The Church, Dating & Mental Health

This is a scary place to find a date. Probably because it's haunted. [Photo by A Quiverful of Fotos]

I wanted to write a brief (or maybe not so brief) companion piece to my "Undateable" series about the complexities of mental health within the context of church dating.

Let's say you are a Christian and you want to date someone who shares your beliefs. Are you more likely to end up dating someone with a personality disorder (or other mental disorder) if you choose to date within the context of a church?

To be clear, I am not saying that suffering from depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, OCD, or any other mental disorder or illness disqualifies anyone for dating or makes a person undateable. I do not believe this at all.

Nor am I saying that a person must have resolved all of their emotional issues before dating. If that were case, no one would ever date, myself included.

Disclaimers aside, I think there are certain personality disorders that might make a person more likely to cause harm to others within the context of dating. And those who have these personality disorders may be predisposed to attend church.

In my "Undateable" series, I write about different attributes I've encountered dating (or not dating) Christian men--things like misogyny, cowardice, racism and not taking "No" for an answer.

Although these attributes are not necessarily related to mental health, in some cases, I feel like they are caused by or co-occur with a personality disorder.

[This is not to take away from the fact that a person with a personality disorder is fully human and fully worthy of love, respect and acceptance, but never at the expense of another person's safety.]

Some examples of potentially damaging behavior within the context of dating include physical and emotional abuse, stalking, obsessive pursuit, disrespect of communicated boundaries and rigid gender roles.

I want to be careful here--diagnosing anyone with a personality disorder is obviously not something I am qualified to do.

However, I can hypothesize that in some cases, mental health is the issue. I would also argue that the culture of dating within the church is inherently dysfunctional, and thus encourages dysfunctional behavior and ways of relating to the opposite sex.

So, to make the point I came here to make:

I think that racist or sexist remarks can be a sign that the person you are dating has a personality disorder, particularly if they make little sense within the existing social context (i.e., the surrounding social group is usually neither blatantly racist nor sexist).

Also, racist or sexist jokes or statements can be a precursor to abuse. It might be worth thinking more about our collective tolerance for hateful or devaluing statements about the Other and whether or not we are encouraging or enabling an abusive dynamic to take place between the church and the culture, as well as between one individual and another.

To what extent does the church tolerate sexism, racism and homophobia and to what extent does this tolerance contribute to abuse, particularly of those who are the most spiritually and emotionally vulnerable?

Perhaps we could love and accept the broken (all of us, according to Christian theology) while also being wholly intolerant of anything that devalues another human being.

Undateable: Why Single Christian Guys Are All Dented Cans - The Racist

Coming never to a store near you

[Catch up on the premise of this series here.]

I know you've all been waiting with bated breath for this next installment--

And on the docket today for cringey subject matter, racism.

It probably won't shock you to know that, like misogyny, racism is a deal-breaker for me in a dating relationship. This hardly feels like ground breaking territory.

After all, how many of us look at a prospective dating partner and think, "You know what would be really awesome? If he/she were just a little bit racist every once in while, just to keep me on my toes as an ethnic minority."

No. Highly doubtful.

But despite that generally accepted reality, I dated a racist Christian guy.

This is embarrassing and shameful for me to admit. How could that even happen? I'm a college-educated, biracial feminist who studied English literature. I've read Spivak and Bhabha for crying out loud. That **** takes commitment (and roughly four cups of coffee or 20 cups of tea, depending on whether you're stateside or across the pond).

Here's my theory: we tend to work with a simplified framework of reality when it comes to other people.

So in my non-hypothetical case, I have a framework in my mind about Jack's character. I think of him as highly sensitive and extremely compassionate based on the sum of all my interactions with him (the mathematical function of our relationship).

So when Jack says something that doesn't fit within the framework--"Sensitive to other people's feelings," "Compassionate," my mind places these utterances outside of the established framework as rare exceptions.

The same holds true with racist comments. Far from pouncing on a statement with a gleeful, "Aha! I knew it! All white people harbor secret racist thoughts," my mind seeks to integrate the new information into previously held conceptions about Jack's basic character.

There's no way someone this empathetic could be racist. Right?
I must have misunderstood what he said. I think he meant something different.
But he's a Christian.

To return to the subject of this post, whether or not someone is a Christian seems to be only a very mild marker of whether or not he/she is also racist (completely debatable of course).

Observationally, however, a shared belief system like Christianity can function much like a shared disgust for the Other, whatever or whomever that Other might be.

"We're Christians so of course we think ____ is disgusting/sinful/wrong."

More observational thoughts about the intersection between being a Christian dude and being racist.:

The "Other" and Disgust

When I've heard Christian guys that I dated (or didn't) say something racist or bigoted or prejudiced, I couldn't help but register the tone of disgust.

Isn't that what racism is, in a way? Gut-level disgust about this inferior group of people? Whether they're destroying America, rioting in the streets about injustice, or brutally asserting their worth as human beings, nothing done by "people like us" ever seems to elicit an even remotely similar reaction.

Even if it's not aimed at you, you feel it like a punch in the stomach.

I want to make a quick note here about the possible connection between racist remarks and having a personality disorder. I mention this later on, but I hypothesize that there is a potential connection--and I want to point it out as a red flag: The person you are dating might not only be slightly racist, but also emotionally dangerous.

The "Other" and Forced Teaming

Gavin de Becker talks about forced teaming in his great book "The Gift of Fear." Basically, the predator uses the tone and language of "we're in this together" to establish rapport and trust with his victim. Example: a stranger points out that you're both unprepared for the rain, commiserates with you about your lack of an umbrella, and then offers to give you a ride in his car. [STRANGER DANGER]

Racist remarks can function in much the same way. A conspiratorial lowering of the voice (ooh, I'm being so daring and countercultural right now, I can't even). The message:

We're in this together.
We both feel the same way about this controversial issue.
We're superior and better than those other people.
You agree with me by default, because you're clearly not part of an inferior racial minority.

My silent response making me a co-conspirator, implicating me in the same kinds of beliefs--to challenge them would be to lose the relationship. I betrayed myself. And I hate myself for it.

I reached a turning point in dealing with this particular relationship when I realized that the racist (and sexist) remarks were far from the exception to the rule--they were beyond calculated and intentional. Far from being the isolated pinpricks in a compassionate, honest and loving relationship, they were the deliberate wounds of an abuser.

He discovered my deepest vulnerabilities. And wielded that knowledge like a weapon to hurt, manipulate and control me.

The "Other" and Political Correctness

Something odd tends to happen if you even hint to a man that he might be racist or sexist.

He begins clutching his pearls (haha), crying, "No! Not me! I would never believe such things. What kind of sick, twisted monster do you think I am?"

Because apparently, calling someone a racist is stopping just short of calling them a child molester.

Well, let me be neither the first nor the last to say:

"He doth protest too much."

Often, after letting you know that you've offended his delicate, white male sensibilities, he follows with, "Well, I'm not politically correct if that's what you mean."

I have a theory about not being politically correct:

Speaking the language of politically incorrect is a way for those without any real power to puff themselves up--like the so-called "alpha male" who is secretly insecure and terrified of his own weakness.

Why are Christian men politically incorrect?

1. They feel personally disempowered in their lives and adopt what they perceive to be the vocabulary of power (politically incorrect speech) as a posture of "I can say whatever I want whenever I want, but only around people who are like me and agree with me and only about people who are less powerful than I am and unlikely to fight back." See also, cowardice.

2. Christian dudes refrain from challenging other Christian dudes in Christian Bro-centric environments.

Being politically incorrect is putting on a brave face for the lads--what with all the oppressive powers of feminism making it impossible to be a "real man," because God knows, merely having a penis is just about enough to get you locked up these days.

Church & Patriarchy

Speaking of power, perhaps the church tends to attract men who feel disempowered in other areas of life. The church, unlike other contexts, tends to place a premium on male leadership--even more progressive churches do this. So a man who is not a leader in any other part of his life might find himself an integral part of church leadership.

Of course this is speculative, but I would observationally argue that men who attend church might feel a greater sense of being victimized and disempowered in other parts of their lives, and so seek out greater involvement at a church that values them and their contributions. They might lack power politically, socially (be socially awkward, for example), economically (unemployed or underemployed), or romantically (perceive themselves as the "nice guy" that women always reject).

Just to reiterate: We are all dented cans. Male or female. White, Black, Asian or Hispanic. However, the sense of victimization that seems to come from the gap between being apparently privileged--you're white and male! Go you!--and the reality of working at Coffee Bean, relying on your parents for gas money, and asking women out only to be repeatedly rejected--feels somewhat specific to the demographic I am writing about.

Again speculatively, in this day and age for white men, I'm not sure if racism or politically incorrect language can be entirely separated from a personal sense of victimization.

Note: Playing the victim is a common sociopathic trope.

Clearly I am not saying that all men who say racist things are sociopathic (just the guy I dated).

But, I think that this sense of victimization dulls a person's empathy to any and all who are perceived as Other. After all, if you gain part of your sense of self from being a victim of society, why the hell would you want to share that power with someone else?

And what defines a sociopath? Lack of empathy. And that's not the kind of guy that I want to date.

So to conclude an overlong post: Racism bad. Racist guy bad. Racist Christian guy--the worst.

Have a great day.

Up next in the series, men who won't take "No" for an answer, or The Myth of Persistence.

Racist people don't think they're racist

I bet Donald Sterling wouldn't call himself a "racist." In fact, I'll bet you three housing discrimination lawsuits that HE is the victim in this unfortunate and regrettable situation.

When's the last time someone was accused of racism and said, "You know, you're right. I am a racist." 

No. No one considers themselves a racist just like no one considers himself/herself a "bad person." It just isn't done. 

It's like the guy I dated who called me a "bitch" and referred to other women as "bitches" but who was certainly no misogynist. 

Or the same guy who, when I called him out on his racist comments, insisted that he "didn't actually believe those things." He was merely throwing softballs at me so I could "knock them out of the park." 

That's all they were. Softballs. Racist softballs. Racist softballs thrown at my head. 

Racism. It's all just a game and somehow I'm always up at bat. Or standing at the free throw line--the outcome riding on whether or not I can make the shot. 

And there's the rub. Racist/sexist people are not even a tad bit bothered by your righteous indignation. They're not interested in your arguments. They're not interested in change or transformation or regeneration.

No. 

If they suffer, it is the world's fault. 

They are misunderstood. They are hurt. They are attacked. They are vilified. Unfairly.

All your righteous indignation does is assure other people--or maybe just yourself--that you are not racist. You are not like that. You are not Donald Sterling. 

I'm struck by the fact that: 

A: Sterling purportedly dated a woman who describes herself as racially mixed. 

B: Sterling donated a lot of money to the NAACP.

I don't find these things surprising. 

After all, isn't love often mixed with hatred, generosity with contempt, kindness with cruelty?

Is calling someone a "racist" part of white privilege?

Apparently some Americans found this Superbowl commercial offensive because "America the Beautiful" was sung in different languages.

I saw many people on facebook (mostly white) calling these people out and using the word "racist" quite indiscriminately.

There were (bloodless) calls for social media blood to be spilled.

This got me thinking: is using the word "racist" with equanimity and aplomb part of white privilege?

I'm not white (wouldn't you know). And I think long and hard before I even talk about race let alone use such a loaded term as "racist."

Why?

One look at me, and you would know that I have skin in the game (not white).

I'm not white.

Not white.

Got it? I'm not white. And therefore for me to even talk about race means that I am not objective. I am wholly subjective, biased, non-neutral, and prejudiced.

Because of my not-whiteness, I have no credibility.

To be white is to be untouched by history, free from the shackles of the past, free to disclaim responsibility for the actions of not-my-ancestors, free from the burden of guilt and shame that racism represents--

"I am not responsible. Not my past. Not my history. Not my family. Not my burden."

[I feel like this is the crux of white privilege. White privilege says, "I don't care because I don't have to care. I see you over there carrying this burden, but I don't want to know about it. I'm not interested. I'd rather ignore it. That's your problem that you feel that way. I'm sorry, but it's your choice, not mine. Your burden has nothing to do with me."]

My ethnic ambiguity testifies to my lack of clear-headed thinking about racism. And people don't always respond particularly well when I talk about race or when I use the word "racist."

I've experienced some of this righteous indignation before. I've used the word "racist" relatively casually and been not-so-subtly challenged and rebuked.

I've found that using the word "racist" can shut down entire conversations, entire relationships. Except, looking back, I wasn't the one who used the word.

It was more like, "You think I'm a racist? How dare you."

To be honest, blatant racism doesn't really interest me that much. To quote M. Scott Peck quoting Simone Weil, "Imaginary evil is romantic and varied; real evil is gloomy, monotonous, barren, boring."

The word "racist" is the exact opposite: inflammatory, loaded, weighted, the worst thing you could possibly call someone (which, if you notice, is not the same as "the worst thing you could possibly be").

So in a world where calling someone a racist is such a terrible thing (worse than actually being racist), I want to ask:

Is there room to talk about the everyday banality of racism. The ordinary kind. The kind that doesn't make the news?

I ask, if you didn't feel righteous indignation, what would you feel?

What would it mean for "racist" to be merely a descriptor, not the word you hurl at your worst enemies?

What if "racist" wasn't used to shut down conversations, but to start them anew?

Racism, Racialism & The Spontaneous Combustion of Facebook Friends

So this happened:

A white man publicly shaming an Asian woman over--get this--prepackaged food sold from a retail grocery chain.

A civilized discourse on facebook about the relative merits of Trader Joe's Authentically Korean Seaweed Salad with Spicy Dressing, and then--

BOOM. He was gone. In a blaze of glory. All that was left was the faintly acrid smell of confusion and freeze dried kimchi.

And oh man. How could it be more perfect. I especially enjoyed the "Have a nice life while I remove you from my friends list" and the reference to calling yourself a Christian and making racist and homophobic comments (has this guy talked to any Christians recently? How about in the last 500 years?).

[How is it that when someone says "Have a nice life" they almost never mean it?]

We don't tar and feather wrongdoers anymore. Worse. We defriend them. Publicly.

What exactly is going on here? What should be considered racist? Is any generalization related to race "racist"? Should we dismiss all cries of racism as politically correct BS?

First, I'm going to make a distinction: racist v. racialist.

Making a generalization based on race is racialist but no necessarily racist, see the helpful tune from Avenue Q, Everyone's A Little Bit Racist for more details.

Obviously, you don't have to be white to make a negative (or otherwise) generalization based on race. Can you spot the racist statement?

"Wow, there are a lot of latino people in this sushi restaurant."

"That guy over there is black."

"I think Indian girls are hot."

"Most Asian people drive green Fiats."

"All white people are racist."

Okay. That was an easy one. Point taken.

HOWEVER

Have white Germans been systematically and historically oppressed, humiliated, excluded, killed or otherwise mistreated for not being able to make tasty Korean food?

No.

Now, before anyone starts picketing this blog holding signs that read "I'm white and I make a mean batch of kimchi," let me point out that context matters. History matters.

People who think that context and history don't matter usually think we shouldn't talk about race at all, which I suppose is the ultimate form of political correctness.

The problem with calling all racial generalizations "racist" is that it obscures real racism, a racism that goes far beyond "white people don't make Korean food as well as Korean people do."

If all generalizations based on race are racist, then we have no choice but to conclude that we are all racist, and isn't that wonderful because we're all the same and why can't we all just get along and laugh about it?

In Mindy Lahiri Is a Racist, the show makes fun of racist stereotypes [LOL] and politically incorrect gaffes without ever pointing out that, hey, inequality sucks.

I would argue that the most insidious form of racism is not "Asian women can't drive," but something much more systematic and subtle.

Ta-Nehisi Coates writes, "Racism is not merely a simplistic hatred. It is, more often, broad sympathy toward some and broader skepticism toward others."

George Zimmerman or Trayvon Martin?

Is the "knockout game" really a thing?

Are white people victims of reverse racism?

I wonder why this spontaneous combustion of facebook friends seems to happen to white men. White dudes: battling for equality and respect one incendiary facebook comment at a time [See what I just did there?]

There must be something more going on. No one gets this upset about Korean Style Beef Short Ribs.

Just don't dis my Chicken Tikka Masala with Cumin Flavored Basmati Rice. If Trader Joe's ever stopped carrying it I would probably starve.

What you believe about race doesn't matter

I don't care if you're racist. 

Really. I don't. 

I don't care if Mel Gibson is anti-Semitic, I don't care if Alec Baldwin is homophobic, I don't care if you're racist. 

It's a moot point. 

Listen, I don't give a **** about your personal character. 

I care about what you say. 

When you say racist things, I care, because this about the content of your words, not the content of your character.

Whether or not you're "racist" or "sexist" or "homophobic" can be a question between you and God, or you and yourself, or you and your next-door neighbor, Bob. 

Go ahead. Search your heart. Send a team of resourceful and dedicated spelunkers into the caverns of your soul. And if in the end, you find not a single hateful thought toward anyone at any time for any reason related to gender, ethnicity, or sexual orientation, then great. I'm sure you'll sleep soundly tonight. 

But when you say, "Asian people always ____"

Or, "Gay people are ____" 

Or something about Us v. Them--

I care. Because words matter. Words like "bitch" or "slut" or "fag" or the N-word have power. They have history. They have baggage. 

So let's skip the wounded indignation, the part where you insist that there is nary a hate-mongering bone in your body:

Who me, a racist? Me, a homophobe? Me, a sexist? But I love women. My best friend is Asian. My favorite color is purple.

Why do I care?

I care because your words, whether you mean them or not, are part of a larger system of injustice.

I'm strongly with John Stuart Mill on this one: Say whatever you want to say. But saying whatever you want to say and then demanding freedom from censure because "I'm a good person" or "That's not what I meant" is the exact opposite of taking responsibility.

So let's skip the non-apology, the sorry-I'm-not-sorry: 

"I regret that you've mistaken me for someone who treats others poorly because of their race. You must have me confused with an actual racist. If you could only peruse my personal history at length, you would find that I've always treated every single person with the utmost respect, regardless of the color of their skin."

It may never be conscious. It may never be active. It might look nothing like hate. But you are making the world just a little bit worse. 

So, who cares if you're racist (or sexist)? You are participating in and perpetuating a system of discrimination, exclusion, prejudice, abuse, violence, hatred and death.

Like I said. Who cares.

Inspired by: 

What You Believe About Homosexuality Doesn't Matter

"But I don't have any power" or Why "privilege" is a dirty word

The more I'm not supposed to talk about something, the more I want to talk about it, so:

Privilege. Privilege. Privilege. PRIVILEGE!!!

The other day, some guy called my friend a "slut."

Now, it was all in good fun. [Not in good taste, perhaps, but certainly in good fun.]

Not to get into the semantics of it all, but my friend is not a "slut."

Guess what. He was using the term ironically.

I know. I KNOW. So freaking clever. I cannot even.

So--back to my story:

He called her a slut. [As is his God-given right.]

She objected to the term. [As is her God-given right. Assuming God grants rights for these sorts of things.]

"It was a joke."

[There's nothing worse than a girl who won't take a joke--especially if it concerns her sexual honor.]

As jokes go, I guess it was passable if a bit too easy [ha ha].

But besides being politically incorrect, what's wrong with playfully calling someone a slut?

Power.

That's right. You are implying that you (a man) have the power to make a value judgement (slut) about me (a woman) based on [the number of people I've slept with, the clothes I'm wearing, the way I carry myself, how I choose to interact with you, etc.]

Playful? Yes. Affectionate? Perhaps. Power play? Absolutely.

"But I don't have any power."

To determine if you have any power, ask yourself:

If the tables were turned and a woman called me a slut (in jest), would the word carry the same negative connotations [mean the same thing]?

The icky, uncomfortable truth:

Women, historically, have been shamed for their sexuality in ways that men never have. Words like "slut" have been used and are used to shame and control women and their sexuality.

[Notice that this is not about what you actually believe. Maybe you think women should never be shamed for their sexuality, or maybe this is all part of your plan to subtly shame even women who fit within your narrow definitions of "not a slut," in which case, bravo.]

I realize this is not your fault.

But realize that you have the power in this situation.

It's not fair. It's not right. It's not your fault. I get it.  You're poor and have no health insurance. You take the bus everyday because you don't have a car. You're uncomfortable with the idea of power. You voted for the other guy. You've worked hard for every break you ever got. You have a lot of black friends. You don't go through your day thinking, "I wonder what's on Netflix, AND OH BY THE WAY, who can I oppress next?"

It's uncomfortable. It's unfortunate. It's unfair.

But I'm not sorry for pointing it out. I'm not sorry at all.



More on privilege:

White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack

The Male Privilege Checklist

Facebook & The Outrage Machine

I can't BELIEVE something like this would happen in AMERICA!!!!

WHERE HAVE ALL THE REAL MEN GONE!!???

Proof that all politicians are SLIME and a giant BOIL on the face of humanity!!

Sound familiar? 

Welcome to the outrage machine. The only rule of the outrage machine: Be angry. Very, very angry.

And there's a lot to be angry about, in this world. Just look at the news: rape, murder, genocide, natural disaster, child neglect and abuse, and on and on. Too many terrible things, too few Twitter characters to contain them all.

Outrage is often the best response--or if not the best, then the most instinctive.

That being said, I'm taking a step back and looking at outrage from several different angles.

Outrage as drug

The dirty little secret about outrage is that it feels good. It feels right. It feels righteous.

Surely righteous anger has been the catalyst for many courageous and revolutionary movements throughout history.

Anger can rouse us from depression, from angst, from feeling like a victim, from passivity, from fear.

But what if it becomes a drug? What if outrage forges familiar neural pathways that we revisit over and over and over again?

Outrage as manipulation

A lot of the outrage on facebook (or other forms of social media) is manipulative, flat out. That doesn't make it right or wrong, but it does make it too easy--

Too easy to go to that place of outrage, to the chest-heaving, eye-dilating, fist-clenching, teeth-gritting, heart-racing automatic and autonomic response.

Some of us have that one facebook friend who functions as our own personal outrage machine. I used to have one of those. Then I blocked their feed. It was that simple. I had so much free time on my hands I took up knitting AND making pie crust from scratch. I was a much more peaceful person (not really).

It seems easy to acknowledge that certain status updates, links, articles, blog posts, etc. are specifically designed to elicit outrage. They manipulate our emotions to get a certain kind of response.

Outrage as money

It's weird to think of outrage as dollars and cents, but that's exactly what it is in click-baity journalism. Just think about it. Someone is manipulating one of your most powerful emotions to make money. [Oh wait, that's all advertising.] And again, this doesn't make outrage right or wrong. I would, however, question the motives of those peddling outrage for profit.

Outrage as narrative

Here's where it gets interesting (for me).

I'm worried that as outrage becomes a default response, we will begin to tune out the things that don't push our own personal outrage buttons. If it doesn't match our own particular "narrative of outrage," it doesn't register.

I'm concerned that many outrage narratives foster an "Us v. Them" mentality, not necessarily an "Us v. Rapists" mentality (Note: Rape = Bad) but an "Us v. Small Town Football" or "Us v. Republicans" or "Us v. The Idiots Who Voted for Obama."

There simply isn't enough outrage to go around. Even I, a feminist, have a limited supply (And I eat outrage for breakfast, like cheerios).

And the not-so-shocking truth about racism, or sexism, or homophobia, or many other social evils is that in real life, they're depressingly banal and hardly outrageous enough to earn a stint on Jerry Springer, let alone 45,634 shares on facebook.

"And now for a very controversial after school special wherein Connie's coworker rolls his eyes condescendingly when she offers to help him create a PDF in Microsoft Word."

Oh the humanity.

I'm more interested in the ordinary, the blase, the familiar and unquestioned. I want to interrogate the logic of sexism, of racism, of all kinds of violence and prejudice. 

I think there are "good" people who believe some pretty messed up things. I think there are good people who participate in and perpetuate a culture that I don't believe in, a culture that (honestly), I hate. To state it more blatantly, there are people that I like, people that I love or would have loved had I known them, who participate(d) in and perpetuate(d) a culture that I hate. 

And the "Us v. Them" binary starts to crumble.

So, to recap, the downsides of outrage:

• Outrage puts you in "fight or flight." [Which can be useful if you need to fight!]
• Repeatedly posting outrage click-bait might cause people to start tuning you out (or blocking your fb feed).
• Outrage creates "buttons," not stories. 
• Outrage is where nuance and subtlety go to die. 
• Outrage is exhausting

Humor as an alternative to outrage

I'm not saying that the opposite of outrage is bland amusement, or that rape jokes are always the best response to rape (although rape jokes can be one of the most subversive responses to rape culture, and no, "I'm going to rape you right now! Hahahahahaha" is not a subversive rape joke, or much of a joke, for that matter).

I'm saying that humor can accomplish what outrage cannot. It can turn things on their heads. It can offer a fresh perspective. It can tilt the world just enough that you see a piece of the sky that you've never seen before. It can feel like hope.

Which is perhaps a post for another time.