p_c_neary@hotmail.com

Claiming Poetic License

I am Pat. Pat-I-am. Pat-the-exPat is who I am. I like the expat that I am.

But do you like a leaky pipe? Does it keep you up at night?

I do not like it, exPat-I-am. I would not like it, that's how I am.

Where would you like to have a leak? Would you like it, in the street?

I would not like it in my house.
I would not like it, nor would my spouse.
I do not like it at my feet, I do not like it in the street!
I do not like the noisy boys, who dig and scrape with noisy toys.
They dig and dig, all day long, but where they dig is always wrong.
The workers come, the workers go; the holes they dig, they grow and grow!

But would you like the leak if found? I bet you would, you would come 'round!

I would not like it here or there, I would not like it anywhere!
I would not like it large or small, I would not like it, one drop or all.
I do not want it near my plants, or by my stairs, or in my pants!
I do not want it in the yard, or close at hand, or very far.
The pipe still leaks under the ground, while hammers croon a jackin' sound.
The piles grow, the holes they deepen, the pipes they go on a-leakin'

Would you like the leak, if fixed? Surely that would do the trick?

I would like the leak, if fixed. Like it gone, and then not missed!
I would like the leaking stopp-ed, the stones reset, the plants re-potted,
I would like the piles gone, the holes filled in, the workers done.
I would say "gracias, adios"; the workers would dance and count their pesos.
I will throw a big fiesta, but first I will take a short siesta.
Closing my eyes, my heart did skip. . . did I just hear another drip?

Perspective

I write this on the morn of election day, in the Year of Our Lord 2020 (and what a fraught phrase that is!).

These past few weeks, I have noticed increasingly tense private comments and media commentary from those NOB. People cast this election as Good versus Evil. They question any outcome other than the one they want as fixed or fraudulent. They ascribe the worst of intentions to the other side: Racism or Communism, Fascism or Lawlessness, Theocracy or Enforced Atheism. Major media sources have articles about ‘how to survive election day’ or ‘how to prevent an election-induced panic attack’ or ‘how to deal with them,’ the loathsome other.

I don’t see it. First off, hyperbole sells papers (or ratings), so to speak. And people naturally engage in it. But do you really believe it? Imagine this: thirty years from now, your great-great grandchildren ask you: “what did you do in the great battle of good versus evil, Gramps?” You take a deep breath and intone, “Well, I liked a bunch of FaceBook posts, I shared some disparaging pictures on Instagram, I did a mess of re-tweets, and I voted!” Harrumph. No, if you really believe this is a metaphysical contest of Good versus Evil, you would be cleaning your rifle and organizing for battle. But you’re not. Because it isn’t.

I continue to suggest this election is simply, well, another vote. That the trends which led to the Trump Presidency remain in effect, and that President Trump is more a symptom of those trends than the cause (although I admit he contributes, oh, does he contribute!). What are those trends?

The coarsening of our culture. It is now acceptable to use public vulgarity to refer to elected officials. People attack one another not as “wrong” but as racist or anti-American. Those with whom you disagree must be hounded out of restaurants, or off social media, or out of jobs.
The acceptability of violence. Have a traffic dispute? Shoot it out. Police default to escalation, again and again and again. Looting is either promoted or defended as the associated protests are mostly peaceful (a wonderful euphemism, that).
The reliance on emotion or feeling over facts. Masks work, people. The Y chromosome is real, folks. The climate is changing, y’all. Everybody was once an embryo (and vice versa). One can argue with how we put those facts into perspective for public policy, but now we simply choose to ignore the ones we don’t like.

And that’s just off the top of my head. So we’re doomed, right? Nope, not at all. History provides a clue, for those willing to study and learn from it.

The 1864 election looked to be a cliff hanger until Generals Grant and Sherman provided military victories and the resulting enthusiasm carried Abraham Lincoln in a landslide to a second term. You want a Good versus Evil election? Lincoln versus McClellan, who wanted an amicable peace permitting the continuation of slavery in the South. You think it’s violent now? How about an election during a civil war!

What’s the lesson for today? Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address is a masterpiece of brevity and grace. In the face of hundreds of thousands dead, facing more violence to come, he spoke only of reconciliation:

With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan
Abraham Lincoln

Lincoln put his policies where his words led, clearly articulating that mercy–not retribution–would be the defining characteristic of the reunited Union. His stand was so powerful that when he was assassinated by the very enemies he welcomed as fellow citizens, his Cabinet continued his merciful policies amidst cries for general vengeance. If Lincoln could forgive the South, how can we claim to be more aggrieved?

So take a few deep breaths and enjoy Fall today. Have a glass of wine or bourbon and go to bed early tonight. Wake up tomorrow to a new day, whoever is President-elect. Make a commitment to be more merciful to those with whom you disagree. It’s a great start.

“For the measure with which you measure shall be measured out to you.”
Matthew 7:2

Barrancas del Cobre

So named because the flora in the canyon gives it a copper (oxidized) green hue.

They made the letters in copper color . . . get it?

We stayed at the Hotel Mirador, aptly named as all the rooms lie along the canyon top with balconies overlooking the canyon. Here’s a map to orient you on where we were:

Ahhhh, Chihuahua!

During this trip, we started off off-map in El Fuerte and traveled up the red line (ChePe train) to Bahuichivo. We took a van to Cerocahui, then on to the Gallego overlook of Urique. Next we traveled by van to Posada Barranacas, where we stayed four nights overlooking the canyon. We also took day trips to Creel and to the other named “valleys.” Let me shut up for a moment and let the pictures do the talking:

Our hotel in Posada Barranancas, from the bottom of the canyon

There seems to be a very human need to anthropomorphize physical structures, thus:

Little known fact: Yogi bear retired to Mexico, too!

The Spaniards called it Valley of the Monks. The Raramuri called it Valley of the Phalluses: You decide!

Rorshach test: whole lotta’ monks or phalluses here!

The start of the world’s second longest zip line. Note that there is also a tram line.

I encouraged my fellow travelers who had not done so to take the zip line. It’s safe, and everyone should do something like that sometime in your life. Previously, I jumped out of planes and rappelled down cliffs, among other things. I took the tram. Mis amigos were not amused. 😎

All in all, an amazing eight-day trip. As I told my Spanish teacher, “Cada nueva vista es mas espectacular que la ultima.“(“Each new view is more spectacular than the last.”) A big thanks to our friends who formed our travel pod; a trip is always better when shared with great company! And special thanks to Rosie at Charter Club Tours for arranging, chaperoning, and leading the trip.

Tarahumara or Raramuri?

You say “to-may-to”, I say “to-mah-to.” The Raramuri are an indigenous tribe living–mostly as they always have–in the Sierra Madre range in the Mexican state of Chihuahua. When the Spanish arrived, they dubbed the peoples as Tarahumara. Much like the Mexica people eventually accepted being called Aztecs, the Raramuri (who speak Raramuri and call themselves Raramuri), accepted others calling them Tarahumara. I’ll go with what they call themselves.

The Raramuri peoples were closely associated with the Apache tribe, so much so they consider themselves to be from the same lineage. The Raramuri say that the Apaches were very bellicose, always looking for a fight, while the Raramuri were more peaceful, so the tribes split up. Eventually the Spanish came a knocking and even the Raramuri put up a fight. Spain tried three times without success to “pacify” the Raramuri. Finally, some Raramuri took up the Spanish language and the cross, while the rest retreated into the canyons to continue life as they liked. Over the years, Spanish influence and Catholicism spread, but with a distinct Raramuri flavor.

The Raramuri live a spartan existence with individual homes, often built upon existing caves in the canyon walls. Even those who live in the valleys still insist on subsistence farming and hunting for themselves, gathering together mostly for fiestas and seasonal events. Oh, and running.

I don’t mean “let’s go out and get some exercise” running. Not even marathon running–that’s too short in their opinion. No, I’m talking about the kind of extreme long distance running that makes Forrest Gump look like a weekend jogger. It seems that one of the Raramuri beliefs that survived to the present day is that running helps keep the Earth spinning on its axis (in a spiritual, not physical, sense). So they run. and run. and run. Men, and women, and children, even the elderly (to some extent). Barefoot, or in huarache sandals made with twine and the tread of old car tires. How far do they run? While we were there, Raramuri runners competed in a virtual international race where their top runner ran 429 kilometers, or 268 miles. He only averaged a 15 minute mile . . . for sixty-four straight hours (he didn’t win)!

Three years back, a Raramuri woman entered and won her first race, an ultramarathon of thirty-one miles, wearing a skirt and sandals.

“One of these things, is not like the others”

Running is also the Raramuri way to settle disputes. Have an argument over some land, or a cow? Think someone dissed you, but they don’t think so? Really like that shirt the other guy is wearing? The Raramuri challenge each other in a race which can last more than a day. The two contestants push a wooden ball along with a stick, over mountain and canyon trails, and to the winner belongs the spoils!

If the Raramuri/Tarahumara start to sound familiar to you–and if you ever were a runner, they do–you might have read Christopher McDougall’s book Born to Run, which highlighted the “light-footed” (Raramuri means “light-footed”) people who run on their toes in sandals, which in turn helped spark the barefoot/Vibram running craze.

We didn’t see a lot of running, as the Raramuri aren’t there to perform for you. We did have the opportunity to visit two cave-homes. The first was along a road and supported an extended family of about fifteen people, including giving them the chance to market various goods and natural medicines.

The second was on the top of a cliff, and was owned by an older couple who are so wealthy (!?!?), they have a second cave house down in the valley, where the climate is tropical. So they move back and forth, depending on the season. Cliff side snowbirds, so to speak.

Judy snaps a photo of the canyon while the man of the house arrives

Catalina tidies up since she had visitors, and

she seemed so fond of me Judy had to reclaim me!

Almost all the Raramuri we saw had adopted or adapted to aspects of modern lives. The small farms had satellite dishes, the men wore pants in place of the traditional diaper-like shorts, they hunt with rifles and catch the train to move between towns. But the women still weave pine needles into baskets and wear multiple layers of skirts. And they all still gather to run, just to keep the Earth spinning. So when the Sun comes up tomorrow, think of the Raramuri who ran last night to make it so!

ChePe and Cerocahui

From El Fuerte and the nineteenth century we traveled a short distance to a godforsaken little train station to ride the last passenger train in Mexico: the Chihuahua al Pacifico, or “Che-Pe.” Passenger trains were once legion in Mexico, but they gradually gave way (as in the States) to freight carriers. AMLO, Mexico’s Presidente, has inaugurated the construction of a controversial tourist train in the Yucatan, but who knows if that will ever come to fruition. In the meantime, ChePe is the only game in town. This particular train still moves a few passengers from the coast to the mountains, and locals joke that Che-Pe stands for “always late.” Mostly, this train takes tourists up into the towns of the Sierra Madre, where they can view the Barrancas del Cobre or Copper Canyon.

The train tracks run across some scrub and high sierra desert landscapes before entering into a series of climbs along canyons cut into the mountains by the various tributaries of the Rio Fuerte. Each landscape, tunnel, trestle, and cut is more spectacular than the last. Makes one glad we no longer worry about film but simply shoot the pixels and worry about the good ones later!

On the way up; at the top left, you can see where we later entered a long tunnel after a massive switchback

This being a Mexican train, you can open the windows and hang out. Of course, if you do, you’ll see the various mudslides, overnight arroyos, track and railroad ties lying beside the railway, and of course tunnel walls which whizz by about a meter from your window. Throughout the day, we rose from sea level to eight thousand feet, crossing forty bridges and passing through over eighty tunnels, before arriving in the eighteenth century, more specifically the mission town of Cerocahui.

Cerocahui is even smaller and more rustic than El Fuerte. This town was originally just the site of a cemetery for the Raramuri peoples, when the Jesuits came around and built a mission to evangelize them in the seventeenth century. When Spain expelled the Jesuits in 1767, and the town had to wait on a Franciscan priest to arrive in the 1940s! We’ll revisit the Raramuri in another post.

Cerocahui from a mountain overlook; notice the clouds in the valley in the background to the left

This day we traveled up a scary mining road to a scenic outlook over the Urique valley, one of the canyons forming the Copper Canyon.

Our group & van on the mining road, visiting a Rarumari cave turned into a small store

El Fuerte

The traveling life is back on, masks and all! We’re on a group tour to the Sierra Madre Occidental, specifically to the Mexican states of Sinaloa and Chihuahua. Our first stop is the tiny pueblo called El Fuerte, so called because the Spanish build a fort here in 1610.

El Fuerte is a pueblo magico, a special designation for towns of historic consequence or natural beauty. It certainly has both, as these pictures attest. The historic side is one familiar to those who watched American TV in the 60’s: El Fuerte is the home of the real life El Zorro. Out hotel claims to be the house of the original el Zorro, complete with statue and a tributary room. El Fuerte–built alongside the eponymous river which will feature more in this trip–is a picturesque step back in time to early nineteenth century Mexico. We got a chance to taste one of the two local specialties: black sea bass; unfortunately, the local langostinos are off limits for mating season, so we had to fall back upon regular shrimp. Enjoy the pics!

This mural in the government building gives a short history of the region. Reader’s Digest version: Spanish arrive, everything changes, nobody “wins.”

We’re using El Fuerte to stage higher into the Sierra Madre, before plunging (so to speak) into the Barrancas del Cobre.

Scenes seen around here

Whatever happened to my promise for more visuals in this blog? Oh, yeah, here they are:

This is a (drivable) north-south path leading up the mountain, but the last rain made it an arroyo

and of course, my beautiful dinner date!

Words

They are funny things, those words. Anyone who travels to faraway places and has to live by gesturing instantly recognizes how critical they are. Sign language aside, words are critical to communication. It’s one thing to travel to Lithuania and see a sign you can’t quite understand; it’s something else to see a sign whose characters are not of your ken! Words are important. Edward Bulwer-Lytton wrote “the pen is mightier than the sword” and we nod, because a man armed with the latter can kill only one at a time, but a man armed with the former can kill en masse.

At the same time, words are so commonplace we take them for granted. Writing well takes time and effort, while writing a lot is easy. The French polymath Blaise Paschal once ended a letter thus: “I have only made this letter longer because I have not had the time to make it shorter.” We downplay the effect of words: “Sticks & stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is a great children’s rhyme and terrible psychology. “Deeds not words” clearly places the active life as more important. Any police detective (or teacher, or priest, or . . .) can tell you that when we want to dissemble, we become voluble. That is, our lies involve more words than our truths. “Let your ‘yes’ mean ‘yes’ and your ‘no’ mean ‘no’; anything more is from the Evil One.”–Matthew 5:34.

Modern technology even fills in words for us–mostly wrong ones, to much hilarity. The Internet is a source of unending streams of words, including this blog. Twitter will test whether the natural process of evolution continues. It has reduced communication to cue-less, clueless tweets, where words are replaced by emojis, and emotions are more highly-prized than thoughts. It remains to be seen whether this particular advance in communication will be naturally selected to survive.

The power of words depends upon their meaning. After all, words are just collections of letters representing sounds. If we agree what a word means, we can use that understanding to accomplish much: to barter, to pray, to argue, to convince, to plead, to congratulate, to joke, to love. But only if we understand the words themselves, and they–the words–are not static. I think I first realized I was a conservative of sorts when I felt the keen desire to stand athwart the highway of progress and say “No further!” to ever-worse grammar and usage. The other day, I saw a reference to the enormity of a baseball stadium (“Why, was it Yankee stadium?” I mused). But awful used to mean “worthy of awe” and to fathom was to measure (the distance of one’s arms outstretched).

Some suggest that the hidden power of the English language is its ability to adapt: to change meaning as necessary, to borrow words and phrases from other languages, to make new words easily. I agree. Yet in the end all the flexibility and nuance and versatility must yield to one thing: meaning. And the meaning of words is a two-party action; are you inferring what I’m implying? I have never forgotten the Washington DC story about a guy who lost his District government job for using the word “niggardly” which a co-worker thought was a racial slur. The there’s this New York Times piece (a very interesting one about the Defund the Police effort in Minneapolis) that ends quoting an activist who uses they/their pronouns: as a result, it is impossible to understand what they meant or to whom they were referring!

It goes way beyond simple homonyms or even words with new, changed meanings. We give words meaning based on how we feel about who says them. Check out these quotes:

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
FDR, First Inaugural address

“We are at war, . . . I ask you to be responsible all together and not to give in to any panic”
Emmanuel Macron

“Don’t panic, but don’t think for a moment that he or she doesn’t really matter. No one is expendable. Everyone counts, it takes all our efforts.”
Angela Merkel

“Don’t let it dominate you. Don’t be afraid of it.”
Donald Trump

“Don’t Fear the Reaper”
Blue Oyster Cult

Okay the last one was just an excuse for a video, but hey, oddly appropriate, no?

In the cold spacing of text on the page, the quotes are quite similar. But how we interpret those quotes comes through a lens of exactly who said just what and when. The words matter, but just so. When the meaning of words becomes a point of contention, democratic discussion becomes difficult. If we can’t communicate, we can’t argue, we can’t even discuss, and we can’t ever agree.

I noticed this recently in a social media discussion spurred on by the Amy Coney Barrett nomination for the Supreme Court. And it bears on the meaning of the word “handmaid.” Some of my friends knew the word primarily from Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, and they inferred a negative connotation of feminine submission. Which is accurate IF your point of view stems from Atwood’s dystopian novel. But the word has a historical association which is positive, connoting agency demonstrated by willingness to align one’s will with God’s Will (To be concise, Adams’s sin was to place his will over God’s, while Mary’s fiat reordered mankind’s relationship with God back to what He originally intended). I’m not asking you to believe any of that, but you must acknowledge this other interpretation was the primary understanding of the term handmaid from antiquity until, oh, say 1985. If you hear the word handmaid and recoil, while I hear it and mutter “thanks be to God,” we’ll have trouble discussing it further.

Words matter. They can inspire people to do amazing things, or strike fear into the innocent heart. But only if we know what they mean. “I do” is a memorable phrase only if it means something more than “I do, mostly.” I wonder: is our societal stress caused by misunderstanding (willful or unintentional), or is the lack of agreement over meaning the symptom of that stress?

“When in Rome, . . .

do as the Romans do.” You’ve heard the saying, no doubt, or used it yourself. The meaning is clear: as a visitor, act like the locals do. It goes all the way back to 5th century Rome, when Augustine of Hippo (later Saint Augustine) noticed the Romans practiced fasting on Saturday, while the Milanese did not. Bishop (later Saint) Ambrose explained that he abided by the local custom wherever he was, and the saying was born.

In that light, some cultural observations (note: there is more humor than truth here):

When in the States, time is money, appointments are moral commitments, and the only thing better than cheaper is faster. When in Mexico, time is relative, appointments are suggestions, and the only thing better than cheaper is cheapest.

When in Mexico, the Virgen (de Guadalupe) comes first, the bandera (flag) comes second, and (insert your favorite futbol club) comes third. When in the States, ME comes first, your home state comes second, and third place is for losers.

When in the States, drive fast on the left, park on the right, and turn left with a signal. When in Mexico, drive mostly on the road, park mostly off the road, and do whatever you want with a left turn signal.

When in Mexico, food is spiced to taste, while alcohol and clothing are apportioned by sex (more for men than women). When in the States, food is spiced like some kind of survival test, alcohol is apportioned by weight (the bigger you are, the more you drink), and clothing is the reverse (the more you weigh, the less you wear).

Upon meeting someone new, when in the States, first ask “what do you do?” then “where are you from?” before asking about politics. When in Mexico, first ask “what are you called?” then “how are you?” before asking about futbol.

When in Mexico, prices are a matter of debate, mandatory taxes are optional for everyone, and cash is king. When in the States, prices are set in stone, optional taxes are mandatory for everyone except the very rich, and plastic (money) is king.

When in the States, a leak in your roof is a major disaster, home insurance protects you from lawsuits, and you may legally defend yourself in your own home. When in Mexico, a roof leak necessitates a mop & Flex Seal©, ineffective courts protect you from the need for home insurance, and you can kill any intruder to your casa.

America has a separation of Church and State such that there is freedom of religion and no religious test for public office. Mexico has a separation of Church and State such that the government owns all religious properties and some religions are illegal.

Mexico has a right to bear arms but makes it difficult to buy or carry a weapon. America has a right to bear arms but makes it difficult to get a good site line on a target.

When in the States, mail is regular, bills are prompt, and property taxes are high. When in Mexico, mail is ocasional, bills eventual, and what exactly are property taxes, again?

When in Mexico, corruption is blatant, government is inefficient but unobtrusive, and pornography is private. When in the States, corruption is private, government is efficient and obtrusive, and pornography is blatant.

When in the States, the road is for driving, the shoulder is for stopping, and the median strip separates traffic going in different directions. When in Mexico, any flat surface will do for driving, shoulders are for retail activities, and the median strip is for cattle grazing.

When in Mexico, the menu is only a starting point for deciding what to order, and the offerings include anything the wait-staff can walk to within a block (even other restaurants and bars). When in the States, “items may not be available” can be a special of the day and your waiter may not be willing to ask the kitchen what the soup du jour is.

When in the States, the President is crazy, the government is not there to help you, but your family is. Wait a minute, that one’s the same in Mexico!

A Really Old Car

There was a news item the other day you might have missed, in all the to’ing and fro’ing over the passing of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. By the by, I found the trolling over the death of this great American to be in bad taste. People on both sides immediately began arguing over her Supreme Court seat like greedy relatives clutching at jewelry. How about a moment of silent reflection or a prayer, in place of politics, calls for violence or virtue signalling?

But this is not about that. It’s about the news you missed. Seems they discovered the first automobile ever created. Intact. And still functioning, if by functioning you mean capable of moving its passengers forward under its own power, which was/is not much. Which is pretty amazing for a two-hundred and thirty-one year old piece of equipment.

Now most cars don’t last a decade, but back in the day, they built them to last. Its longevity stems from the fact the owning family kept up with the maintenance, periodically making small changes here and there, but mostly because the family still had the original owner’s manual–on parchment!

The car ran on burning logs, but was eventually upgraded to charcoal & steam. There was that time a nephew decided to pour ethanol into the water pipes in a misguided attempt to “supercharge” performance. That explosion precipitated a replacement, gas-powered engine for the car and a trip to reform school for the nephew.

The family likes to tell the story about the odd shaped device near the driver’s seat: it easily held a Big Gulp, so it must be a cup-holder, or so they thought. But upon consulting the manual, they realized it was originally a spitoon which had transformed into an ashtray before settling on its current usage.

Of course the car had to change with the times: pulling into a gas station and asking for fireplace logs is a drag. Replacing the solid tires with inflatable ones was very popular, but then there were those annoying flats. But the family kept returning to the manual to see what was what, and why things were the way they were. And to understand how all the various moving parts worked together to create a functioning . . . car.

When Uncle Rico got a little tipsy and tried to drive it into the lake, claiming it would float, the car did not behave like a boat, because it was a car. The manual helped explain how to dry it out, and if the family had wanted, they could have used the manual to figure out how to seal the undercarriage and make it float. But then it would be a floating car, not a boat.

What’s the point, you ask (if you haven’t been checking the links above)? Well, obviously, it pays to know something about a device, a vehicle, heck even a recipe before changing it. Not just what it says, but what did the people who originally designed it mean when they wrote the manual. If you’ve stayed with me this far, but still haven’t caught on, you just received a brief parable on the judicial concept of originalism.

Why? That goes back to my original lede, about the late Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. When I heard she had lost her battle with cancer, the first thing (after a brief prayer) I thought of was how happy she would be to see her good friend Antonin Scalia again. When I first mentioned their friendship (upon Scalia’s death), I was scolded by some progressive friends saying “the notorious RBG” was only being polite if she did indeed say anything nice about Scalia. Au contraire, they were close friends whose families spent New Year’s Eve together.

Scalia was the chief proponent of originalism, and he was so successful that he changed the nature of the argument over constitutional law. Justice Elena Kagan, no conservative herself, famously said “we are all textualists now” (textualism being almost identical to originalism), not suggesting she agreed with Scalia but that because of the Scalia’s influence, all justices had to contend with this judicial philosophy in the future. And they do. Which is a good reason to understand the concept–even if you don’t agree–and even at the cost of reading my tongue-in-cheek car story. And no, there was no “oldest car” found.

Finally, if there was anybody Justice Ginsburg should have loathed, it was Antonin Scalia. He skewered her opinions and reasoning, and she returned the favor. I imagine their debates in the afterlife would be standing room only, except they must agree on everything now. Few of us can aspire to the greatness of these two figures, but in their personal friendship despite professional differences, we can see a model to emulate, and one sadly in great need today.