Book review: Dear Madam President: An Open Letter to the Women Who Will Run the World

Dear Madam President is both a reflection on Palmieri’s role in Hillary Clinton’s campaign and a call to arms for women in leadership. The book is specifically for the woman who will be the first woman president, but her words really speak to women in any leadership role. Heck, they speak to any woman.

The book is an easy read, divided into nine chapter or exhortations. Through them Palmieri describes situations that happened during the Clinton campaign or during a visit with Elizabeth Edwards and then illuminates the lessons to be learned from them. She talks directly to the future woman president of the United States—Madam President. (She originally notes that Madam seems to define a woman by her attachment to a man but ends up using the title because frankly there is no neutral title for a woman that doesn’t denote her relationship with a man. Sigh.)

She acknowledges the failures that Hillary’s advisors (which includes herself) made in the campaign and their wrong assumptions. They advised her to run like a man, to run as a presidential candidate, not the potential first woman president. This was a mistake. Hillary should have embraced being the first woman president and forged her own model of leadership.

Palmieri recognizes that currently the only model for a person in power to follow is male. And that this needs to change.

As she explained this point and raised the fact that women have imitated male models in the workforce, I thought back to the 1980s, when middle class white women entered the workforce in large numbers. The clothing (remember the huge shoulder pads and mannish look to business attire?), the attitude, the mannerism all screamed women trying to be men.

Women had to prove that they belonged by proving that they were tough enough. They were just like the men, whose ranks they were fighting to enter. They had to embrace the male work style.

In hindsight this was a huge disservice to women, men, and the work world. We are still paying the price and trying to escape this male model.

Palmieri calls for a new way, a new model of leadership. What would it be like to lead like a woman?

She also recognizes in hindsight the refusal or inability of Hillary’s advisors to acknowledge the deep misogyny in the US. People disliked Hillary. They were OK with voting for a woman, they insisted, but not that woman. They didn’t trust her.

But suddenly they were OK with Hillary when she conceded the race. Palmieri surmised (rightly, I think) that people were not comfortable with Hillary—with a woman—being in a position of power. But as soon as she conceded, suddenly she stepped back into a traditional role played by women. Then she was OK.

The problem was clearly that the anti-Hillary folks didn’t trust Hillary because she was an “intelligent, capable, ambitious woman in a position of power.” (page 50) As such, she “represented an existential threat to the proper order of things.” (pages 54-55)

Palmieri mentions that Hillary’s advisors also didn’t understand the level of frustration in the population at large and how it was playing out in the populous movements in the campaigns. But the Clintons did. Palmieri mentions a book that the Clintons read and discussed, The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements—a book from the 1950s. It sounds eerily relevant to today (and a must read).

Palmieri’s lessons and advice to the future Madam President (and women in general) are good. Some lines jumped off of the page and felt like Palmieri was speaking directly to me. She described my own experiences, insecurities, and problems being a woman in a world that doesn’t value women.

Which things that she writes might speak directly to you?

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Photo: Rocky shore (Weston Beach #1)

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Channeling the Modern style of Brett Weston….

Black and white image of rocky shore at Weston Beach in Point Lobos

Weston Beach at Point Lobos, March 24, 2010

In a strange twist of fate, one of my favorite spots in one of my favorite places was named after the father of a man that I recently learned about an IMA exhibit. The Brett Weston exhibit mentioned his father Edward, a photography legend in his own right. Both Brett and Edward frequented and photographed Point Lobos. After his death in 1958, Edward’s ashes were scattered at Pebbly Beach in Point Lobos. The beach was later renamed…Weston Beach.

Podcast review: American Revolution Podcast

I love history. History teaches about the past and illuminates the present. It focuses on events and people but often reveals things about current situations and oneself. History done well can challenge assumptions and widen one’s perspective on the world. It can broaden horizons and deepen knowledge. The American Revolution Podcast lives up to this historical legacy.

A couple years ago, I stumbled across the well-established Revolutions podcast by Mike Duncan. I decided to start at the beginning, rather than jumping into the most current episodes. When I got to the American Revolution, I was surprised by what the podcast illuminated—both about events and people I knew and those I didn’t. After completing the episodes on the American Revolution, I searched for historical works to learn even more.

And then I learned about the American Revolutions Podcast by Michael Tory. (Full disclosure: Tory alerted me to his podcast in a comment to my blog post about the Revolutions podcast. Intrigued, I subscribed to his podcast and started to soak in his talks.)

I am still winding my way through his podcast, trying to catch up to the present episodes. (I’ve listened to 13 episodes so far.) I’m hooked. It is a completely different animal than Revolutions. True to his word, Troy goes into more detail about the revolution than Duncan does. (Of course, American Revolution Podcast is focused on the American Revolution whereas Duncan goes in-depth about a particular revolution for dozens of episodes before moving on to a different revolution.)

Troy begins by laying the groundwork for the revolution a few decades before the revolution technically begins in 1776 with the Declaration of Independence. His focus is decidedly on military aspects. He gives wonderful blow by blow accounts of military expeditions—who was involved, the strategies used, the outcomes reached, and the implications. The sheer amount of information that he shares (and that is completely new to me) is staggering. Thirteen episodes in and I am not yet to what one typically thinks of the start of the revolution.

Troy walks listeners through the relations between the British, the French, and the Native Americans in the decades prior to the revolution. I suspect that many of the places and the people will resurface later, and that knowing about pre-revolutionary America will deepen my understanding about the colonies, our relations with others in the world, and the revolution itself.

I am patiently waiting (ok, maybe not so patiently) for if/when present-day Indiana enters the discussion on the Ohio River Valley. After my travels to historic sites in Vincennes and reading fiction set in the time of George Rogers Clark, I am finding the descriptions about skirmishes between the British, French, and Native Americans (aka the French and Indian War) enlightening.

Interesting tidbits in the episodes routinely jump out at me. I’ve learned why Washington was not the magnificent military leader early in his career—a fact alluded to in the musical Hamilton. Spoiler: Washington failed miserably at an expedition in the Ohio River Valley.

King George I (not The King George during the revolution—that was King George III) was actually originally over 50th in line to the throne, but as he was the only next in line who wasn’t Catholic, he got the throne. (You know that whole bloody mess they had in England over Catholicism.)

Delaware was originally a Swedish colony. (I didn’t know the Swedes were some of the early colonists.)

The Forbes Road—a military path in Pennsylvania—later became the basis of the Lincoln Highway in Pennsylvania, a highway that spanned the US in the early 1900s.

Both American Revolution Podcast and Revolutions contain information on military exploits but the latter focuses more on political history. American Revolution Podcast focuses more, at least so far, on military history. Troy’s podcast is filling in gaps in my knowledge (or entire lack of knowledge) about pre-revolution America.

Troy’s episodes are so rich—I could easily listen to them multiple times and learn more each time. I am looking forwarding to continuing past episode 13…and seeing what I learn next.

Movie review: LBJ (2017)

Like Jackie, the storyline in LBJ radiates from the assassination of JFK. The movie looks backwards to when Lyndon Baines Johnson was at the height of his political power as the majority leader in the Senate, his race against JFK for the Democratic nomination, and the hours before JFK’s death.

Woody Harrelson does an excellent job portraying LBJ (or at least the stereotype of LBJ). I was a bit fixated on his makeup job as it seemed…a bit odd. Harrelson played LBJ as the rather crude figure that he cut and who desperately wanted others to like him even as he seemed to go out of his way to be unlikeable. (At one point, one of his loyal minions mutters in reaction to his actions something to the effect that no wonder people don’t like him.)

Johnson’s power in the Senate is legendary and the movie shows this. He is always scheming and conniving, twisting arms for votes, or seeking compromise to maintain or nurture relationships. In one instance after he agreed to give a lucrative contract to a company in Georgia in order to court Senator Russell, someone balked at the idea of giving the contract to a company with such racist practices.

But Johnson gained a concession from Russell: the company would hire African-Americans as engineers. Johnson explained that it is “better to have him [Russell] inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.”—his version of “hold your friends close and your enemies closer”.

But the movie also shows a rather neutered Johnson as vice president to Kennedy. He is cut out of discussions and relegated to posts where he could not be effective. His political skills were wasted as vice president.

Why did Johnson agree to be vice president? That didn’t seem clear to me. Johnson was a calculating man, but I doubt that he could predict his rise to the presidency through the assassination of JFK.

Johnson seems to become himself, a leader who knows instinctively what to do, after an aide announces the death of JFK. He takes to the new role naturally. He calls former presidents and VIPs in government, seeking to gather as much knowledge as possible, to build coalitions, and to cement relationships. He is now back in his element.

But then we see his self-doubt. What is his presidency to be about? JKF’s men clearly want Kennedy’s legacy to be fulfilled. In what is probably the least satisfying bit of the movie, LBJ, a life-long southern Democrat (= anti-civil rights) makes a sharp turn to the left and embraces what will become his New Deal legislation.

Why did he make such a radical ideological left-turn? The movie suggests a comment from Lady Bird during self-doubt that he suffered early in his presidency. What would he be known for? He could claim execution of Kennedy’s vision.

I do not understand this as his reason for taking up the liberal mantle. By doing so, he betrayed his fellow southerners. Was it part of a calculation for getting elected in his own right? If so, then he indeed played the long game.

He ended up giving us the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Medicare, Medicaid, and Head Start. Liberal reform from the most unlikely of sources: a Texan Democrat when the southern Democrats were a racist bunch.

But then how could such a political pro so badly miscalculate his Vietnam strategy? LBJ seems to be a contradiction. A southern Democrat but supporter of civil rights. A man who so desperately wanted to be liked but insulted those around him in words and deed. LBJ doesn’t answer these questions but shows you the stereotypes (true or not) of the man. A political animal hated by many.

The photography of Brett Weston

I looked at the information about the new Brett Weston exhibit at the art museum. (Full disclosure: I knew nothing about Brett Weston before I went to the exhibit.) The information showed a black and white photo of a rocky beach. Huh. Like a photo I would take in northern California.

As I walked into the exhibit, two photos greeted me. I looked closely at the captions and squealed silently with delight. (Yes, squealed silently. You can do that. Kind of like when I mentally jump from foot to foot with excitement.)

One photo was the photo on the museum website. It was at Carmel Beach. I knew it! Northern California. He did photography in my old stomping grounds. The type of photo that I would take too.

The other photo was of trees in the mist. Knowing full well what they were, I double-checked the caption. Monterey. Yup. Monterey cypresses.

I sighed as I looked at his other photos. He shot at Point Lobos too. One of my favorite places.

Weston (1911-1993) used a medium format camera and created gelatin silver photographs. He was a modernist. I blinked at this word. Modernist. (I am used to thinking of modernist as a label when discussing design, not photography.) In the words of an informational plaque, “Weston understood that all black and white images are inherently an abstraction of reality.” OK. Modernist. Got it. He focused on shapes and textures, which black and white photography is well suited for. As a modernist, he explored abstraction.

Weston himself inherited a photographic legacy. His father, Edward (1886-1958), was considered the father of straight photography. And what is straight photography you might ask? (I didn’t know either.) Per the exhibit information: “This style [straight photography] relies on a simplified technique and dedication to sharp focus, rich tones, high details, and Modernism’s interest in underlying shapes.” Of course, black and white photography is the perfect medium for rich tones and high details.

Alas, the exhibit is small—perhaps 30 photos. Only a handful are Brett Weston’s. The others in the exhibit are from contemporaries of his, many of whom I didn’t know: Harry Callahan, Aaron Siskind, Charles E. Barnes, Manuel Alvarez Bravo, Minor White, and Berenice Abbott.

No photography exhibit of black and white photographs would be complete without Ansel Adams. The exhibit includes two Adams photographs: Half Dome and Jeffrey Pine Sentinel. (Side note: The Jeffrey Pine Sentinel is no longer quite so photogenic. I hiked to it about a dozen years ago. It had clearly aged a bit since Adams’ day and is now more of a gnarled, weatherworn tree trunk than a tree.)

Weston didn’t just photograph California trees or beaches. He was into abstract forms, whether a natural formation or an architectural edifice. I was excited to learn about him but a bit put out about his lack of environmental concern. Unlike Adams, Weston didn’t engage in broader, environmental issues. My new idol had clay feet.