gender bullshit

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There’s a long…and I mean seriously long, as in Please babby Jeebus, is this thing ever going to end long…opinion piece on the meaning of masculinity in this morning’s Washington Post. It’s entitled Men are lost. Here’s a map out of the wilderness, and frankly, that title alone would normally be enough for me to ignore it. Except it was written by Christine Emba, whose opinion I value. So what the hell, I read it.

And hey, she does a good job of examining the ways people are trying to define masculinity these days. The piece is well-researched, thoughtful, well-written, and determinedly even-handed (which is probably why it’s so fucking long). But as I continued to read it, I kept asking myself the same question: who the fuck cares?

There are some really really really broad categories of being that are ultimately undefinable. They resist definition because they’re so broad and vague and elastic. Who is a man? Who is Black? Who is an artist? Who is a parent? Who is a Red Sox fan? Who is a healer? Who is an athlete? Who is an influencer? Who is a cook?

I mean, it’s possible–even necessary–to organize a specific set of requirements necessary to meet professional standards to define some roles. There are prerequisite training and skills to become, say, a licensed hair stylist. But that’s an administrative thing; if you style your own hair, then hey bingo, as far as I’m concerned you’re a hair stylist.

But trying to define these broad generic categories is basically bullshit. Don’t nobody get to set any goddamn rules on who is (or is not) a man or a woman. And why the fuck would anybody want to? Why would anybody waste a single fucking moment fretting about it?

Toward the end of her opinion piece, Emba writes this:

For all their problems, the strict gender roles of the past did give boys a script for how to be a man. But if trying to smash the patriarchy has left a vacuum in our ideal of masculinity, it also gives us a chance at a fresh start: an opportunity to take what is useful from models of the past and repurpose it for boys and men today.

Well, she’s right that the past DID give boys a script for how to be men (and for girls to know how to be women), but isn’t that the source of the problem? A script is just the written text for a performance. We don’t need no script to be who we are. We are already who we are. People need to stop acting and just fucking relax.

(Engraving by Eugène Emmanuel Viollet-le-Duc)

Emba also mentions that ‘trying to smash the patriarchy has left a vacuum in our ideal of masculinity.’ Well, yeah. That’s the whole fucking point, isn’t it. Scrap that shit. Scrap the ideal of femininity too. Scrap the concept of ideals, because they’re imaginary. There IS NO IDEAL man or woman. No ideal cook or artist or Red Sox fan or parent or Black person (and stop thinking of Idris Elba, okay, just stop it). There’s only somebody’s bullshit notion of what they think is ideal.

Here’s another part of the problem. If we smash the patriarchy and replace it with the matriarchy, would that be better? Well, yeah, probably. But that has its own set of problems, and eventually we’d need to smash that as well.

Emba ends her opinion piece with this:

The old script for masculinity might be on its way out. It’s time we replaced it with something better.

This is just my opinion: if you define yourself as a man, then you’re a man. If you refuse to define yourself along any gender line, ain’t nothing wrong with that. Because the problem isn’t gender, really. The problem is the script. Emba got that point right.

People are comfortable with a script. A script tells them what to do, how to behave, where to stand, what to say and when to say it. People like a script. So yeah, maybe Emba is right that we need to replace it. Not just the ‘masculinity’ script, but the gender script. Maybe all we really need is a script that says this: Don’t be an asshole.

That’s a good script because asshole is also one of those categories that resist definition because they’re so broad and vague and elastic. If the script is don’t be an asshole, the actor would have to consider their entire galaxy of self-defined asshole behaviors. And then NOT do those things. That would solve a whole lot of problems.

bluesky smilin’ at me

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I’ve been asked to give my initial impression of Bluesky, the social network. I was invited to join about a month ago (courtesy of Bryce Fields, an old Flickr friend), and I have to say, it’s not quite what I expected it to be. But it is pretty much what I hoped it would be.

I was reluctant to leave Twitter because it fed a lot of my niche interests. Yeah, it was messy and ugly and getting more hateful by the hour, but it also allowed me to get a regular info-fix of crows, politics, archaeology, William Gibson fashion views, lizards, peculiar chunks of history, the US Women’s National Team (soccer), mortuary symbolism, and lots of other stuff. Twitter was like a Big Box store unfortunately staffed by Nazis but well-stocked with a lot of weird shit I wanted to know. I didn’t think there could be a venue where I could find all of that in a hate-free environment.

Twitter, as awful as it was (and still is), was also incredibly useful for real-time news. If something newsworthy was happening somewhere in the world, it was happening on Twitter. I’m talking about anything newsworthy–whether it was a riot or a natural disaster or some guy who found a human toe in a can of soup. Sure, you had to be alert for massive amounts of misinformation and even deliberate hateful disinformation, but Twitter served a purpose.

So here’s the question: does Bluesky work well enough to replace Twitter? Yes, it does. Bluesky isn’t quite there in terms of newsworthiness…yet. But it shows real potential in regard to my niche interests. And best of all, it’s virtually Nazi-free. Hell, it’s actually (and I hesitate to say this for fear of jinxing it) very pleasant. It’s comfortable without being ‘safe’ if that makes sense.

It’s important to remember that Bluesky is still in Beta, which means that a number of things we take for granted on other social media are missing. Stuff like hashtags or the ability to construct long discussion threads or DMs. Maybe those things will come later, I don’t know. At this point, their absence only marginally detracts from the experience.

The Bluesky experience is relaxed and welcoming. Some of this may be because it’s still fairly small. But, at the risk of sounding sappy, the users make a genuine effort to get along with each other. I’ve seen very little drama or rancor. There’s almost no indication of the sort of asshole culture that thrives on Twitter. I’m not saying there aren’t any assholes on Bluesky; I’m saying that assholes are handled better on Bluesky. There’s a relaxed Don’t Feed the Asshole vibe. Instead of trading insults or entering into pointless arguments with transphobic Nazis, users on Bluesky tend to just mute or block them. You can’t own the libs if the libs just ignore your existence.

It’s also nice to see Big Hat users (you know what I mean…folks who are well-known or famous in certain circles, and have hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitter, folks who wear a Big Hat) interacting with new users, especially when those users don’t know they’re Big Hats. On Twitter, you probably wouldn’t see Neil Gaiman helping a new user learn how to change his Bluesky handle to include his personal domain name. On Twitter you probably wouldn’t see somebody tell John Scalzi, “I followed you because you were kind and funny; I didn’t know you were famous.” That’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed the most about Bluesky–how accessible everybody is. It doesn’t mean people will pay attention to what you post (very little of what I post gets any attention), but it means you can easily find yourself asking questions about blue crayfish of somebody who turns out to be the Research Curator of Non-molluscan Invertebrates at the NC Museum of Natural Sciences.

My only real complaint with Bluesky is that I occasionally encounter users whose sincere preachiness I find mildly annoying…even when they’re right. There are folks who seem to seek out images posted without an Alt description in order to remind them (gently and with respect) that they really really should include Alt descriptions of images out of courtesy for visually impaired or autistic users. But even though I find it annoying, that’s probably the best way to change online culture. The sad fact is, some folks need to be reminded to be decent people. And (confession time!), I have to admit I never gave much thought to Alt descriptions before. Now I’ve set a filter on Bluesky that won’t allow me to post an image UNLESS I include an Alt description. That’s how Bluesky works; it encourages you to be decent.

I’ve been asked if Bluesky is supportive of LGBTQ+ communities. And the answer is no. It’s not merely supportive; it’s fucking celebratory. I’m not saying it’s an ongoing party, but there are corners of Bluesky culture that would make homophobes and transphobes really uncomfortable. Which, in my opinion, is another mark in its favor. It’s also nice that you can set filters that allow you to choose whether or not you want to see images of somebody wearing ass-less chaps and a sailor hat.

Also, there are lots of photos of dogs and cats (and sometimes the people associated with them). And for some reason, I see a lot of potato recipes. I’m okay with that.

Bluesky isn’t perfect. For example, there’s a noticeable absence of crow discussion. But the people here are tremendously enthusiastic, and that sort of makes up for the lack of crows. It’s that universal level of enthusiasm that makes Bluesky so attractive to me. Everybody here seems to be enthusiastic about something (like, say, star nosed moles). They’re also enthusiastic about creating a social network that is tolerant and accepting of almost everything except assholes.

As the site grows, it’ll change. It’s to be hoped that it will get even better, but that’s a gamble, isn’t it. For now, I’ve found it to be the most comfortable, welcoming, easy-to-use social network. It won’t suit everybody, of course, but I feel at home here.

EDITORIAL NOTE: Don’t forget, we need to burn the patriarchy. Burn it to the ground, gather the ashes, piss on them, douse them in oil, and set them on fire again. Burn the patriarchy, then drive a stake directly through the ashes where its heart used to be, and then set fire to the stake. Burn that fucker one more time. And keep burning it, over and over. Burn it for generations. Then nuke it from orbit. Then have tea.

scotus / minority report

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Hey, you guys. Remember when Tom Cruise made a movie about a government bureaucracy that allowed police in the future to arrest murderers BEFORE they committed any actual murders, based entirely on the “psychic impressions” of three weird bald folks floating in a tank? Remember that? Wasn’t that cool?

Tom Cruise ain’t got a thing on the Supreme Court of the United States! SCOTUS is now making Constitutional rulings based on FUTURE EVENTS THAT HAVEN’T EVEN HAPPENED YET! I am NOT making this up.

SCOTUS Minority Report consultants

There’s this woman in Colorado, Lorie Smith, who is right now being told that IN THE FUTURE she’ll be forced to design wedding websites for some icky gay folks who will IN THE FUTURE want to get gay married. And SCOTUS has decided that she shouldn’t be forced against her will IN THE FUTURE to do this thing that she hasn’t been asked by any actual real person to do…YET.

In her defense, Lorie Smith has said she was contacted THE DAY AFTER SHE FILED HER LAWSUIT by a guy named Stewart who was totally gay and he told her, that he and Mike (also totally gay) “…are getting married early next year and would love some design work done for our invites, placenames etc. We might also stretch to a website.” But on account of her firmly held religious Christian beliefs, Ms. Smith firmly told totally gay Stewart that she would firmly NOT design any wedding website for icky gay people when they ask her to IN THE FUTURE.

Sure, IN THE PRESENT Stewart claims he’s not gay at all, and that he’s been married to a woman for like 15 years, and that he’s never asked Ms. Smith for a wedding website celebrating his icky gay marriage to this Mike person who he doesn’t even know…YET. But obviously, IN THE FUTURE Stewart will discover he’s actually completely gay and will fall in love with Mike (also gay) and they’ll decided to get icky gay married and will IN THE FUTURE ask Lorie Smith to make them a website.

But now she won’t have to do that, because Minority Report SCOTUS has consulted those bald folks in the pool and they said “Nuh uh.”

“So you’re saying Stewart will…what? Dump his wife??!!”

Ain’t science great? Unless, you’re Stewart and Mike, who won’t get to have a Lorie Smith designed website for their icky gay wedding. Also, tough beans for the current Mrs. Stewart, who’s gonna get stone dumped at some point, poor thing.

a writer, not an author

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I don’t spend much time thinking about myself. I mean, I’ve lived with me my whole life; there’s not much unknown territory there for me to explore. But I had this exchange on BlueSky (one of the more promising ‘next Twitter’ social media). There was a call to create an ‘authors feed’. My response:

This is probably silly, but I tend to be uncomfortable with the term ‘author’. I’ve published some stuff–short fiction, nonfiction books, a novel–so ‘author’ technically fits. But maybe it sounds too pretentious for me? I think of myself as a writer. I write stuff.

The reply:

Yeah, that’s the old imposter syndrome kicking in. The only requirement to being an author is to have authored something.

And I thought, “Yeah, that’s probably it.” I suspect anybody who has had some success in anything has, at one point, thought, “Lawdy, who do I think I’m fooling?” Normally, that would be it. Question asked, question answered, end of story.

But this morning, after I sat down at the keyboard, drinking my morning cold brew, looking out the window, reading the news, going through my usual morning routine before starting to write, I thought, “Naw…I’m not an imposter. I mean, I won a damn Edgar this year. That’s a pretty big deal.” And I looked at the mantle…

…and then I thought, “Hey…where’s my Edgar?” Because it wasn’t on the mantle.

Okay, some history. I learned I’d been nominated for an Edgar from Lori Rader-Day (who, by the way, is the real deal; you should go out RIGHT NOW and buy all her books). I thought that was pretty cool, but aside from doing some of the scut work associated with the nomination, I didn’t give it much thought. I didn’t expect to win. I even forgot about the big Edgar event when they announced the winners. Again, it was Lori who alerted me that I’d won. Again, I thought it was pretty cool and I understood I’d be getting a statuette at some point. And again, I pretty much forgot about it until it arrived.

Now THAT was cool. I took it out of the box, put it on the kitchen table (where I usually keep my Chromebook and do most of my writing in the mornings), looked at it a few times, then pretty much ignored it. Until I was reminded I hadn’t taken a photo of it. So I did that.

See? I won that thing right there.

Some time later, I happened to notice it sitting on the mantle over the fireplace. And I said something clever, like, “Hey, look…my Edgar.” To which Ginger replied, “I put it there a couple of weeks ago, you idiot.” So this morning, when I looked at the mantle to remind myself that getting an Edgar is a big deal and I’m not an imposter, I realized she must have moved it somewhere else. I’ll have to ask her later.

My point–if you can call it that–is I don’t feel like an imposter. I have actual, physical, tactile proof that I’m not an imposter. So what is my problem with the term ‘author’? And I’ve decided it’s this: ‘Author’ is a fixed, static state. You become an author when the work is done. ‘Writer’ is dynamic; it’s a thing you DO. I don’t think of myself as an author because I’m not particularly interested in what I’ve already done because…well, I’ve already done it. I am interested in what I’m doing, which is writing.

Like I said, I don’t spend much time thinking about myself, mainly because I’m not that interesting to me. But I realize some of this crap–like why I prefer to be a writer instead of an author–might be interesting to other folks. So, there you have it.

keeping balance

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I declare, it’s been a crazy couple of weeks. Between insane weather events, and imploding submersibles, and bizarre Russian semi-coups, and insane imploding bizarre Trump criminal developments, it’s been difficult to focus on a single topic for more than a few minutes at a time.

So I’ve been riding my bike. I mean, when you’re riding a bike, all the rest of that shit fades into vaguely annoying background noise. Like tinnitus. It’s there all the goddamn time, but you just sorta kinda get used to it.

Besides, I have a new bike. Well, it’s not new new. I’ve had it for about a month or so. So it’s still new. Newish. I’ve only put about 170 miles on it. That may sound like a lot, but when you do a few 20-30 mile rides interspersed with sporadically cycling back and forth to the gym, it slowly adds up. And because it’s a new bike and I’m still enamored with it, I’ve been photographing it wherever I’ve gone. Yes, that’s right, I’m taking pictures of a fucking bicycle. Which is just as ridiculous as it sounds.

This is my second electric bike. My first was a fat-tire bike; I described it as the best purchase I’ve ever made. That’s still true, although I sold it when I bought my new bike. It was the best purchase because it allowed me to enjoy cycling again, after years of NOT cycling (because of knee pain). It was a big bastard of a bike; it could go anywhere, but it was cumbersome. The new bike–an Aventon Level 2–is more of a commuter bike. The tires are half as wide, and it’s a lot more nimble. It has a torque sensor instead of the fat bike’s cadence sensor (which will only be of interest to other folks who have ebikes), so riding it feels more like riding a regular bike.

But even on my bike, I can’t fully escape the outside world. For example, President Uncle Joe passed the infrastructure act, which means there’s been a massive increase in transportation construction and repairs, and that includes bicycle paths. Normally, there are a couple hundred miles of easily accessible, dedicated bike trails I can ride, plus all the local bike paths. But with all the new construction, a lot of those paths and trails have been disrupted. It’s a small, temporary inconvenience, and good for Uncle Joe and all…but it’s still annoying to set out on a ride, only to find an excavator has torn up the trail.

And I can’t exclude former President Comrade Trump when it comes to problems. A couple of days ago I rode down to a nearby reservoir, which is a popular sport for boaters, folks who like to fish, and birders. There’s a large paved parking area where folks park their vehicles and leave their boat trailers. As I was riding along, a couple of guys (white, short hair, in their 20s) driving a Jeep approached me, going the opposite direction. They slowed down, looked at me, and one of the guys yelled, “Fuck Ukrainian Nazis!”

It seemed like an odd thing to shout at a random stranger…until I remembered I was wearing a t-shirt with the Ukrainian flag and ‘Україна’ written on it. I’m assuming they recognized the flag, although I suppose it’s possible they were also familiar with the Cyrillic alphabet. I’m actually kind of impressed they recognized the flag; I don’t expect MAGA-Anon folks to have much awareness of geography or vexillology.

The incident put a very short-term damper on my enjoyment of the day. Maybe five minutes. It was just too nice a day to allow fuckwits to disrupt it. My biggest disappointment that day was arriving at one of my favorite bicycle bars and remembering they didn’t open until 1500 hours. There’s a pair of large open-air pavilions nearby, with restrooms and a public bike repair station, so I considered just hanging out for an hour or so until it opened. But home was only a couple of miles away, and I have a refrigerator stocked with an assortment of beers, so for once I made the logical decision.

Okay, I can’t write a blog post without getting at least a little bit pretentious. So here’s Albert Einstein, in a letter to his son:

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving

This is me, keeping my balance.

waiting for…

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A country road. Grass. A tree.

Vladimir sitting in the grass on the side of the road, wearing a single boot, looking forlornly at a boot in his hand.

Enter Miss Elizabeth Bennett

VLADIMIR: Nothing to be done.

MISS BENNETT: Surely, Mr. Putin, something can be done, if only you put your mind to it.

VLADIMIR: My mind, or my boot? I should put something to it.

MISS BENNETT: It is an exceedingly disreputable boot, sir, but we are on business that cannot be delayed; we have not an instant to lose. Pray put on your boot, sir.

VLADIMIR: The boot. It’s not the boot, it’s the bones. Everything here is bones or looks like bones.

MISS BENNETT: Still, should we not leave? Otherwise I fear we must be very late indeed.

VLADIMIR: We can’t leave. We can’t be late. We have to wait.

MISS BENNETT: You are certain, are you not, it was here?

VLADIMIR: Here?

MISS BENNETT: Where we were to wait.

VLADIMIR: He said to wait in the grass.

MISS BENNETT: My dear Mr. Putin, we are in the countryside. Grass is as common as needles. It would be astonishing not to be in the grass.

VLADIMIR: We should leave? Where would we go?

MISS BENNETT: Some place more agreeable.

VLADIMIR: Agreeable. Is there such a place?

MISS BENNETT: It will do you a world of good to consider the possibility.

VLADIMIR: What if he comes and we’re not here?

MISS BENNETT: You prefer, then, to wait.

VLADIMIR: We must wait. We can’t wait. Everything here is bones or looks like bones.

MISS BENNETT: Very well, we shall wait.

MISS BENNETT: Shhh. Did you hear that?

VLADIMIR: Hear what?

MISS BENNETT: That!

VLADIMIR: Is it him?

MISS BENNETT: Who?

VLADIMIR: You’ve forgotten. Already you’ve forgotten.

MISS BENNETT: In polite society, a good memory is unpardonable. Indeed, this is the last time I shall ever remember it myself.

VLADIMIR: I congratulate you.

MISS BENNETT: You are being ever so amiable. I did not think you capable of such congeniality.

(Vladimir shrugs.)

VLADIMIR: It’s not him.

(Miss Bennett looks around.)

MISS BENNETT: No. I fear it is not.

VLADIMIR: Bones. Nothing but bones and things that look like bones.

(Vladimir starts stand.)

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: You are the most contrary person. I begin to think you incapable of even the least flirtation with consistency.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: Very well, if you feel so keenly about it. Let us go.

(Vladimir resumes sitting. Looks at the boot in his hand.)

VLADIMIR: Nothing to be done about it.

MISS BENNETT: Your boot?”

VLADIMIR: What about my boot?

MISS BENNETT: Your disreputable boot may go hang itself, for all I care, and cursed be its bones.

VLADIMIR: Bones and things that look like bones. We may as well stay.

MISS BENNETT: There is to be a ball in Meryton on Tuesday fortnight, and I am to have the first dance with…

VLADIMIR: A ball?

MISS BENNETT: A ball.

(Vladimir looks at the boot in his hand.)

VLADIMIR: A ball. There will be dancing.

MISS BENNETT: There is nothing quite in the world like dancing. I consider it the first refinement of polished society.

VLADIMIR: Will he be there, do you think?

MISS BENNETT: I should think so. Everyone will be there.

VLADIMIR: I won’t be there.

MISS BENNETT: You’ll still be waiting, then?

(Vladimir looks as if he’s about to cry.)

MISS BENNETT: Oh, do put on your boot. Or remove the other. How can you be so very silly?

VLADIMIR: How can it all be bones? And things that look like bones?

VLADIMIR: Does he take us for fools? Why do we wait? We are fools.

MISS BENNETT: I may flatter myself, but I think I am not so uncommonly foolish as my younger sisters.

VLADIMIR: We should go. There will be dancing.

MISS BENNETT: Although I dare say I have, in my way, been ever so headstrong and foolish.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

(Vladimir puts on his boot, stands.)

(Miss Bennett sits in the grass. Removes a buckled shoe.)

MISS BENNETT: Nothing to be done.

VLADIMIR: We should go.

MISS BENNETT: We should go. We must go. We can’t go.

VLADIMIR: Miss Bennett, it looks a hopeless business.

He moves away from Miss Bennett.

VLADIMIR: I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t have been better off alone, each one for himself. We weren’t made for the same road.

MISS BENNETT: It looks very much like bones. Mr. Putin. Bones and things that look like bones.

VLADIMIR: We should go. There will be dancing.

(Vladimir sits.)

ask the questions, get the answers

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Here’s what I think (at this particular moment) will happen: the current case Comrade Trump is facing–the documents case–won’t go to trial. I suspect his lawyers will convince him to try to work out some sort of plea arrangement.

I say that because…wait. Just to be clear, I am NOT a lawyer. I’ve banged around the US criminal justice system for many years and I’ve seen a lot of legal/criminal stuff, but I haven’t been to law school and there’s a LOT of stuff I don’t understand.

Okay, that’s out of the way. I say this case won’t go to trial for a very simple reason: I don’t see any defense to the charges. You can read the indictment yourself, but in very simple terms, Comrade Trump is accused of a) hanging on to documents he wasn’t legally allowed to have in his possession, b) lying about having those documents, c) hiding those documents from the people looking for them, d) getting other folks to lie about those documents, and e) getting other folks to help hide them.

If the facts are against you, bang on the law. If the law is against you, bang on the facts. If the facts and the law are against you, bang on the table.

So the case comes down to some pretty simple questions and answers. So let’s ask the questions and get the answers.

  1. Was Trump authorized to have possession of those documents? Nope.
  2. Did he have possession of them? Yep.
  3. Did he have reason to believe those documents ‘could be used to the injury of the United States or to the advantage of any foreign nation’? Yep.
  4. Was he asked to return them? Yep.
  5. Did he return them? Yes, some of them. And he hasn’t been charged in regard to those particular documents.
  6. Did he return all of them? Nope.
  7. Did he lie about returning all of them? Yep.
  8. Did he get other folks to lie about returning all of them? Yep.
  9. Did he hide them from the folks who were trying to find them? Yep.
  10. Did he get other folks to help him hide them? Yep

The only question that MIGHT be in dispute is that first one. Comrade Trump claims the Presidential Records Act authorized him to keep those documents. Does it? Nope. This is what the Act says:

Upon the conclusion of a President’s term of office, or if a President serves consecutive terms upon the conclusion of the last term, the Archivist of the United States shall assume responsibility for the custody, control, and preservation of, and access to, the Presidential records of that President.

The moment Trump ceased to be POTUS and President Uncle Joe took over, Trump lost custody and control of his presidential authority over the records. Claiming the Presidential Records Act can be interpreted differently is a weak argument, but Trump’s lawyers apparently intend to offer it in court–and with Judge Cannon presiding, it may be allowed.

But will it work? Will a jury buy it? Highly unlikely. Why? Because the National Archives repeatedly TOLD Trump IN WRITING about his legal obligation to surrender control over his records. They repeatedly asked him to return documents he’d retained illegally, and gave him multiple opportunities to do so. The fact that he DID return some but still chose NOT to return others is evidence that he understood what the National Archives repeatedly told him–that he wasn’t authorized to keep those fucking documents.

But he kept them anyway.

So as far as I can see (and, again, I’m NOT a lawyer), Comrade Trump’s ONLY defense is that he was too fucking stupid to understand the repeated warnings given to him and his lawyers about returning classified documents EVEN THOUGH he understood it enough to return some of them.

If that’s the only defense he’s got, Trump’s choices are limited. Either go to trial and hope like hell for a MAGA-infected juror who’ll vote to acquit despite the evidence OR come to some sort of plea arrangement. He might offer to plead guilty to a lesser offense in exchange for…something. No prison time, probably. Maybe in exchange for not being indicted on a Seditious Conspiracy charge in the January 6th insurrection.

I’m not saying I LIKE this as a result. I’m just saying I think this is what’s going to happen.

Obviously, Trump won’t enter into a plea negotiation soon. He’ll delay it as long as possible, as long as he can continue to raise funds off his pending trial. But eventually, in my opinion, he and his lawyers will start talking about a plea arrangement. The case against him is just too strong.

equal justice under the law

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Harold T. Martin was commissioned as a Surface Warfare Officer in the US Navy; he served from 1987 to 2000, and was deployed during Operation Desert Storm. After being honorably discharged from active duty, he obtained a Master’s degree in Information Services. His education and military service allowed him to move into the defense industry, and he worked for a variety of defense contractor corporations.

As a naval officer, Martin had been cleared to access classified information and he retained his clearance as he worked his way through the defense industry. Each successive position granted him access to even more classified information. By 2012, Martin was working with the elite Tailored Access Operations unit of the National Security Agency (NSA). That unit was designed to create ways to secretly hack into computer systems (rather than individual units).

Harold T. Martin’s mugshot

At some point in his career, Martin began to acquire sensitive secret information, which he brought home with him. He took materials from the Central Intelligence Agency, the National Security Agency, the United States Cyber Command, the Department of Defense, and the National Reconnaissance Office. He kept the material in an unsecured shed on his property.

Martin was arrested in 2016 and charged with Willful Retention of National Defense Information under the Espionage Act. According to prosecutors, Martin apparently never did anything with the information he stole; he didn’t offer them for sale, he didn’t show them to anybody. In fact, prosecutors believed he’d never even accessed any of the files he stole from government facilities. He simply hoarded them. It was, apparently, compulsive behavior.

In 2019, Martin was sentenced to nine years in prison.

Today Comrade Former President Donald Trump is being arraigned in federal court. Like Martin, Trump is accused of multiple counts of Willful Retention of National Defense Information. Like Martin, he took information he wasn’t allowed to take from multiple security services. Unlike Martin, Trump avoided military service. Unlike Martin, Trump allegedly showed classified information to people who weren’t classified to see it. Unlike Martin, who was incarcerated for three years before his trial, Trump has been free on his own recognizance.

It remains to be seen if Trump, like Martin, will be held accountable for his crimes.