Are Blacks Labeled Felons to Keep Them from Voting?

This from a reader:

I have been a fan of your blog for a long time. In fact you helped to establish my first wary steps into the discipline of philosophy. I struggled through your entries, persistent and confused, ultimately rewarded for my efforts. Your scathing, surly, incisive political commentary is a great alternative to my usual news consumption habits. Now, I admit that I am left-leaning, and so your perspective is refreshing. I understand that you have a particular interest, but your motto, "Study everything, join nothing," as led me to believe that you might approach my book suggestion with an open mind: "The New Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness."  Alas, the title is sensational but the information and research seems solid. I suggest the work in hopes that you might begin a running critique or dialogue upon the subject.

I thank the reader for his kind words and I find it gratifying that letters like his roll in at regular intervals, suggesting to me that my pro bono efforts are of some value. 

If I were to find the book the reader suggests at the local library I would check it out and read at least portions of it.  But I am not inclined to go out of my way to acquire it based on the following description from the Amazon page which I quote verbatim:

"Jarvious Cotton's great-great-grandfather could not vote as a slave. His great-grandfather was beaten to death by the Klu Klux Klan for attempting to vote. His grandfather was prevented from voting by Klan intimidation; his father was barred by poll taxes and literacy tests. Today, Cotton cannot vote because he, like many black men in the United States, has been labeled a felon and is currently on parole."

As the United States celebrates the nation's "triumph over race" with the election of Barack Obama, the majority of young black men in major American cities are locked behind bars or have been labeled felons for life. Although Jim Crow laws have been wiped off the books, an astounding percentage of the African American community remains trapped in a subordinate status–much like their grandparents before them.

In this incisive critique, former litigator-turned-legal-scholar Michelle Alexander provocatively argues that we have not ended racial caste in America: we have simply redesigned it. Alexander shows that, by targeting black men and decimating communities of color, the U.S. criminal justice system functions as a contemporary system of racial control, even as it formally adheres to the principle of color blindness. The New Jim Crow challenges the civil rights community–and all of us–to place mass incarceration at the forefront of a new movement for racial justice in America.

Before commenting on the above description, let me say that, first of all, like many conservatives, I didn't start out as one.  My background is working class, my parents were Democrats and so was I until the age of 41.  I came of age in the '60s.  One of my heroes was JFK, "the intrepid skipper of the PT 109" as I destribed him in a school essay.  I was all for the Civil Rights movement.    Musically my heroes were Bob Dylan and Joan Baez.  I thrilled to "Blowin' in the Wind" and other Civil Rights anthems.  As I see it, those civil rights battles were fought and they were won.  But then the rot set in as the the party of JFK liberals became the extremists and the leftists that they are today. For example, Affirmative Action in its original sense gave way to reverse discrimination, race-norming, minority set-asides, identity politics and the betrayal of Martin Luther King's dream that people be judged "not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."  As liberals have become extremists, people with moderate views such as myself have become conservatives.  These days I am a registered Independent.


Jarvious-Cotton_mugshot_140x140Now let's consider the first paragraph of the above description.  Mention is made of one Jarvious Cotton.  His mugshot is to the left.  This dude was convicted of two offenses, homicide/murder and armed robbery.  According to Michelle Alexander, author of the book in question, Cotton "has been labeled a felon."

So he was merely labeled a felon but is not a felon?  Or was the label properly applied?  Alexander is suggesting the former.  The suggestion, from the context of the first paragraph, is that blacks get 'labeled' felons to prevent them from voting.

But that is absurd.  Apart from the occasional wrongful conviction, blacks who are labeled felons are correctly  so-labeled because they have committed felonies.  Now should felons have the right to vote?  Of course not.  First of all, if you commit a felony, that shows you are pretty stupid: you don't know your own long-term best self-interest.  It shows that you have terrible judgment.  Murder and armed robbery are not elements in a life well-lived. A person like that should not be given a say on matters of public concern.  That should be obvious.  Second, part of the punishment for being a felon is removal of the right to vote.

No one is interested in disenfranchising blacks by 'labeling' them felons, but some blacks disenfranchise themselves by committing felonies.

There is also the misuse of language in the title of the book.  The New Jim Crow?  Nonsense.  Jim Crow is a thing of the past.

Does the U. S. criminal justice system "target black men" and "decimate communities of color"?  Is Atty Gen'l Eric Holder — who is black — in on this too?  What motive could they have?  The antecedent likelihood of this claim is so low that I cannot take it seriously.  It is on a level with the wild claims of the 9/11 'truthers' and the allegation that the CIA in the '80s dumped cocaine into South Central Los Angeles.

Forty Years Ago Today

My journal  entry for 29 October 1972 was just this: "To live a philosophical life in a tumultuous, uncertain world is my goal."

I pulled it off.  I found my niche.  I achieved my goal.   But to achieve goals one must first posit them, and herein lies another reason to maintain a journal.  One plans and projects.  And then, years later, one enjoys the fruition of those long past projections. 

The Halloween Dance

Wife went, I didn't.  She goes every year, I beg off every year.  Angel that she is, she doesn't begrudge me my nonattendance.  I'd rather think and trance than drink and dance.

Why?  Well, we know that drinking and dancing won't get us anywhere.  But it is at least possible that thinking and trancing will.

Why Keep a Journal?

It was 42 years ago today that I first began keeping a regular journal. Before that, as a teenager, I kept some irregular journals. Why maintain a journal? When I was 16 years old, my thought was that I
didn't want time to pass with nothing to show for it. That is still my thought. The unrecorded life is not worth living. For we have it on good authority that the unexamined life is not worth living, and how examined could an undocumented life be?


The maintenance of a journal aids mightily in the project of self-individuation. Like that prodigious journal writer Søren Kierkegaard, I believe we are here to become actually the individuals we are potentially. Our individuation is not ready-made or given, but a task to be accomplished. The world is a vale of soul-making; we are not here to improve it, but to be improved by it. 


Thoreau journalHenry David Thoreau, another of the world's great journal writers,  said in Walden that "Most men live lives of quiet desperation." I  would only add that without a journal, one's life is one of quiet dissipation. One's life dribbles away, day by day, unreflected on, unexamined, unrecorded, and thus fundamentally unlived. Living, for us, is not just a biological process; it is fundamentally a spiritual unfolding. To mean anything it has to add up to something, and that something cannot be expressed with a dollar sign.

I have always had a horror of an unfocused existence. In my early twenties, I spoke of the supreme desideratum of a focused existence.  What bothered me about the people around me, fellow students in particular, was the mere aestheticism of their existence: their aimless drifting hither and yon, their lack of commitment, their unseriousness, their refusal to engage the arduous task of   self-definition and self-individuation, their willingness to be guided and mis-guided by social suggestions. In one's journal one collects and re-collects oneself; one makes war against the lower self and the
forces of dispersion.

Another advantage to a journal and its regular maintenance is that one thereby learns how to write, and how to think. An unwritten thought is still a half-baked thought: proper concretion is achieved only by  expressing thoughts in writing and developing them. Always write as well as you can, in complete sentences free of grammatical and spelling errors. Develop the sentences into paragraphs, and if the  Muse is with you those paragraphs may one day issue in essays, articles, and chapters of books.

Finally, there is the pleasure of re-reading from a substantial temporal distance.  Two years ago I began re-reading my journal in order, month by month, at a 40 year distance.  So of course  now I am up to October 1972.  40 Years from now I will be at the present, or dead. One.

Farrell in Flagstaff

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It was my pleasure to meet science writer and long-time reader and friend of MavPhil, John Farrell, in Flagstaff Friday evening.  He was in town for a conference on the origins of the expanding universe, as he reports in Forbes here.  Flag is a lovely dorf sitting at 7,000 feet amongst the pines and home to the Lowell Observatory.  It is an excellent retreat from the heat  of the Valle del Sol where you would never catch me this time of year in long pants, jacket, and beret.

John and I are  standing in front of an excellent Mexican eatery on old Route 66.  I first heard about this joint  on Guy Fieri's Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.  As luck would have it, Farrell the Irishman is enthusiastic about Mexican chow.  Our tequila-fueled conversation was so good that I failed to clean my plate, a rare occurrence as my companions (literally those with whom one breaks bread, L. panis) know.

Perhaps the best thing about maintaining  a weblog is that it attracts like-minded, high-quality people some of whom one then goes on to meet in the flesh. 

A Test for Marital Compatibility: Travelling Together

DinerI just heard Dennis Prager say on his nationally syndicated radio show that travelling  together is a good test for marital compatibility. Sage advice.

Long before I had heard of Prager I subjected my bride-to-be to such a test.  I got the idea from the delightful 1982 movie The Diner.  One of the guys who hung out at the diner tested for marital suitability by administering a football quiz to his fiance.  That gave me the idea of taking my future wife on a cross-country trip from Cleveland, Ohio to Los Angeles, California in my Volkswagen bus.  This was not a camper bus, but a stripped-down model, so the amenities were meager-to-nonexistent.  I threw a mattress in the back, made some curtains, and hit the road.  That was in the summer of '82. The soundtrack from The Diner was one of the tapes we listened to on the way. I recall reading the Stephen King novel Cujo about the dog from hell when my inamorata drove.

We slept mainly at rest stops.  I had an old .38 Special with me for protection, which fortunately proved unnecessary.  What did we do for showers?  I don't think we took any.  We cleaned up at the rest stop facilities like true vagabundos and moved on.

One dark and starry night I pulled off Interstate 10 in  some desolate stretch of the Mojave desert. Wifey-to-be was scared but it was a memorable moonless star-studded night.  We made it to L. A., saw family and friends, then headed up old U. S. 395 along the eastern flank of the Sierra Nevada to Bishop, Cal,  where we visited some more of my people, then north to Reno, Nevada where we hooked up with I-80 and  pointed the old bus East.

Dear one took the rigors of that  trip 30 years ago like a trouper, and passed the test with flying colors.  We got married the following summer and remain happily married 29 summers later.

When I told the story to a feminazi some years back she gave me a hard and disapproving look.  She didn't like that I imposed a marital compatibility test upon my lady love.  Bitch!  So here's another bit of free and friendly advice. Marry an angel, never a bitch.  Life's enough of a bitch. You don't need to marry one.  Does your belllicosity need an outlet?  Fight outside the home.  Home should be an oasis of peace and tranquillity.

So once again I agree with Prager.  Check her or him out on the road before heading for the altar. 

Maverick Philosopher Eighth Blogiversary

I began this weblog eight years ago today in 2004.

The rumors of blogging's demise have been vastly exaggerated.  What has happened is that those whose purposes all along were more social and less serious have moved on to the so-called social media, Facebook and Twitter.   Read or unread, whether by sages or fools, I shall blog on. A post beats a tweet any day, and no day without a post. Nulla dies sine linea. It is too early to say of blogging what Etienne Gilson said of philosophy, namely, that it always buries its undertakers, but I am hopeful. After all, a weblog is just an online journal, and journal scribbling has flourished most interestingly for centuries.

To put it romantically, blogging is a vehicle for the relentless, quotidian sifting, seeking, and questing for sense and truth and reality without which some of us would find life meaningless.

This, the fourth version of Maverick Philosopher, was begun on 31 October 2008. Traffic is good, with 1.3 million total pageviews for this version alone.  That averages out to 1024 page views per day since Halloween 2008. This incarnation sports 3,333 posts.  I thank you for your patronage.

Politics: Would That I Could Avoid It

Using 'quietist' in a broad sense as opposed to the Molinos-Fenelon-Guyon sense, I would describe myself as a quietist rather than as an activist. The point of life is not action, but contemplation, not doing, but thinking. (I mean 'thinking' in a very broad sense that embraces all forms of intentionality as well as meditative non-thinking.)  The vita activa is of course necessary (for some all of the time, and for people like me some of the time), but it is necessary as a means only. Its whole purpose is to subserve the vita contemplativa. To make of action an end in itself is absurd, and demonstrably so, though I will spare you the demonstration. If you are assiduous you can dig it out of Aristotle, Aquinas and Josef Pieper.  I recommend his Leisure: The Basis of Culture.

So the dominant note of my personality is quietism in the sense just sketched. The Big Questions turn my crank, not this foreground rubbish about abortion, illegal immigration, social security, misuse of eminent domain, leftist race-baiting, etc. It would be nice to be able to let the world and its violent nonsense go to hell while cultivating my garden in peace.

Unfortunately, my garden and stoa are in the world and exposed to its threats. So politics, which has too little to do with truth and too much to do with power, cannot be ignored. This world is not ultimately real, but it is no illusion either, pace some sophists of the New Age, and so some battling within it, ideological or otherwise, cannot be  avoided.  Besides, the issues of the day all have roots in the Big Questions.  So an assiduous and deep-going application to the issues of the day will lead one to the Big Questions.  An excellent example is abortion.

Are You an Introvert?

The bolded material below is taken verbatim from Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking (Crown 2012), p. 13.  I then give my responses.  The more affirmative responses, the more of an introvert you are.

1. I prefer one-on-one conversations to group activities. Absolutely!  Especially in philosophical discussions.  As Roderick Chisholm once said, "In philosophy, three's a crowd."

2. I often prefer to express myself in writing.  Yes. 

3. I enjoy solitude.  Is the Pope Catholic?  Beata solitudo, sola beatitudo.  Happy solitude, the sole beatitude.

4. I seem to care less than my peers about wealth, fame, and status.  Seem?  Do!  Money is a mere means.  To pursue it as an end in itself is perverse.  And once you have enough, you stop acquiring more and turn to higher pursuits.   Obscurity is delicious.  To be able to walk down the street and pass as an ordinary schmuck is wonderful.  The value of fame and celebrity is directly proportional to the value of the fools and know-nothings who confer it.  And doesn't Aristotle say that to  be famous you need other people, which fact renders you dependent on them? Similarly with social status.  Who confers it? And what is their judgment worth?

5. I dislike small talk, but I enjoy talking in depth about topics that matter to me.  More than once in these pages have I ranted about the endless yap, yap, yap, about noth, noth, nothing.

6. People tell me I'm a good listener.  Yes.  My mind drifts back to a girl I knew when I was fifteen.  She called me her 'analyst' when she wasn't calling me 'Dr. Freud.'

7. I'm not a big risk-taker.  That's right.  I recently took a three-day motorcycle course, passed it, and got my license.  I  had been eyeing  the Harley-Davidson 883 Iron.  But then I asked myself how riding a motorcycle would further my life tasks and whether it makes sense, having come this far, to risk my life and physical integrity in pursuit of cheap thrills.

8. I enjoy work that allows me to "dive in" with few interruptions.  Right.  No instant messaging.  Only recently acquired a cell phone.  I keep it turned off.  Call me the uncalled caller.  My wife is presently in a faraway land on a Fulbright.  That allows me to unplug the land-line.  I love e-mail; fast but unintrusive.  I'll answer when I feel like it and get around to it.  I don't allow mself to be rushed or interrupted.

9. I like to celebrate birthdays on a small scale, with only one or two close friends or family members.  I don't see the point of celebrating birthdays at all. What's to celebrate?  First, birth is not unequivocally good.  Second, it is not something you brought about.  It befell you.  Better to celebrate some good thing that you made happen.

10. People describe me as "soft-spoken" or "mellow."  I'm too intense to be called 'mellow,' but sotto voce applies.

11. I prefer not to show or discuss my work with others until it is finished.  Pretty much, with the exception of these blog scribblings. 

12. I dislike conflict.  Can't stand it.  Hate onesidedness.  I look at a problem from all angles and try to mediate oppositions  when possible.  I thoroughly hate, reject, and abjure the blood sport approach to philosophy.  Polemic has no place in philosophy.  This is not to say that it does not have a place elsewhere, in politics for example. 

13. I do my best work on my own.  Yes.  A former colleague, a superficial extrovert, once described me as 'lone wolf.'

14. I tend to think before I speak.  Yes.

15. I feel drained after being out and about, even if I've enjoyed myself.  Yes.  This is a common complaint of introverts.  They can take only so much social interaction.  It depletes their energy and they need to go off by themselves to 'recharge their batteries.'  In my case, it is not just an energy depletion but a draining away of my  'spiritual substance.'  It is as if one's interiority has been compromised and one has entered into inauthenticity, Heidegger's Uneigentlichkeit.  The best expression of this sense of spiritual depletion is probably Kierkegaard's remark in one of his early journal entries about a party he attended:

I have just returned from a party of which I was the life and soul; witty banter flowed from my lips, everyone laughed and admired me — but I came away, indeed that dash should be as along as the radii of the earth's orbit ———————————————————- wanting to shoot myself. (1836)

16. I often let calls go through to e-mail.  Yes. See comment to #8 above.

17. If I had to choose, I'd prefer a weekend with absolutely nothing to do to one with too many things scheduled.  I love huge blocks of time, days at a stretch, with no commitments whatsoever. Dolce far niente.  Sweet to do nothing.

18. I don't enjoy multitasking.  Right. One thing at a time.

19. I can concentrate easily.  Obviously, and for long stretches of time.

20. In classroom sitations, I prefer lecture to seminars.  Especially if I'm doing the lecturing.

Here is a description of the Myers-Briggs INTP.  And here is another.

Philosophy, Superman, and Richard C. Potter

I was pleased to hear from Patrick Kurp of Anecdotal Evidence this morning.  He inquired:

About four or five years ago you wrote about an American writer and thinker, perhaps an academic philosopher, who published, I believe, two books and seemed to disappear. You had difficulty finding information about him online. I believe you said he had an interest in East Asian thought. His “career” was eccentric by conventional standards and he seemed to be something of a loner.

Then I remembered a post of mine which begins:

This post examines Richard C. Potter's solution to the problem of reconciling creatio ex nihilo with ex nihilo nihil fit in his valuable article, "How To Create a Physical Universe Ex Nihilo," Faith and Philosophy, vol. 3, no. 1, (January 1986), pp. 16-26. (Potter appears to have dropped out of sight, philosophically speaking, so if anyone knows what became of him, please let me know. The Philosopher's Index shows only three articles by him, the last of which appeared in 1986.)

I don't know whether Potter is the man Kurp had in mind, but the former does satisfy part of Kurp's description.  In any event, the Richard Potter story is an interesting one. 

I recall talking to him, briefly, in the summer of 1981 at Brown University.  I was a participant in Roderick Chisholm's National Endowment for the Humanities  Summer Seminar, and Potter, who I believe had recently completed his Ph.D. at Brown, sat in on a few sessions.  My impression was he that he was unable to secure a teaching position.  I also recall a slightly derogatory comment I made about the Midwest and  how one might have to go there to find employment.  Potter's mild-mannered reply was to the effect that he preferred the Midwest over other geographical regions.  His name stuck in my mind probably because of a paper on the paradox of  analysis he co-authored with Chisholm and because of  the F & P article mentioned above.  See here.  But then he dropped out of  philosophical sight.

A few years back, I did a search and he turned up again as a George Reeves and Superman aficionado.  So here is part of the rest of the Potter story.  Here  is Potter's George Reeves site.

A checkered career, his.

I too enjoyed the Superman series while growing up in the '50s.   Some thoughts of mine on George Reeves are in Superman: The Moral of the Story.

What I Like About Wittgenstein

He was one serious man.  I have always had contempt for unserious people, unserious people in philosophy being the very worst. You know the type: the bland and blasé  whose civility is not born of wisdom and detachment but is a mere urbanity sired by a jocose superficiality.  I have always had the sense that something is stake in life, that it matters what we believe and how we live. What exactly is at stake, why our lives matter, and how best to respond to nihilists and Nietzsche's Last Men are profoundly baffling problems.  But that life is serious is a given.

Perhaps unfortunately, Wittgenstein seemed unable to 'punch the clock' and play the regular guy among regular guys for even a short time.  Wittgenstein died in the house of Dr and Mrs Bevan, a house that bore the auspicious name, 'Storeys End.'  Ray Monk relates the following anecdote:

Before Wittgenstein moved into their house, Dr Bevan had invited him for supper to introduce him to his wife.  She had been warned that Wittgenstein was not one for small talk and that she should be careful not to say anything thoughtless.  Playing it safe, she remained silent throughout the evening.  But when Wittgenstein mentioned his visit to Ithaca, she chipped in cheerfully,  'How lucky for you to go to America!' She realized at once that she had said the the wrong thing.  Wittgenstein fixed her with an intent stare: 'What do you mean, lucky?'  (Ludwig Wittgenstein: The Duty of Genius, p. 576.)

Poor Mrs Bevan!  The first shot depicts LW in 1925, the second on his death bed in 1951.

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Saturday Night at the Oldies: Gerry Rafferty

The Guardian obituary has him born on 16 April 1947 and dead on 4 January 2011.  I recall his smash Baker Street from the far-off and fabulous summer of 1978.  It came over the car radio in my quondam girl friend's Toyota  many times as we drove from Boston, Mass to Dayton, O to secure me an apartment there.  I hated leaving the Athens of America for the dreary Midwest, but I had landed a tenure-track job and one goes where the jobs are.  In retrospect, I was extremely lucky to get that job.  Was I the best of the 100 people who applied for it?  Not even I believe that.