of lime green gelatin, with canned fruit cocktail suspended in it, garnished with a few carrot shavings on top. Comedian Louie Anderson (also a product of the Minnesota proletariat) made a hilarious observation about this ubiquitous local foodstuff: he says it looks like someone’s aquarium froze up.
Changing castes is not an event but a process. Every now and then, I still find an embarrassing gap in my Eliza Doolittle database. Since I began working at NCFR, I’ve identified several kind cultural translators who are willing to help. BYU Professor Alan Higgins, er, I mean Hawkins had to teach me how to pronounce Retrouvaille. And until I began traveling for NCFR and staying in nice hotels, I didn’t know about the chocolate on the pillow thing. I remember the first time a hotel staffer knocked on my door and asked if I’d like to be “turned down.” I gave her the “thousand-yard stare.” To my ears, that question sounded as preposterous as “Would you like to be slapped?”
What do lower class folk need to make it? University of Minnesota researcher Ann Masten brilliantly and scientifically identified the protective factors for resilience. For what my anecdotal experience is worth, I’ve found that SES underdogs need to find four things: financial supports, cultural interpreters, a sense of humor and the relentless drive to learn—even if it means humiliation.
None of my life trajectory would have occurred without access to education—and access was possible only because of financial support. I couldn’t afford a down payment on a free lunch. Virginia Woolf wrote that in order to develop her potential, she needed a “Room of One’s Own.” What the title to her book doesn’t disclose is that the “room” was provided by an aunt who left her a generous endowment. College tuition is outrageously out-of-reach for the Nancys of today and burdensome for even middle class kids. Tuition increases have been outpacing inflation for years. Financial aid, when it is to be had, is increasingly offered in the form of loans vs. grants. This issue needs immediate and dramatic attention from policymakers. Most of the financial supports I had are no longer available. I received more grants than loans. Then, as a junior, my father became disabled. Back in the early 80s, Social Security benefits were available to support full-time college students of disabled parents. With any gap in these opportunities, I would have needed quick training to generate income right away. I would be working today in an honorable but my second choice profession: cosmetology.
Even education doesn’t close the gap entirely. Cultural mentors are essential. In a series of articles from the New York Times, journalists spent over a year covering some of the phenomenology involved in upward mobility. Each of these fascinating pieces was vicariously cathartic for me. Through the eyes of these Americans’ lived experiences, story after story revealed that cultural interpreters provided the education not available in a classroom. The secret to tapping these mentors, however, is being able to identify who will help you and then finding the courage to ask the questions… even at the risk of looking like a clod. The commodity is a piece of knowledge. The cost for obtaining it is 60 seconds of mortification. With each transaction, I had to be willing to pony-up the full sticker price. Sadly, this is the point at which the next layer of promising people will peel-off. One in six Americans has a clinically-significant social anxiety disorder. Embarrassment for them costs too much. Equally tragic is the loss of these potential resources to our national human capital.
Finally, the ability to laugh at oneself and one’s circumstances is crucial. Masten’s seminal findings allude to the importance of humor. I accept that there will be destinations I will never reach. I’ll probably always have unrefined tastes. I have a very limited capacity for abstract thought; no matter how hard I try to see his genius, Jackson Pollock’s paintings always look like dropcloths to me. When I meet accomplished people, I still seize-up momentarily. I’ve discovered that humor can bridge class differences like almost nothing else, especially if I own up to my one-down position right away. When I met my new neighbor, an Art History professor, I froze as usual. [Quick, Nancy, think! Make a connection between Art History and the lower class!] I steeled myself, and with a twinkle in my eye I asked her why Piet Mondrian painted the Partridge Family bus. She howled. And I got my passport stamped again.
If you’re a student or new professional SES underdog, take heart; the day may come when you’ll find that your dual worldview is an asset. If you do ethnography research on vulnerable populations, you’re the one who will be able to establish rapport in subject interviews…. and the dynamite qualitative narratives will come pouring out. By the time you’re mid-career like me, you will realize that those who would judge you solely by the color of your culture—and not by the content of your character—have less “class” than you do.
Later still, you can embrace your shame and put it to work mentoring younger colleagues. Our Conference Director Cindy Winter wants me to add her most embarrassing moment here. Cindy hails from a small-town in rural Wisconsin. When I told her sheepishly that I didn’t know what “turn-down” service was, she said “I can top that!” On her first trip to New York City, Cindy was awestruck. She stayed in her first luxury hotel. As she was leaving, she tried to hail a cab without success. Then the Bellman asked Cindy if he could get her one. Gratefully she said yes. The taxi arrived, and Cindy thanked him profusely. Then the Bellman extended his hand… and Cindy shook it! He helped her into the cab and extended his hand once more; and she shook it again! She didn’t realize what had happened until much later.
We’re fluent in English—but it takes a while to speak the “language.” It’s pervasive. Hailing a cab is an example. It requires a certain urban body language that I still haven’t mastered. Last time I was in Chicago, I stood on a corner doing one-armed jumping jacks for 20 minutes until a driver pulled over. Cindy was lucky. In her day, only the Bellman witnessed her pratfall. Nowadays, with video cell phones everywhere, a curbside spectacle like mine could end up on YouTube in a clip entitled “Idiot on Halstad Street.”
At each NCFR conference, I get to test my comfort-zone; it’s hard to imagine where I could find a more erudite community. But anxiety subsides quickly because everyone is so kind. I take a deep breath, square my shoulders and hope that my intimate understanding of poverty, ignorance, and marginalization can serve NCFR in other ways. As a student of family sciences, I know who Arnold Gesell is. Flag me down at the next conference, and I’ll tell you who Arnold Ziffel is.
To access some fascinating research on Social Class, be sure to read an excellent series of papers at www.futureofchildren.org . For entertaining stories about individual journeys, read the New York Times series at www.nytimes.com/class . Accessing the Times’ articles requires on-line registration, but it’s free. And by the way, if you knew who Arnold Ziffel was without looking him up on Wikipedia, you’s my kinda people!
8/21/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez, CFLE
When I go on a business trip, I always take along 3 or 4 books. Hotel life lends itself to reading. At home, there is always some household chore that distracts me. I went to the American Sociological Association meeting in Boston a couple of weeks ago. As I was packing for the trip, I chose a few books I wanted to read. One of them is Michael P. Johnson’s A Typology of Domestic Violence: Intimate Terrorism, Violent Resistance, and Situational Couple Violence. As I began to place them in my carry-on bag, the front cover of Michael’s book jumped out at me—it had the words “terrorism,” “violence” and “domestic” on it. Oh no, I thought. If the TSA sees this, I’m going to be pulled aside for a pat-down or an interrogation. I’ll have to spend 10 minutes explaining that Michael is a Sociologist—not a terrorist. So I set his book aside and accepted the fact that it would never go on an airplane with me.
I arrived at the airport and was digging through my carry-on looking for my boarding pass, and there it was! Somehow the book got packed anyway. I transferred the book to my checked-bag quickly and crossed my fingers that the TSA wouldn’t see it. I made it to Boston and back without incident. I was thankful that it came with me, though, because it was an excellent read.
Michael P. Johnson is an Associate Professor Emeritus at Penn State University. He’s one of my many NCFR professional heroes. The first time I talked to Michael was in the late winter of 2007. I’m always a bit shy when I call a very accomplished person, scholars in particular. But he put me right at ease. When I asked if he had a few minutes to chat, he chuckled and said, “I’m doing my taxes…. I’d love an excuse to procrastinate.” He’s one of the most highly-evolved people I’ve ever met. His capacity to empathize with oppressed peoples is evidenced by the professional hats he wears—in addition to his Sociology professorship, he holds joint appointments as a professor in the African American and Women’s Studies departments. He’s a white male. He has a quote on his website that is a treasure:
You're a feminist if you believe that (1) men are privileged relative to women, (2) that's not right, and (3) you're going to do something about it, even if it's only in your personal life.
Pay attention to his name, up-and-coming scholars! It’s going to appear in just about every bibliography on Intimate Partner Violence from now on. Michael is a pioneer. He was the first to tease apart a problem that was plaguing social scientists for years. Research on Domestic Violence was producing two different sets of scientific results—one in which men were almost always the batterers in extremely exploitative partnerships and one in which Domestic Violence was perpetrated by both men and women. There was even scholarship reporting a “Battered Husband Syndrome” and evidence that women were just as likely to attack men. A contentious debate was underway. Michael was the guy who figured it out—the studies were not asking the right questions nor asking the same people.
Briefly, in the first type, Intimate Terrorism, perpetrators (almost always male) use coercion, threats and intimidation to control their partners. This is the definition of Domestic Violence that exists in the conventional wisdom. Because these victims are more likely to show up in shelter and law enforcement data, this produced a sampling glitch. When scientists used data across larger surveys of a general population, a very different type emerged—a kind of Intimate Partner Violence that was less power/oppression-oriented and more reciprocal. These partners—and for the space limitations in a blog I will over-simplify the description—were not involved in attempts to control or coerce each other; these incidents of “Situational Couple Violence” were more-or-less arguments that escalated to physical violence. These relationships are vastly different in context. Unlike Intimate Terrorism, the data reveal that in instances of Situational Couple Violence, the majority of couples report overall relationship satisfaction to be positive on average, although there is tremendous variability.
Beyond “typing” these differences, Michael and now other scientists are refining these definitions and finding sub-types in each—and finding out more fascinating and valuable data that are changing the field—and changing lives.
One of NCFR’s eminent family policy professors is famous for asking a question when any research is emerging in the field: “So what?” She is not being flippant; she is pushing us on. The “so what?” factor means “so these are the data—what does this mean when legislators, employers and helpers apply it?” She is stressing the importance of theorizing, designing studies and interpreting results with policy implications in mind. Different types of violence require different interventions. Some victims require elaborate protections by judicial mandate. Other couples can build successful relationships with therapy or education. Researchers are developing assessment tools to help differentiate between them. Michael is firm in reporting that either type is serious and potentially life-threatening and urges all professionals to operate from an “err on the side of safety” approach.
Michael’s theory and research is particularly important in family studies because Domestic Violence is often a life and death issue. It is always a quality of life issue. With each new study based on Michael’s work, policy analysts, courts and law enforcement have more knowledge and tools to work with. The use of differentiated typology in the family and criminal courts is now burgeoning.
My husband and I have an acquaintance who might have seen Michael’s work in action. A few months ago, his wife fell down the stairs to the basement. He urged her to stay put, and he called 911. When the paramedics and police arrived, the police took him upstairs, well away from the action, and began asking him questions and taking notes. He was desperate to be at his wife’s side and frustrated that the police were worried about paperwork at a time like this. Then it dawned on him—they were screening him for Domestic Violence.
Read Michael's Book. And stay tuned to NCFR’s journals. Just as a precaution, though, you might wish to think twice about taking it along to read on an airplane.
8/16/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez, CFLE
There’s a fascinating new line of inquiry in marriage research emerging, and the studies are beginning to accumulate. It’s the study of “marital forgiveness.” Quantifying the intangible is always a challenge, but some of NCFR’s superstars are working on it. I can’t wait to see what they turn up.
Too bad they don’t ask me, because I’m an authority on the issue. George and I have been married 23 years next month. We were sitting together this morning in the waiting area of our local pharmacy, killing some time while a prescription was being filled. I don’t remember how it came up, but one of our hilarious “old married couple” recordings started playing again—the verbal sparring that is on permanent tape in our minds that we can trot out whenever we’re feeling particularly irascible. I started enumerating the four incidents for which I will never forgive him. George calls this “Rant Number 4.” Now before anyone passes judgment, hear me out. I have a feeling that by the end of this blog, my readers will be siding with me.
The Honeymoon in 1985 should’ve been the first clue. We drove our VW Rabbit from Minneapolis to the Colorado Rockies. We were in Iowa, and I started to hear this dinging sound. I was raised by an auto mechanic, and have a sixth sense about automotive noises. George can fix the cars, but I’m the one who can hear the problem before he can. We crossed the border into Nebraska, and I kept telling him that I was hearing an ominous dinging sound. “No, no, no… everything’s fine,” he assured me. I insisted that we stop at the next service station and make sure. “Don’t be silly; everything’s fine.”
Shortly thereafter, the battery light on the dash came on. “Spit.” He said. (Only with an H.) The alternator had given out. Someone rescued us, and we were able to limp to Colorado. But here’s every new bride’s dream: I spent the first two days of married life in the waiting room at Leo Payne Volkswagen in Denver.
Then, in 1988, we were in the labor and delivery ward at Abbott-Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis. I was about halfway through a 21 hour labor, and wasn’t making much progress. They decided to speed things up and give me the inducing hormone, Pitocin. On a scale of 1 – 10, labor pains went from a 4 to about 26 in two minutes. They hooked me up to a high tech monitor that would keep track of the baby’s condition and also monitor my well-being. George, an engineer, just loves oscilloscopes, and this one was a technical marvel. The machine would plot the waves and troughs of my contractions on a CRT with beautiful graphics. For about four or five contractions, he told me “here comes another one!” and then he would ignore me and stare at the machine in fascination. I COULD FEEL THAT ANOTHER ONE WAS COMING! I DIDN’T NEED HIS *&%$# PLAY-BY-PLAY. I can’t remember what string of verbiage came out of my mouth, but it must’ve been good. He shut up and got back to coaching.
Then, about six years later, there was another doozy. I was in northern Minnesota at a family reunion. My cell phone rang, and it was my son. “Mommy?” said Eric. “Daddy is giving Honey a haircut.” Honey (may she rest in peace) was my beautiful Cocker Spaniel. She had gorgeous, golden flowing hair. She was one of the prettiest creatures God ever created.
I told Eric to put Dad on the phone. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed. “Well, it’s so hot outside—I felt sorry for Honey that she had so much hair, so I trimmed it.” When I got home, I almost cried. My beautiful dog. She wasn’t injured, but her hair was ruined. Her fur was two inches long in some places and then it was right down to the skin in others. Her long floppy ears were two drastically different sizes. The neighbors laughed like crazy—the guy next door said it looked as if Honey had been “stucco’d.”
The last incident was in 1998—I know, because I just looked it up on the Internet Movie Database. We were both fans of the TV series, The X Files, and we had awaited the premiere of the first X Files movie with anticipation. About 20 minutes into the movie, George thought it was a disappointment. He was bored stiff. He leaned over to me and whispered, “I’m leaving. I’ll meet you in the lobby when it’s over.” And then he ran out of the theatre! The theatre was attached to a shopping mall, and he disappeared into the crowd. There was no way to find him. He could be anywhere. We’ve all heard the story of the guys who ditch a bad date by telling her he is going to the bathroom—and then he never comes back. There I was, abandoned. An ugly date. And there was nothing I could do until he showed up again in the lobby.
Deep breath. I have been the beneficiary of forgiveness—a lot of it. As you can see, if—in 23 years—these are the worst sins that I can dredge up that my husband has committed, I am really, really lucky. Not only is he a good guy—he’s a good sport. This blog meets with his approval.
The honeymoon automotive nightmare was irritating at the time, but we’ve gotten a lot of laughs over the years from telling the story that “the Rabbit died on our Honeymoon.” As for the baby, he was born by emergency C-section, and George was right at my side then—and for the 18 years thereafter that it took to raise Eric to adulthood. My Cocker Spaniel’s hair grew out, and she had her beautiful coat back in just a few months.
Marital forgiveness is intangible but it’s real—and essential. I’m looking forward to reading the research on the topic that is sure to emerge in the coming years. One thing I know, however. Whenever possible, couples should be careful if they venture into an area that’s been a known source of trouble in the past. Just last month, the second X-Files movie came out.
We didn’t go. 8/7/2008
SK3 (Synogogue 3000) is a group you might be interested in getting to know if you are interested in studying Judaism and the family. This groups engages in conversations relevant to this generation's Jews. Click here to get a hint of the kinds of conversations this group engages in.
Thier mission is to be catalyst for excellence, empowering congregations and communities to create synagogues that are sacred and vital centers of Jewish life.
The following is taken from their purpose statement:
Sacred communities are those where relationships with God and with each other define everything the synagogue does; where ritual is engaging; where Torah suffuses all we do; where social justice is a moral imperative; and where membership is about welcoming and engaging both the committed and the unaffiliated. We wish to change the conversation about meaningful Jewish life in our time.
By Nancy Gonzalez, CFLE
This blog will be short. (The crowd roars!) Because I’m tired. I haven’t slept four consecutive hours in a week. I just got home from the American Sociological Association’s annual conference in Boston. I got to meet a couple more of my professional heroes—always a thrill. The sessions were fabulous, and the academic development and networking opportunities were too. I snuck away for a quick tour of the Old North Church and Paul Revere’s house.
There’s just one thing. There is evidently one of the Olympic games that isn’t being held in Beijing this year—it was held in the hallway just outside of my hotel room for 5 nights straight—maybe you’ve heard of it; the Wee Hours Door Slamming event. The U.S. brought home the gold, lemme tell ya.
Speaking of conferences, the NCFR Conference is less than three months away. See the line-up of plenaries and sessions—awesome. http://www.ncfr.org/conf/current/annual.asp Our staff has done a site visit (with overnights!) and there was no door-slamming reported from the Peabody Hotel in Little Rock.
Our colleagues belong to (sometimes) two or more professional associations. But you’ll pardon me for being partial to NCFR. The warmth of NCFR conferences is unparalleled—we hear this over and over from our colleagues who belong to other organizations. From our field’s rock stars to our family studies newbies, everyone is welcome. Nowhere else can you find an international multidisciplinary conference on families.
Hope to see you in Little Rock. And should you have a hard time falling asleep, ask the staff to call me. I’ll sit outside your room in the hallway—and read you one of my blogsssszzzzz. 7/28/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez, CFLE
On July 15, 2008, Fed Chairman Ben Bernanke gave his Semiannual Monetary Policy Report to the Congress to the Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs in the U.S. Senate. Mr. Bernanke spoke on many aspects of U.S. fiscal policy, as usual. He began his testimony by saying that “The U.S. economy and financial system have confronted some significant challenges thus far in 2008.” [Italics mine.]
One has to appreciate the tough position Bernanke is in. Imagine having the U.S. financial community—indeed, financiers all over the globe—hanging on your every word. One raised eyebrow over a key phrase; one verbal inflection just a wisp too emphatic, and the markets go wild.
When the Fed Chair says the economy is facing “significant challenges,” it’s bad. Few of us really understand what the Bear-Stearns bailout was all about. Few of us understand the role of the quasi-governmental Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac and the potential peril we are in here. I didn’t, until I heard that they hold the bag on half of the mortgages in the U.S. And people are walking away from their mortgages in jaw-dropping numbers.
CNN reported a statistic last week that just blew my mind. In the second quarter, (April, May and June,) one in every 171 mortgages in the U.S. went into foreclosure. California is getting hit especially badly. CNN reports that in the Stockton area, it’s one in 25 homes. Wha? http://money.cnn.com/2008/07/25/real_estate/foreclosure_figures_up_again/index.htm .
Home mortgages are just one problem. The Fed is moving to relieve another vexing source of consumer anguish—credit cards. The public is getting fed-up with the lack of consumer protections in this area of their lives. I admit to being one of the clueless. Ostensibly to provide disclosure, my credit card companies send me five page rice paper enclosures regularly, in 3 pt type, “explaining” their rules that I need to follow to stay in their good graces. (I use the word “graces” purposefully, as unintelligible grace periods is one of the gotchas.) Does anyone understand these leaflets? They sound as if they’re written in Klingon. What I can make out from them is that if I'm not perfect, I will pay dearly. I was relieved to hear that I’m not alone in feeling inadequate, fearful and victimized by the process. The Fed is stepping in.
Fed Chair Bernanke announced the proposed new rules in consumer lending. Quoting from Bernanke’s July 25 testimony:
“In May, working jointly with the Office of Thrift Supervision and the National Credit Union Administration, the Board issued proposed rules under the Federal Trade Commission Act to address unfair or deceptive practices for credit card accounts and overdraft protection plans. Credit cards provide a convenient source of credit for many consumers, but the terms of credit card loans have become more complex, which has reduced transparency. Our consumer testing has persuaded us that disclosures alone cannot solve this problem. Thus, the Board's proposed rules would require card issuers to alter their practices in ways that will allow consumers to better understand how their own decisions and actions will affect their costs. Card issuers would be prohibited from increasing interest rates retroactively to cover prior purchases except under very limited circumstances. For accounts having multiple interest rates, when consumers seek to pay down their balance by paying more than the minimum, card issuers would be prohibited from maximizing interest charges by applying excess payments to the lowest rate balance first. The proposed rules dealing with bank overdraft services seek to give consumers greater control by ensuring that they have ample opportunity to opt out of automatic payments of overdrafts. The Board has already received more than 20,000 comment letters in response to the proposed rules.”
The Fed is inviting comment now on how you feel about existing credit card policy. Family professionals—this is your chance to speak on behalf of family well-being. Read some of the postings, many of which are angry, passionate or heartbreaking.
Would you like to add your voice to the thousands of consumer comments the Fed has received? The deadline is Monday, August 4. From this link below, you can read about the current state of affairs, the proposed new rules and then add your 2 cents. With 20,000 letters received already, it looks to me like interest is compounding.
http://www.federalreserve.gov/newsevents/press/bcreg/20080502a.htm
7/21/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez
One of my cats, Sophie, has taught me many things. I got her at the animal shelter. She was cowering in the back of her pen. The attendant opened the cage so I could hold her, and she jumped out of my arms and ran under a rack of cages. We had a heck of a time getting her out—we had to gently corner her with a broom handle and guide her.
When I picked her up the second time, I held on tightly. The attendant told me she was a “fraidy cat” and didn’t seem to trust anyone. I held her for about 5 minutes and she started to purr. The attendant said, “She’s never done that before.” Whether that sentence was the best sales pitch in history, or the truth, that’s all I needed. I was in love. I paid the fee, and took her home.
For the first few days, I rarely saw her. I showed her where the litter box was as well as her food and water. She obviously came out only during the night. Then, slowly, she would venture under our bed during the day and peek out at me with her tiny, buff-colored face.
It took her a couple of weeks, but she finally started to hop up on the bed and let me pet her while I was reading. The minute my husband or son came nearby, she would scoot back under the bed. When I really got to see her up close, I knew why I was drawn to her. I can’t explain it, but when I look into her eyes, she looks intelligent—hence the name “Sophie”—the scholar.
She talks with me. Really.
She will jump up on the couch and say: “Meow.”
I can say anything in response- “The formula for the universal gas law is PV=NRT.”
Her reply, “Meow.”
Me: “You don’t say! Did you know you can turn a major chord into a minor chord by just flatting its third?”
Sophie says: “Meow.” This can go on for several volleys.
Now, after about two years, Sophie sleeps right next to my head every night—all night. She’ll sleep next to me, but it has to be on the side away from my husband. I can’t prove it, but I’m certain that something dreadful must have happened to Sophie early in life. She must have some form of feline attachment problem. She doesn’t trust anyone except me. When I’m out of town at a conference, the guys report that she goes into hiding except when she darts around the baseboards and runs under furniture. They call her “the beige blur.” But I can call Sophie by name, and she’ll come right away, just as dogs do. There is a creature on the planet who depends on me deeply.
I am Sophie’s Choice.
The film of the same name is a horrifying story based on the Holocaust. For anyone who has not seen it, the plot line is available at www.imdb.com . Using the title of this film for a blog about my cat may seem as if I am trivializing one of the world’s most appalling, sickening and earth-shattering events in history. But I make a solemn point.
Animal cruelty in children may be a marker for human abuse, possibly as a symptom of that child’s current suffering as a victim. Or it may represent an antecedent for escalating human abuse and violence indicating the child’s potential as a perpetrator in adulthood. In the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the DSM IV TR™, physical cruelty to animals is listed as one of the diagnostic criteria for childhood Conduct Disorder. It also refers to evidence of a link between childhood Conduct Disorder and adult Antisocial Personality Disorder. The American Association of Family Physicians’ (AAFP) website supplies more information as well.
I’ve provided a few links for information on this topic from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, the National Institutes of Health, AAFP and the Animal Humane Society. Early intervention in all childhood disorders should be our goal. A child who is mean to an animal needs help.
http://cbexpress.acf.hhs.gov/articles.cfm?article_id=316&issue_id=2001-07
http://www.pubmedcentral.nih.gov/articlerender.fcgi?artid=339169
http://www.hsus.org/hsus_field/first_strike_the_connection_between_animal_cruelty_and_human_violence/children_and_animal_cruelty_what_parents_should_know.html
http://www.aafp.org/afp/20010415/1579.html
One wonders, considering the historical and repetitive cycles of “man’s inhumanity to man,” whether any of these atrocities could have been prevented, based on this information. One wonders further whether any future domestic violence, criminality or genocide could be averted by early intervention if a child initially displays evidence of cruel or violent behavior.
I have another cat, Shelley, who wanders out to greet total strangers, to the point of making a pest of herself. She assumes that all human beings are benevolent. Sophie has learned that they aren’t. I’m not sure why I’m your choice, Sophie, but it’s an honor. 7/11/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez
Just an update for those who live outside the Minneapolis—St. Paul area; It looks as if our new I—35W bridge had its “Golden Spike” moment last week. The two ends of the bridge are now just a few inches apart. The gap is small enough such that there is a temporary ramp over the opening and the construction workers are making confident strides across it.
It’s hard to believe that almost one year ago, as of August 1, we were looking at this: http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/03/us/03safety.html?_r=1&oref=slogin . My son and I missed the collapse by 2 hours and 20 minutes. One of my best friends missed it by 20 minutes.
Here’s a model of the design of the new bridge, which looks really sturdy: http://images.publicradio.org/content/2007/10/08/20071008_bridgedesign_2.jpg .
The one thing that concerns me, though, is that it looks as if one side of the bridge is a few inches higher than the other half. I drove over the 10th Avenue bridge last night—the bridge parallel to and quite close to the new bridge. The end of the temporary construction ramp looks to be a half a bubble off plumb. I found a photo on the web that shows what I’m talking about. It’s blurry, but see what you think: http://flickr.com/photos/stevesworldofphotos/2585469369/in/set-72157604192591257/ . I’m sure they are lifting things into place and it will level off when they’re done. Even though I can’t see the finished product, I trust that there are talented professionals who know what they’re doing.
The old bridge was the only 55 mph link across the Mississippi for miles in either direction. For a tourist trying to get across the river in Minneapolis this summer, good luck. Getting from the northern part of the city into downtown, to the University of Minnesota or to the airport now requires navigating a maze of side streets only comprehensible by natives. The best route goes through an intersection nicknamed “Seven Corners,” where several city streets come together like the spokes of a wheel. From that intersection, there are many avenues to choose from, but only one of them gets you back on the freeway.
There are no maps that I’ve seen that describe the temporary detours that drivers need to take as we recover from our catastrophe. There are no obvious shortcuts. No matter what your destination is, it’s going to be a convoluted path for a few more months. If you’ll be coming to the Twin Cities, consult an experienced traveler familiar with Minneapolis before you start out. Even mapquest, as of today, implies that 35W is wide open both ways. http://www.mapquest.com/maps?zipcode=55403 . It’s not. Don’t spend time getting lost. Get good directions.
There’s a metaphor here for families and relationships, but it’s so obvious that I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence by putting it into words.
7/7/2008
By Nancy Gonzalez
Just last week, a friend I adore lost her job. She is not in Minneapolis, and I will withhold or alter any other identifying information to protect the innocent—or others. It’s just that her story is like so many others’ and, for obvious reasons, they can’t speak for themselves—but maybe they know a blogger who can.
Just in time for the 4th of July weekend, she was canned—no warning—and dropped like a dirty diaper. It was one of those conference room end-of-the-day guillotine maneuvers: they deliver the news and then escort you to your desk, watch you as you pack up, and then frog-march you out the door. This “perp walk” is now standard operating procedure to guard against industrial sabotage. The irony is that I’ve known her most of my adult life, and she is one of the most ethical human beings on the planet. This is someone who not only would not harm her workplace, she would have spent several hours, without pay, leaving helpful detailed notes to help her colleagues pick up her work.
This family spent the July 4th weekend sucking their thumbs and calling on their support systems. (me!) They also spent two days combing through their family budget looking for ways to cut back drastically on expenses. There are dependents involved—human, feline and canine. They’re worried sick. Somehow the age thing sounds oh-so familiar. My friend is over 50. Funny how that is.
As is the case in many families, she carried the family’s health insurance—her husband’s small business doesn’t have a group plan. The jaw-dropping news about health insurance options? They priced their COBRA payment, the required federal program for continuing the workplace benefits at one’s own cost for 18 months. Get this. It’s over $1200/month. That’s a house payment for many families. Not only did they lose her salary, there’s another $1200 bill on top of that loss. COBRA? At those prices, they ought to call it Boa Constrictor.
They are going to find out what “strengths-based” family functioning is all about. They are calling-in support… I prepare resumes, so I’m going to be working on her document the next few evenings. I’m feeding them resources about family stressors and coping. They have caring people surrounding them, including each other. When she delivered the news to her husband, the first words out of his mouth were, “I love you, and we’ll get through this.” They plan to eat a lot of ramen noodles, drive as little as possible and, in her inimitable words, “use both sides of the toilet paper.”
Strengths-based, indeed. She lost her job but not her sense of humor. Enough blogging—back to work. I’ve got a resume to work on tonight.
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