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.

Hoping For the Best - Just Hoping Nothing Happens

On Monday, I went to a soccer game on campus. It was weird without a section of screaming boys beating an African drum and heckling the other team.

Although there were vuvuzelas.

Blogger doesn't recognize "vuvuzela" as a word.

Anyway. I left a little after the second half started and walked around, trying to associate myself with campus before classes started the next day. It really is as beautiful as everyone says it is. Even to a girl who's used to humidity in 90 degree weather and thinks that anything below 70 is a bit chilly.

I went to the library. The giant building with the mural of "Touchdown Jesus" facing the reflection pool. I just wandered around - wanting at first to find copies of my favorite books, but settling for wandering when I failed to locate anything but reference books.

I found myself in the basement somehow, surrounded by tall shelves - some with mechanical handles that fold them like an accordion to conserve space. When I'd given up on finding anything entertaining, I started to head back. I don't even remember why I stopped, but I did. And, somehow, I found myself in the middle of the medical book section. I remembered seeing the section highlighted on a map somewhere, but I had actually decided against the idea of actively searching for it.

I flipped through a few books. One on the history of thoracic surgery, something on psychology, others on puberty, etc. But then I came across a book entitled Last Resort. And I picked it out. It had a subtitle: Psychosurgery and the Limits of Medicine. Intriguing.

It was about the practice of lobotomies - cutting out a portion of the brain in hopes of fixing something - anything. Katy, stop reading. I scanned the table of contents, then began to read a chapter on how the times have changed and lobotomies are no longer effective. I lost interest quickly. But for some reason, I really wanted to hold on to this book.

So I went back to the beginning, and I read the first chapter, the introduction. It was entitled "A Stab in the Dark". The chapter described a case in 1947 of a thirty-three year old woman who had undergone brain surgery. Any by "brain surgery", I mean the doctor drilled two holes, one on each side of her temples, into her skull. He removed the pieces of bone, and inserted a blunt scalpel into one of the holes. He swept it back and forth, severing some of the tissues that hold the lobes together. Then he repeated it on the other side. If he didn't screw up any major blood vessels, he sewed up the ends of the tissues and stuck the pieces of bone back in. Operation complete.

And do you know why Miss Jane Doe had her brain cut open and stitched back together?

Society deemed her a failure. Her marriage failed and ended in divorce - solid proof that she couldn't fulfill her role in society as a housewife. She, herself, began to believe that she could never function in society the way she was expected to. She grew depressed and developed mental disorders like anxiety and hallucinations. Oh, and she experimented with women a little. Another societal no-no. And so her family committed her to a mental institution. Where she was poked and prodded and treated, to no avail. Now, this is a direct quote from the book: "...these doctors believed that by destroying a portion of [her] brain they might make life for her more bearable as well as transform her into a better person" (Pressman).

Because she didn't already fit into everyone else's idea of what was normal.

Pretty Girl, Beware of His Heart of Gold

Second day of orientation weekend. More parental hostility. More "inspirational" lectures (actually, there was a pretty good one or two today). And more Frosh-O.

However, today was...significantly less fabulous than yesterday. We had our first "event" with a boys hall, Keenan. They picked us up like gentleman on the front lawn, and we greeted them traditionally. The serenading was still the best part (no less fabulous by any means). Then they escorted us back to their dorm, where they surprised us with the activity: speed dating. God, it sounds so much better in theory and in the movies. The first few rounds were fun - there were cute guys, good conversations. But eventually things got pretty fuzzy - I can't even remember the name of the original guy who walked me to the dorm, which I feel horrible about because he was legitimately cute and sweet.

And then there was the rave. Keenan walked us to "Domer Fest", which was described in the schedule as games and stuff to meet other freshmen - but turned out to be a really big rave. Like, Project Graduation on steroids, in a club setting complete with strobe lights and dry ice. Of course, there were police and stuff around so it was more or less safe. All freshmen from ND, as well as the two neighboring colleges, St. Mary's and Holy Cross, were there. I can't even tell you how much raves are not my scene. And my introduction to college life was complete once the drunk upperclassmen who snuck in wearing Frosh shirts made themselves known. I realize how sheltered I am when I say that I had never seen, let alone talked to, people who were drunk as mess until tonight. Fabulous, right?

You know how when you have really low expectations, anything higher than what you expected seems incredible? Well, it applies vice versa. I loved everything from last night - and I guess I wanted to buy into the whole "Prince Charming" thing. Even if it is just a part that they play for an hour or two. But once we've done the traditional serenades and cheers and scheduled activities, the knights take off their armor and you're left with obnoxious freshman boys who are already planning when they're going to get drunk this weekend. And some that I just get bad feelings from.

Don't get me wrong, there are also some really great guys here. Good guys, bad guys, awkward guys, eccentric guys. Just no Prince Charmings. But, as someone who might be considered strong-willed and opinionated, I'm a little ashamed to admit how alluring the idea of chivalry is. I realize how old-fashioned that ideal is, and there really is very little solid, logical evidence in the expectation for men to treat women in a certain way.

But now that I actually see that sentence in writing - I'll revise my expectations - I'm not asking to be treated like a princess. I would just like to be treated with respect - not because I'm a girl, but because I'm a human being. And I think I deserve that much.

Roman Cavalry Choirs Are Singing

Move-in day. Of course I thought it would be awful. And naturally, it was. With a shaky night of sleep, I woke up bright and early to be shuffled around parking lots and finally into a tiny room. In retrospect, the day wasn't particularly horrible - as in no one was injured, broken up with, or anything. But tons of little things went wrong, which of course only put me into a pretty terrible mood. The last thing I wanted to do was go to Frosh-O (freshman orientation activities for dorms/whatever). I'd actually been dreading awkward "break the ice" games for weeks. But before I get into that, I'll make a running list of things that I've noticed/things that have happened so far. Not particularly in order.

1) Things are easier when my parents aren't around.
2) South Dining Hall is better than North. Sadly, my dorm is in the northern part of campus.
3) Books are horribly expensive. Like ridiculously. It isn't even funny. Mine were about $831 and some change. I had calculated about half of that, but because I needed to buy them in person to use my student account, all of the used books were gone and I had to get them all new.
4) Free food is a nice gesture. As are free things in general.
5) The squirrels in the north are weird. They're huge and an orange/gray color. And they randomly sit in the middle of sidewalks even when you need to get past.
6) The veggie burgers were pretty terrible. Mine cracked - literally - into two pieces when I put it on the plate.
7) Private schools are overrated.
8) The to-go coffee in the campus mini-mart is fair trade!
9) If anyone follows the trends of links I "share" on facebook, there's a top few things that I really love: awesome cover songs, things related to blog topics (money, credit, college, random statistics), and acapella.
10) I really like boys.

So, it would be the perfect end to my perfectly horrible day to be sat in a chair in front of my dorm's Frosh-O girls and staff and be serenaded by the fabulous male acapella extension of the Glee Club. They needed a girl who had "Tiffany" in their name, because they were going to sing Breakfast at Tiffany's by Deep Blue Something. Have I mentioned how fabulous these boys are?

Apparently, Notre Dame takes advantage of the fact that the dorms are single-sex. So it's tradition for each dorm to learn songs to hit on the other gender's dorms with. It sounded horrific to me on paper, but it's actually pretty fabulous. Everyone's doing it at the same time, so no one feels stupid. And then the guys reciprocate. And they really try to take advantage of the whole "Prince Charming" thing and are all so...charming. I wish I could be more eloquent and interesting, but it's almost 2am here in South Bend. I know, I've written really good stuff in the middle of the night before, but tonight it's more about...well, actually I do have a point.

STOP SCROLLING THROUGH MY STUPID GIRLY STORY AND READ MY POINT: Things can be really awful in every way for a really long time. But somehow, things will get better. When I went to Mass for the first time with Sara a few months ago, the guest speaker was Father Guy from Haiti. For a non-Catholic, this was probably the best sermon to be my first. He talked about the earthquake that devastated his community - and how they were recovering. In times of mass destruction - situations when large amounts of innocent, undeserving people are struck with utter chaos - people generally, in my uneducated opinion, turn towards or away from religion. Some question what kind of a God would allow such destruction to occur. Others have faith in a plan or a purpose and do their best to cope. While I'm wary of the idea of a "master plan", I do value the good things that come after the bad. It's that age-old principle that bad things happen because you need them to - even grand destruction can spur wonderful things - although you might have to wait for them. But when they do come - they'll matter all that much more because they have value. And they have value because they're rare - because they're not guaranteed. And because they don't last forever.,