Orbis Non Sufficit (The World is Not Enough)

In retrospect, I wish I hadn't used the title "Arm Yourself Because No One Else Here Will Save You" for an entry over the summer. That line is from the opening song to Casino Royale, referring to - you guessed it - the dangers in espionage. I used it as a metaphor for being knowledgable about lifestyle decisions and ethics.

So here's another James Bond title, and another question of ethics.

Tonight there was a lecture by a retired member of the CIA, Jim Olson. He's written a book called Fair Play on the ethics of espionage and the lengths the CIA will go to to provide for national security. He grew up in a small town in Iowa and had dreams of finishing law school, finding a nice Iowa girl, settling down, and having a family. But in his last year of law school, he was contacted and recruited by the CIA. He went through years of training - physical training, psychological tests, crash courses in language immersion, skill building. Everything we've ever dreamt or seen in the movies from jumping out of airplanes to using innocent looking gadgets as deadly weapons. Over the next 31 years, Jim would meet his wife Meredith, also a CIA officer, and have three children - all while on assignment overseas. They moved a lot, and took a different job every time they got a new assignment, and therefore a new cover. Jim noted how difficult life would have been if Meredith hadn't also been involved with the CIA and understood the sacrifices.

For the length of time that they served in the CIA, neither Jim nor Meredith told any of their friends or family members about their true work. Jim took various covers as everything from a banker to a fertilizer salesman - Meredith's father just thought he couldn't hold down a steady job. It wasn't until the Olsons were undercover in Vienna, Austria and had a terrorist issue a death threat against their family that Jim and Meredith were forced to tell their oldest son about the nature of their work, in hopes that he would help look out for his younger siblings. They finished their assignment in Vienna safely.

But it wasn't his exciting life, nor the extent of his clandestine career that Jim came to lecture about. He posed the question: how ethically correct are the decisions that the United States Government makes in terms of acquiring intelligence and protecting the country? He set up several real situations and had us vote "yay" or "nay" on whether or not the decision was morally correct. All of the situations presented really happened.

First: It is against CIA protocol to treat people inhumanely or to practice espionage within US borders. So, somewhere overseas, the CIA enlists the help of other foreign allies to kidnap the head of a dangerous terrorist group, place him in a windowless room of an abandoned building, and beat him until he reveals the identities of his group members. The CIA did not participate in harming the terrorist, but they organized and funded the kidnapping. Right or wrong?

Answer: We, as audience members voted by a show of hands. Roughly 80% of us voted no, this was not morally correct, while 20% voted yes. But what did the US think? Well, let's just say the terrorist revealed the other members who were subsequently arrested and executed. When Jim asked if anyone would like to comment on their decision, people expressed frustration. A man lamented that he felt uncomfortable voting without knowing exactly how dangerous and volatile these terrorists were. Another older man was enraged that the US would even have been involved in something as reprehensible as torture. This guy was pissed. But he couldn't deny the fact that the US, indeed, was involved.

Next: Another well known terrorist group leader is known to be in a certain place. It is not possible to kidnap him, or arrrest him. With the extent of his dangerous work in mind, is it okay to employ the use of explosives or other technology and assassinate him?
This is the one that kills me. I voted no, it's not okay to assassinate people. I was among the 25% of the auditorium that thought so.

Some situations dealt with faith, Notre Dame being what it is. Is it ethical to take a cover as a missionary, or a member of the clergy? You would still be spreading God's Word and doing good works - you just wouldn't really be a missionary. And you would be using the relationships that you form to gain information and access to terrorist religious sects. I was sitting next to a priest who lived on campus. He was very friendly, obviously glad to meet someone to talk to. He had spent time working overseas in Africa - as a legitimate clergy member. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as we voted - me for using religion as a cover, and him against. The rest of the auditorium was split 50/50.

There were also situations of a different sort: like, there's a female CIA officer. She's joined a local tennis club in hopes of recruiting future CIA members. However, a government official from another country frequents the club as well. They form a friendship, playing sets and having lunch. The female officer notices that he might want more than friendship - and is prepared to seduce him in order to recruit him to the US. Ethical?

Then, there was the case of a terrorist who was secretly feeding information to the CIA. He demands that the US provide him with a prostitute, or he'll stop helping. Jimmy Carter was president at the time. He said okay.
Another was about sex and blackmail: There's a member of an Iranian sect who came to the US and frequented homosexual bars and engaged in homosexual activity. The FBI picks up on this and alerts the CIA to his presence. The strict Muslim policy of the terrorist group would be enraged if they found out the man was homosexual - he would be fired, to say the least. Should the CIA contact the man and threaten to tell his superiors about his sexuality unless he provides them with information?

You know, there was an article in TIME magazine last summer, back when my dad had that subscription. I remember topics of waterboarding. All kinds of ethical, controversial fun. Then there was one, which I have dug up for the sake of sharing the tenet of kindness. There was an Al-Qaeda operative that was captured and held in a Yemini prison for about a year. His name was Abu Jandal, and he was Osama bin Laden's chief bodyguard. The FBI came in to question him, unsuccessfully. He was uncooperative and difficult. And he didn't eat any of the cookies that were served at the meeting. One of the FBI officers learned that Jandal was diabetic, and couldn't eat sugar. So the next meeting, the officer brought him sugar-free cookies. The big bad bodyguard was touched. He softened. And started talking.

No form of physical or psychological torture was required.

They Burn in Our Brains - Become a Living Hell

Couple of confessions:

First, to recap something from the last post, "Hoping for the Best". Recall that there was a lobotomy case in the late 1940s where surgeons blindly severed blood vessels in a woman's brain in hopes of curing her eccentricity and making her fit into their idea of normal society. Well, a couple of days after I wrote that post, I had a scientific method activity in my physics-theater class (a class based on examining the presence of scientific principles in plays and such). In small groups, we had to make educated guesses at the contents of a sealed shoebox. We could shake it, drop it, throw it - just not open it. The first girl in my group picked up the box, shook it a few times, and declared that she thought it was a CD. Every subsequent person followed in suit, and agreed that it was a CD. For some reason, I just didn't want to agree with everyone else - even as the experiment continued and it became more apparent that it was, indeed, a CD. I held out for Tupperware lid.

Later in class, I thought about how my disagreement affected everyone else - my opinion was out of place. It was different. And it was wrong. I thought about how people in the 20th century would have looked at me. And I resolved that every day from then on, I should try to do at least one thing every day that's out of the ordinary - something out of place, something untraditional - something that would warrant the 20th century to stick a scalpel inside of my head.

Tonight, we had the traditional Lewis Hall Freshman Welcome. We went to the chapel (every dorm has its own chapel) and listened to our rector and hall staff talk about the emphasis on feeling at home here. Then we broke into floor sections and were given necklaces with the Notre Dame crest on one side and the Golden Dome engraved on the other. Then our RA threw a box of tissues into the center of the circle and proceeded to hand out letters. Letters from parents, or in my case, a letter from my RA, Kayla. I read the card and looked at the little fridge magnet she bought me. I finished and caught Kayla looking at me. I smiled and mouthed "thank you", seeing as how she'd written me a card so I would have something to read while the other girls cried over letters from their parents. I knew she pitied me. And I let her.

You see, I just happened to check the mail on the day that Lewis sent my parents the letter over the summer, asking them to write me a personal letter about how proud they are of me. I had seen the Notre Dame logo and opened it without looking at who it was addressed to. I played with the idea of giving them the letter. Explaining that I had opened it on accident and therefore ruined the surprise. But then I thought about it some more. My school had to send them a request for them to tell me that they're proud of me? I threw the letter away. Over orientation weekend, I got into a fight with my dad. I resorted to not speaking to him unless absolutely necessary - and even then, I wouldn't look at him. When the parents were asked to go into the chapel to listen to our rector Layla give a presentation, I quickly and clearly said, "If anyone asks you to write me a letter, don't. I don't want you to."

Everything went exactly as planned. But when I saw the trouble that Kayla went through, I felt horrible. I thought about confessing to the circle, but decided against it when I saw how affected my section was by their letters. Honestly, the idea of me crying in public repulses me. That's just how I am. The idea of showing emotion to strangers is...well, less than ideal. But wait: I would rather be pitied than display sentimentality? What the hell is wrong with me?

Maybe someone really should sweep a scalpel around the inside of my brain.

Now Where's Your Picket Fence, Love?

Sometimes, I feel like it's a little bit ridiculous to expect someone to decide what they want to do with their lives over the course of 19 years - the majority of which is spent learning basic cognitive and social skills. But the pressure starts early on. Can you remember how old you were the first time an adult asked you "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?" And have you ever noticed how children seem to have the most tenacious dreams? Whether it's wanting to grow up to be a ballerina, or a veterinarian, or a singer, or whatever else their impressionable minds can get a hold of. I think it gets more difficult as you get older because it gets scary - it gets real. Every decision is second-guessed because you're always wondering if it's the right choice: the right choice for you, or the right choice for people around you. Is it more important to do what makes you happy, or to do what pays the bills? But before you know it, you're a sophomore in college and the registrar is demanding that you place a label on your diploma. And somehow, you pick something - anything - and start your life. A few years later, there's still another question to ask yourself: Are you happy?

So, we've got the child who dreams outrageous things, and the adult who's wondering if it's too late to be a ballerina. But they're actually in similar situations. When you ask a four year old what they want to spend the rest of their life doing, they'll tell you what they know - and usually it's what makes them happy. For example, if she wants to be a ballerina, it's because she loves going to lessons. If she wants to be a scientist, it's because she follows her parents to work sometimes. If he wants to be a baseball player, it's because his dad helps him practice for rec league. You get it.

Now, when you ask an eighteen year old what they want to spend the rest of their life doing, you probably didn't notice the slight change in their facial expression when they saw it coming. You see, when a four year old tells you what they want to be, it probably isn't taken seriously - it's just so adults can fawn over how adorable he or she is. But when you ask a teenager, you're expecting a serious answer. A solid answer. Even though they're still trying to figure out if writing will pay the bills, or if they're good enough at math to be an engineer. Usually, they've got a premeditated answer. Something along the lines of "I'm thinking about majoring in [insert major]". Something noncommittal, yet sufficient. Something believable, and maybe even impressive. Or maybe they're audacious enough to tell you the truth: "I don't know yet".

But usually, the major that said teenager decides on is something that they know - whether it's because they've taken a class in high school or their freshman year of college, or it's what their parents or family friends do. But there's always some kind of background - and it's understandable. You wouldn't just close your eyes and pick a major off of a page, or choose whichever one sounds the coolest. And despite how convenient it would be, it simply isn't possible to let you test drive all fifty-something majors before you choose. You pick the one you know about. And if you find that you're miserable, you've got to start all over if happiness is your goal.

But why does it have to come down to that?

So, for everyone who's starting college these next few weeks and have no idea what the hell you want to do for the next 40 or 50 years: I'm not judging you.

Tell Me What You Want to Hear

Validation is something I spend a ridiculous amount of my life striving to feel. It's what I want from my parents, from my friends, my teachers - you name it. Validation is defined by the Princeton dictionary as "...the act of validating; finding or testing the truth of something". I wonder what that means for me.

When I got my final ACT score back, and was still shy of my goal, I had a mini-breakdown to Katy about it. However, honest Katy asked me why I wanted that number so badly when my score was pretty good anyway; did I only want it because other people had it? It's been about ten months since that conversation, and of course, everything's different now. At this point, high school grades and ACT scores mean nothing - it's only about what I do and who I choose to be from this point forward. But it's taken me this long - now that it doesn't matter anymore - to come up with an answer to Katy's question:

I used to think that I wanted a higher score because I wanted to prove that I was as good as the people who had done better than I had. Which is mostly true, but I think it's a little deeper than that. I heard somewhere that Evan Lysacek's father told him once that if someone is better than him, it just means he has to work twice as hard. That quote has stuck in my head for months. For the longest time, I held that I didn't believe in letting other people set the standards for "ideal" or "good" - which was my reason for not doing IB - there was just so much extra work required, and I liked the freedom that AP awarded me. But lately I think I've been a lot more subject to society and its rules than I would have liked to think.

A couple of weeks ago, a couple of things happened: I had an honest conversation with my dad about my major, and we went to Family Fun Day at the University. First was Family Fun Day, which we've gone to almost every year from as far back as I can remember. And at the picnic, we saw a woman that we vaguely know but hadn't seen in a while - she's maybe in her fifties, with slightly graying hair and a friendly demeanor, and she's always alone. I commented that watching her makes me sad sometimes because of how lonely she looks, to which my dad somewhat sarcastically replied "That's what happens when you wait too long to get married."

And Katy, this is where I'll pull in my response to your SATC blog entry. With a throw to Carrie Bradshaw's "should" theory: do we fall in love and get married because it's what society and our peers expect of us? Relationships are definitely not my area of expertise, so I can't really comment on love or how it comes about. And I'm aware that most scientists or traditionalists (like my dad) will say that humans form relationships in order to procreate and continue the human race. But what if that's not what you want? Marriage may be expected, or even convenient, but it's definitely not for everyone. I have an older cousin, Christina, who's in her forties, lives with her mother who she loves immensely, has a good job, and has no intention of getting married any time soon. I think she's happy, and therefore: she's done. And while I wonder if that's enough for me - it seems to be enough for her, and I think that's okay.

But then came the honest conversation. My dad had been bugging me about thinking about choosing a major. Notre Dame offers a major called "pre-professional sciences" that basically builds a general base of the sciences in preparation for medical school, but he didn't like that idea. Instead, I should major in biology or chemistry, something specific. To me, the choice had its own pros and cons: would I rather be a Jack of all trades, or a master of one? I related this to him, and he said that med schools don't care about exactly what you majored in as long as you have the required credits. And this got me to thinking: I can do anything. I might have a shot at being creative or introspective or even artistic.

I'll probably major in something in the sciences just because that's what I do, but I'm not giving up on the idea of minoring in something I love but have never gotten to look into, like sociology or anthropology (something I blame on the high school curriculum).

But wait, why do I want this again? Honestly, I really can't explain it. But this career path is something that I do genuinely want. With that said, I'm going to take a risk and lay down my theory - something people are generally aware of, but I've never heard addressed. People who are raised by minority ethnicity families will generally fall into a predictable pattern: they'll generally do well in school, appear slightly more mature than others, hold high aspirations, and end up either in med school, grad school, etc. If you ask me, I'd say I fit pretty well into that pattern, which was what was expected of me. Let's put it this way: a few weeks ago, we went to Sharon's wedding. At the reception, we talked to all of the people we hadn't seen in a while whose children have grown and prospered according to plan. I was the lucky one, being young enough that my future looks bright and promising, but I don't have to actually deliver much more than a smile and a "Thank you". But I can't help but think about what would have been thought of a family who raised a kid that quit school and ran off to join a band or something radical like that.

Also, I finished A Clockwork Orange a while ago. But I was waiting until I had generated enough material to comment on it. ACO was, as I've said, about a teenager named Alex who had a passion for violence and destruction. Anyone with basic knowledge of the story would know that the book is about how the government performed an experimental procedure on Alex that would make him hate violence - "curing" him and making him fit perfectly into society (which is very ironic, if you read the book, but I won't say much more). Basically, they forced him into a cookie-cutter and, as a character protests, took away his sense of humanity by taking away his ability to choose. Alex was choosing to be violent, but that choice was revoked by the government, so the question stands - is it better to have a perfect citizen with no free will, or to have an imperfect human being that is exercising his rights?

Life Has Meaning Only in the Struggle

For some reason, I've spent the past six months or so doing everything I could to conceal a fact - that I'm scared to death about everything that deals with college. In all fairness, I didn't realize it until recently. I think I've always felt it - but I've been so excited about all of this change that I didn't acknowledge the fact that I waited until the last minute to finish application essays, and i put away letters asking for admission decisions, and I ignore emails about visiting, and I left financial aid applications to my parents.
Maybe if I admit it, I can defeat it.

In all seriousness, I have always been in love with the idea of living somewhere different. Ever since I can remember, I've wanted to go somewhere other than Auburn. The city's always been too small, or too quiet, or too boring, or too safe. As an only child, I spend a lot of time alone, which gives me time to think - time to be restless. Going away to college was just something that was part of my plan. I never thought about what it would take for it to be possible - it was just part of the plan.

Then senior year came around, and things started to become real. Old teachers and parents of friends (never my own, though) would look at me, smile and shake their heads incredulously, and say "Man. I can't believe you're graduating already". And until recently, I didn't believe it either. Until about three hours ago.

As most eligible seniors know, the financial aid deadline (FAFSA, CSS forms, etc.) is in about two days. And because of my aversion to anything bigger than myself, I have let this fall to my parents without question. But when our accountant wasn't able to get us our tax return forms until today, I thought I'd try to lessen my parent's paperwork by filling out as much of it as I could. At this point, only four things are certain:
1) I owe a good portion of my soul to Auburn University for their generous scholarship offer. Scholarship = no financial aid needed = no paperwork = :)
2) I know close to nothing about my parent's finances. And/or my own.
3) I sat down at this computer three hours ago with the full intention of watching Sex and the City reruns on hulu.com.
4) WHY DID I APPLY TO THIS MANY UNIVERSITIES?

And this is where reality rears its ugly head.
Looks like ignorance isn't going to cut it any more.