A New Business Pops Up in Nicaragua 

On the trip from the airport in Managua to our house at Rancho Santana, Nestor updated K and me on the local news. The election went off without a hitch, he told us, smiling. Government employees were told to photograph themselves voting for the president. Not that it would have made any difference. The candidates that were going to run against him were put in jail or under house arrest. It is a one-party government now. But there are no demonstrations. The universities are open for business. The streets are open. Business is recovering, although it’s still a fraction of what it was several years ago before the crackdown.

But there is one area of business that is doing very well, he told us. That’s the business of transporting people from countries all over Latin America, the Caribbean, and even the Middle East from the airport to the Mexican-Honduran border, where they sign up with the cartels to be smuggled into the US. “They are coming in by the busloads,” he said. “Every day. They pay $200 to get to the border and then pay the cartels thousands to take them up to the Rio Grande.”

“Why are so many flying into Nicaragua now?” K asked.

“Word has gotten out,” Nestor said. “It’s an easy trip into Nicaragua and from there up through Honduras and to the border.”

“So, how many are coming?” I asked. “And from where?”

“It’s crazy,” he said. “It used to be mostly Central Americans. Now it’s every country from South America. Plus Haiti and Jamaica and other Caribbean islands. There are even people flying in from Europe and the Middle East.”

It’s estimated that about 2.5 million people crossed into the US illegally last year. About two million of them, after reaching US territory, turned themselves in, claiming political asylum. They were booked in by the US immigration service, and then given a court date to adjudicate their claim. Soon after that, they are sent in planes and buses to various undisclosed US locations. (Just in case you are wondering: About 99% of that transportation is done and paid for by the federal government by order of the Biden administration. The totality of all the immigrants that were sent to Martha’s Vineyard and NYC and DC account for less than 1% of the total.)

An Introduction to “Realitivity” 

I’m working on an idea for a book that I will probably never finish. It will exist in the library of two dozen could-be bestsellers that I’ve been working on for years. Like the rest of them, I was excited about this one when it first occurred to me. And after a few months of chewing it over, I’m still liking it.

I’m calling it realitivity. (That’s realitivity, not relativity.) As in keeping it real. It’s based on the law of entropy, which, as you know, says that everything in the universe is programmed to degrade. And that any theory or system not designed with that law in mind is due to fail. One of the fundamental insights of realitivity explains what happens when we apply the law of entropy to human behavior.

Take, for example, the behavior of Frank Abrokwa, the guy that achieved his 15 minutes of fame by assaulting a woman with his feces in the NYC subway. (I mentioned him in my Nov. 2 blog post.)

He is the dictionary definition of repeat offender. (His most recent arrest was his 45th.) And his freedom to continue to serially assault New Yorkers has been due to the city’s catch-and-release policy that has recently been fortified with “cashless bail.”

I was speaking about him with a friend. “Abrokwa is mentally unbalanced,” he said, offering that as a justification for allowing him to be on the streets all these years.

I understand the sentiment. There is a difference between crimes committed purposely and intentionally by people that know they are doing something they shouldn’t be doing, and the same crimes committed by people that are insane. The first are obviously immoral. While the latter, lacking the element of willfulness, are clearly not.

That’s the rub.

I’ve been thinking about this. And here’s some of what I’ve come up with…

Criminal law is not a moral code. It is not established to support some view of morality. (As opposed to, for example, Sharia law.) The primary purpose of criminal law is to protect the public from crime and, in cases where the crime is especially egregious, to give those people affected by the crime (i.e., the victims’ families and, in extreme cases, the public at large, a sense of retribution).

Furthermore, the concept of “not guilty by reason of insanity” is illogical. The determination of guilt should be restricted to one question: “Did the accused commit the crime?” If the accused is judged guilty, he should be subject to incarceration. Tout de suite. And the length of his incarceration should be determined not just by the severity of the crime, but also by the likelihood that he will do it again.

In the case of Mr. Abrokwa, the question of culpability is easily answered. His crime was videotaped. By my logic, he should be incarcerated. No questions asked. Catch-and-release for a repeat offender like him doesn’t work. How long he should be put away should depend upon (1) the severity of the crime, which, as a non-lethal assault, is in the moderate range, and (2) the likelihood of his repeating it, which is very high.

That satisfies the criminal justice issue. But it leaves open the question of human justice. Is it fair to treat two criminals the same way when one committed the crime consciously and purposely and the other one was obviously out of his mind?

The answer is no. It’s not fair.

So, in terms of “punishment,” how do we distinguish between them?

When, as in the case of Mr. Abrokwa, it’s clear that the criminal is crazy, the state should do what it can afford to do to give him some sort of medical or psychological treatment to stabilize his mind. But if and when his mind is deemed stable, he should not be given a “go out and do it again” pass. The length of his sentence should not be shortened. He did the crime, so he should do the time. The human justice obligation is met by treating him during the full term of his sentence.

Those are my thoughts at the moment. What do you think?

After the Storm

Late Wednesday afternoon, one of the Mules asked me if we were still planning to have our book club meeting at the cigar club, as planned. I replied, “Why wouldn’t we?”

He said, “Because of the storm.”

I said, “Oh, that. When is that supposed to hit?”

He said, “Tonight.”

I said, “Well, the cigar club is basically a cement bunker filled with booze. I’m going. So is Frank, the bartender. And Olio, the restaurant down the street, is delivering the food.”

He said, “I’ll be there.”

It was raining when the meeting began at six. And it was raining when it ended at ten. There were apparently gusts of wind here and there, but we never noticed them. When I went to bed, it had stopped raining. I woke around two in the morning and looked outside onto the beach. It was beautiful and calm.

Thursday morning, it was bright and sunny.

This is what happens 9 out of 10 times that we are alerted to an impending hurricane. That’s why it’s difficult for long-term Floridians to put much stock in weather reports, especially urgent ones. And that’s why we get a kick out of coverage like this:

What Are My Thoughts? 

JS, my editor, thought I should write something about the election results. So, I’ve been thinking about what I think and, so far, I don’t have any thoughts worth writing about. But I do have a feeling about the results. On both a state and a federal level, I feel a bit safer about the future than I felt a week ago. With more of a balance in the House (and maybe the Senate), there should be a slightly better chance that Congress will do an overall better job by passing fewer laws and spending less money and generally reducing their power and presence. Okay. Maybe that’s optimistic. Still, as Hem said, isn’t it pretty to think so?

What I Believe: About Gun Control

I think everyone should have the right to own a gun. Or guns. But I also believe in gun control. I can’t, for the life of me, understand the arguments against, at the very least, banning assault weapons.

The best argument in favor of assault weapons is a political and theoretical one. It’s based on the second amendment, which states that “the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.” But the primary rationale for the second amendment was not for protection against robbery or personal assault. It was for protection against tyranny. Our founding fathers had risked their lives defending America from tyranny, in large part with state militias. They recognized that the government they were establishing could one day devolve into tyranny. To prevent that, they wanted citizens to be armed.

So, if that was the intention, and we want to hold fast to the intention, it’s difficult to argue with the right for all Americans not just to be armed, but to be armed to the hilt so they could militia-up and fight governmental tyranny.

But as a pragmatist, I can’t see that playing out in the real world.

Tyranny is a real threat. And we should be on guard against it. I just don’t think the answer is a deluge of automatic weapons.

That’s where my thinking is now. And I would be wasting your reading time if that was all I had to say on the subject. But, in researching assault weapons, I discovered something interesting. It’s something you may not know.

I assumed that assault weapons were responsible for most of the homicides in America. It turns out, that’s not true.

According to FBI data, handguns are the weapons of choice for most killers in this country. In every one of the past 20 years, the overwhelming majority of murders involved handguns. And an NIH study confirmed that, depending on the year, assault rifles accounted for between 2% and 12% of all homicides.

In the chart below, you can see that, in this particular year, automatic handguns and rifles were used in 329 murders, or about 2% of the total.

Conclusion: This is not to say that assault weapons are not a problem. When it comes to mass shootings, they are, indeed, the weapon of choice. Assault weapons are involved in more than 80% of mass killings, according to FBI data. (Interesting: The greatest mass killer in American history must certainly be Charles Cullen – i.e., The Good Nurse. And he didn’t use a weapon of any kind.) Given my thoughts on applying the death penalty to serial killers and mass murderers (see what I said about capital punishment in Tuesday’s issue), logic compels me to favor significant restrictions, including serious psychological screening, for owning assault weapons.

It’s Not a Passion, but It’s Close 

 I’m in Costa Rica for a few days, working on one of what I call my “legacy” projects – non-profit entities that will continue to exist long after I’m gone.

In this case, it’s a foundation that aims to raise the status of Central American modern and contemporary art. We are making friends and writing books and curating a collection and building a museum.

It’s an ambitious project. Like so many things I’ve done in my life, had I any idea how much work and money it would require, I probably would not have started it. But I’m not complaining. This is something I love.

I’m here, along with three board members, to make a formal presentation of our book – Central American Modernism – at the Museo de Arte Costarricense (Costa Rican Museum of Art), and to meet with some of the country’s top artists, dealers, and collectors, In addition to celebrating the book, which took nearly ten years to complete, we will be gathering information and taking photos for our next book.

I don’t like the way the word “passion” is used nowadays. It is used as a substitute for less emotive words like “commitment” or “enjoyment.” So, I avoid saying that I am “passionate” about what I do – even when I enjoy it and feel a strong commitment to it. But in the case of this legacy project, the level of my enjoyment is greater than usual. It surprises me. And there are times when it really does feel almost passionate. Like yesterday, when we spent the afternoon with Edgar Zúñiga (the younger half-brother to the well-known Francisco), an amazing sculptor who gave us a personal tour of his foundry, and then had dinner with Claus Steinmetz, one of the most important and most knowledgeable dealers of Central American art.

My Favorite Weddings

Getting married is a seriously happy and happily serious social ritual.

The serious stuff is expressed in the observations and advice of the officiant, as well as the promises made by the bride and groom. The happy stuff is expressed at the reception afterwards, in speeches and song and dance.

I’m not sure why it is, but I’ve been to a lot of ethnic American weddings. Irish American weddings. Italian American weddings. Jewish American weddings, Lebanese American weddings. Polish American weddings. The list goes on.

I’ve also been to weddings in France and England and Italy and Spain. And I’ve been an interested onlooker at weddings in China, India, Thailand, and Japan. My favorites are those that tilt the happiness/serious ratio towards happiness.

One of my all-time favorite weddings was a two-day event that took place in Chad, Africa, in 1976. (I was there as a Peace Corps volunteer, teaching English literature at the University of Chad.) It was the wedding of Arosi, a Chadian friend of mine. He was from northern Chad, and a member of a tribe whose culture was a medley of Arab and animist beliefs.

On day one, we, Arosi’s best men, ritually invaded the home of the bride and, in front of her family and friends, we… well, we kidnapped her! We carried her out of the house, put her in the back seat of the pickup truck we had come in, and took her to Arosi’s house. Minutes after we got there, a troop of her friends broke into his house, rescued the bride, and returned her to her house. We went to a bar.

The marriage ceremony took place the following afternoon. I arrived a few minutes late. The guests were already gathered, drinking and chatting, just like what you would expect at an American wedding. Arosi was there. But not his bride. I wondered why.

I didn’t have to wonder long. All of a sudden, there was a drumming, and the crowd hushed. The bride, dressed in a floor-length white gown, with a white veil covering her head, was led into the room by her bridesmaids.

For a long moment, the place was silent. The bride stood there, her head tilted backwards, her body statue-still. The musicians began to play a languid, Middle Eastern sounding tune, and then everyone was shouting at Arosi. It was half in Arabic and half in his native tongue. I didn’t understand a word, but I intuited the intention. They were playfully urging him to do something.

Arosi stood there, smiling and shaking his head. The more he shook his head, the louder they shouted. Finally, he gave in, approached his bride, and stood in front of her. He lifted the veil from her head. And the music stopped.

It took my breath away. There she was, this stunningly beautiful, ebony-skinned woman in a white gown, adorned from head to toe with gold jewelry.

The music began again, and the bride began to dance. Slowly and then with more energy. She was moving almost erotically to the music. No, not “almost.” It was very erotic. And powerful. A visual battle between an idealization of feminine beauty and the power of feminine sexuality.

I’d never seen anything like it. I was half shocked and half embarrassed.

Arosi put the veil back on her head. She stopped dancing and resumed her frozen pose. The music stopped, too.

It was very dramatic. And I was disappointed.  I felt like something I very much needed had suddenly been taken away from me. Like watching a great boxing match and having the lights go out at a pivotal moment.

Once again, the crowd shouted encouragement to Arosi. And, once again, he shook his head, smiling. Finally, he relented and lifted the veil. And, again, his beautiful wife began to move, gradually resuming her seductive dance.

This ritual was repeated perhaps a half-dozen times. Then the crowd joined the dance, and the party began.

I went to several other African weddings during the two years I lived in Chad, and I’ve been to one here in the States. And they all had elements of what made Arosi’s so special, and the most memorable wedding I’ve ever been to: the celebration of feminine beauty and power, expressed though this interesting combination of Black African and Arabic music and dancing.

Oh, wait! I can’t believe I just said that this was the most memorable wedding I’ve ever been to. There was one – and it was in Africa, too – that was more memorable. It was my own wedding to K – about a week after she came to join me in Chad. Click here to read that story.

Three Social-Justice Trends Boosting Crime in Major Cities

In big cities across the USA, crime is soaring. Robberies are up. Assaults are up. Carjackings are up. And murders are up.

There are, no doubt, several reasons for this. Here are three:

* Cashless Bail: A solution to a political problem – the problem being that poor people, and in particular people of color, spend time in jail because they can’t afford to pay their bail. To achieve equity, those people are released after booking, without bail, so they don’t have to spend time in jail.

* Reclassification of Crimes: In some cities, many crimes that were previously classified as felonies have been downgraded to misdemeanors. These include various kinds of theft and assault, carjacking, and resisting arrest.

* Woke DAs: In many of these same cities, DAs are being appointed who believe their job is to work towards social justice by declining to prosecute crimes that they deem not to be prosecution worthy.

What has happened in these cities, some speculate, is that the word is out. You can commit all sorts of crimes without worrying about going to jail.

There may be more to this rise in crime, but these three trends are a big part of it. What’s especially vexing is knowing that a very large percentage of the crimes are being committed by repeat offenders.

An example from New York: Frank Abrokwa. On Feb. 21, he was arrested for smearing his feces into a woman’s face as she sat in a subway station. Local newspapers covered it. He was arrested, processed, and released within hours.

The very next day, he was arrested for shoplifting at a hardware store and threatening employees with a screwdriver. Released without bail.

A month earlier, on Feb. 5, he had been arrested for punching a 53-year-old man at the Port Authority Bus Terminal. Again, he was released without bail.

A month before that, on Jan. 7, he had been arrested for hitting a stranger on a subway platform. He was released without bail.

Those are just four catch-and-release episodes concerning one man. But Abrokwa’s record is much more impressive than that. He’s been arrested 45 times.

Read the story here.

And watch the video here.

Five Reasons Old People (and Everyone Else) Should Work Out Harder

My surgeon gave me the go-ahead on Tuesday to resume full-fledged exercising. That means lifting heavy, hard sprinting, and submission wrestling. I’m eager to get back into it. And for good reasons.

Most people my age have abandoned vigorous exercise – i.e., sprinting, and heavy strength training – in favor of less strenuous activities such as yoga, Pilates, and walking. I get it. I feel like I’ve done my life’s quota of heavy squats and 50-yard dashes. And isn’t it dangerous to exercise too hard? Isn’t that how oldsters get strokes and heart attacks?

The short answer is no. There are certainly circumstances and situations when hard exercise is dangerous. But they are exceptions. Not the rule. The literature I’ve read on exercising for old people – and I’ve been reading it for at least 20 years – has shown that exercising is good and that exercising hard is even better.

Three reasons:

* Sprinting and other demanding cardiovascular exercise improves blood flow, reduces blood pressure, and improves heart health.

* Strong legs reduce the likelihood of falling. And falling, for old and frail people, is the number one way to die.

* Vigorous exercise has also been shown to improve mood. (Almost invariably, my best mood every day is after I’ve spent an hour wrestling.)

But that’s not all. Recently, I read a study that gave me an even better reason to work hard on strength training. It found that strength training, more than any other type of exercise, has the most impact on longevity. People that keep a fair amount of muscle on their bodies live years longer than those that don’t.

And if those four reasons aren’t enough, here’s a surprising fifth: Exercising hard is an antidote to cognitive decline. Mild exercise doesn’t do it. Pushing yourself in the gym will.

Check out this link to read Peter Attia’s summary of all this research.

Feeling Low…

 

I’ve been feeling low. My numbers (on my mood scale) have dropped from the 7.5 to 8.5 range to 6.5 to 7.5. That’s the difference between “Ready-to-go!” and “Why-should-I-bother?”

Because I track my moods so closely, I am not worried about this lingering malaise. I know from experience that I will get past it eventually. And in the short term, I can boost myself from 6.5 to 7.0 in a single day by doing the same things that have worked in the past.

Although I believe that severe depression is almost never “caused” by an individual event, moderate drops in mood can be. In my case, there is some residual psychological detritus from feeling close to death. And then, while I was pulling myself up from that, I had to deal with the news that two friends of mine had died.

 Margie ran our English language program at FunLimón, the community center that my family established in Nicaragua, across the street from Rancho Santana. She was in her late 80s when, about two months ago, she had a stroke, from which she eventually died.

 Margie was an astonishingly vibrant and accomplished woman. She was a mother and a nurse and a teacher, but she was also an adventurer, a pioneer, and a ball-busting business partner. (I did a deal with her once. That was enough!) She was also a wonderfully giving person, who spent her last 15 years living in Nicaragua – teaching, befriending, helping, and caring for the locals. At her funeral, half the town showed up.

 Two years ago, I had the idea to make a small-scale documentary film about the lives of some of our eldest residents of Rancho Santana. We spent a year interviewing and filming them. Margie was one. (When the movie is finished, I’ll give you a link to it.)

 And then, just yesterday, I received word that my good friend Joselito had died.

 Joselito was another amazingly accomplished and astonishingly loving and giving person. He passed from esophageal cancer, which he’d been battling for about a year.

 I’d known Joselito for about 25 years. He was one of the first Nicaraguans I met outside of my Nicaraguan partners. He was a singer and guitar player whose repertoire of Spanish love songs was endless. For 25 years, he would travel every weekend for four or five hours to get from his home to the Ranch. And he would spend two or three days playing and singing for our guests, performing at small functions, and selling off-brand cigars on the side.

 Joselito had a beautiful voice and a unique way of playing the guitar (as I’ve been told by guitar players). He wrote songs for and about people, including one about me, one about Rancho Santana, and two love songs for Number Three Son’s girlfriends, the second of whom became his wife. About 10 years ago, I arranged for Joselito to travel to New York City with me, so that Number Two Son could produce an album of some of his best songs and covers. Number Two Son had arranged for some of the finest Latin musicians to accompany Joselito, including Tito Puente’s drummer. The record came out very well. (I have copies for sale if you want one.) But that weekend, itself, watching Joselito charm everyone around him in the Big Apple, was an experience I will never forget.