By Raanan Geberer
Published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle, July 13, 2010
BROOKLYN – I’m the type of person who rarely looks at interest rates. I figure it doesn’t make any difference whether something is a point up or down from what it was before. I know that when I opened a new short-term CD account about two ago it was around 3 percent, down from 4 percent just beforehand. I was a tiny bit unhappy about this, but not that much.
Therefore, it was a shock to me when my wife called it to my attention that the current rate interest on this CD account was only about 0.35 percent or so.
Now, the only reason someone opens a CD account is to get a higher interest rate than a regular savings account. So a 0.35 percent interest rate on a CD, even a seven-month CD, is rather disconcerting. Thinking it might be just a peculiarity of this particular bank, I went to another bank where I have an account and asked for a copy of their rates. They were very similar.
I know that interest rates are more or less set by the Federal Reserve Bank, and that interest rates are lowered for some reason having to do with the economy. However, I don’t really care – I can understand lower rates, but this is a little too much. And I’m really shocked that there isn’t more of an outcry about this.
I would encourage anyone who’s upset about these low bank interest rates to deluge the state Banking Superintendent, the Federal Reserve Bank, their elected representatives and anyone else with phone calls and e-mails. Maybe then, someone will re-think these abysmally low rates.
Friday, July 16, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Let the States Tackle Healthcare
(first published in "Brooklyn Daily Eagle"
Today in Washington, D.C., we have the phenomenon of a Democratic president, a Democratic House and a Democratic Senate unable to come together a healthcare bill that was approved, in different versions, by both the House and the Senate.
Maybe the president, Congress and the Senate are too scared or too incompetent. Maybe they want the Republicans’ love and cooperation (or what President Obama calls “bipartisanship”) so much that they’re willing to bend over backwards for it — and it still doesn’t work. In any case, if you compare Obama’s campaign promises with his unwillingness to fight for his goals, the results are shocking.
But, thankfully, this country does not only consist of an all-powerful federal government and powerless local governments. Even though the power of the federal government has steadily expanded since the 1930s, the states still have substantial power.
So why not have the states take the lead on healthcare?
There’s plenty of precedent for the states starting their own social programs. Long before the federal government began to institute welfare programs, Franklin D. Roosevelt, then the governor of New York state, started such a program (then called “relief”).
Also, several years before the federal government passed unemployment insurance, the state of Wisconsin, in 1932, began its own unemployment insurance program.
Even when one looks at healthcare reform, there are several state-sponsored programs worth looking at today. Vermont passed its own universal healthcare legislation in 2008. Massachusetts, under conservative Republican Gov. Mitt Romney, also passed its own plan, although that plan has come under its share of criticism. Hawaii has a plan very similar to those found in European nations.
Instead of lamenting the dismal state of affairs in Washington, D.C., perhaps it’s time for advocates of universal healthcare to take matters into their own hands in state governments.
Today in Washington, D.C., we have the phenomenon of a Democratic president, a Democratic House and a Democratic Senate unable to come together a healthcare bill that was approved, in different versions, by both the House and the Senate.
Maybe the president, Congress and the Senate are too scared or too incompetent. Maybe they want the Republicans’ love and cooperation (or what President Obama calls “bipartisanship”) so much that they’re willing to bend over backwards for it — and it still doesn’t work. In any case, if you compare Obama’s campaign promises with his unwillingness to fight for his goals, the results are shocking.
But, thankfully, this country does not only consist of an all-powerful federal government and powerless local governments. Even though the power of the federal government has steadily expanded since the 1930s, the states still have substantial power.
So why not have the states take the lead on healthcare?
There’s plenty of precedent for the states starting their own social programs. Long before the federal government began to institute welfare programs, Franklin D. Roosevelt, then the governor of New York state, started such a program (then called “relief”).
Also, several years before the federal government passed unemployment insurance, the state of Wisconsin, in 1932, began its own unemployment insurance program.
Even when one looks at healthcare reform, there are several state-sponsored programs worth looking at today. Vermont passed its own universal healthcare legislation in 2008. Massachusetts, under conservative Republican Gov. Mitt Romney, also passed its own plan, although that plan has come under its share of criticism. Hawaii has a plan very similar to those found in European nations.
Instead of lamenting the dismal state of affairs in Washington, D.C., perhaps it’s time for advocates of universal healthcare to take matters into their own hands in state governments.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
New Year's Eve 1980
By Raanan Geberer
Published in "Two Hawks Quarterly," Spring 2010
“Have you heard the story of Gunny Joe?
Who lived way down by the Kokomo?
AAAAH, GUNNY JOE!!!!”
Rob Rothstein bellowed the nonsensical rhyme at the top of his lungs, right in the middle of the sleazy donut place at 23rd Street and Eighth Avenue that he had entered to get away from the bitter cold. He was drunk and he didn’t care who knew it. The one-eyed old guy behind the counter, who had seen everything, just handed Ron his paper cup of coffee with no expression.
Rob was coming from one New Year’s Eve party and going to another. The first, in an old apartment house on 20th Street facing Gramercy Park, was given by Jamie, one of the people from his old job. The owner of the small PR firm was a Fordham graduate, and most of the other people who worked there had gone to Fordham too. Most of them, although Rob’s age, were fairly conservative – not in politics, which they didn’t talk about, but in terms of lifestyle, family, careers. They were clean-cut, well-dressed, red-cheeked and smiling, in contrast to Rob with his jeans he had worn three days in a row, his shirt with ink stains on the pocket, his unshined shoes, and his anger and frustration. They milled around, drank beer, greeted each other loudly and talked about football, with Billy Joel playing in the background. There was really only one thing Rob shared with them – drinking..
After being at the party for about an hour, Rob was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He had to leave. Now, he was getting on the subway, on his way to his second New Year’s Eve Party up in Inwood. By his calculations, he’d probably get there about an hour before the new year. .
The A train was packed with people going to New Year’s parties. Across from Rob was a group of young European tourists dressed in party hats and speaking a language that he couldn’t make out. Next to him was a leather-jacketed homeboy playing “Rapper’s Delight” on a boom box. The train picked up speed on the long stretch between 59th and 125th Streets. When it got to 181st, Rob felt strange because that was his stop. But he had to continue to 207th, the last stop on the line.
Once in Inwood, Rob walked up to 218th Street, then started walking west, soldiering forward against the icy wind. Some of these homes, he thought, had to be worth a fortune, like those brick houses where you had to walk up two or three stone staircases just to get to the front door. The Art Deco apartment houses weren’t too bad either. Without a doubt, this must be the most expensive part of Inwood. He identified the address where the party was, right across from Baker Field, rang the front bell, and took the elevator up.
If Rob’s first party was Billy Joel, this one was Elvis Costello, Devo and Blondie. There was a lot more dancing AND drinking, and quite a bit of pot smoking too. Unlike the 20th Street crew, these guys didn’t only drink beer – they passed around bottles of red wine and Sangria. Rob was finally able to relax. The girls were his type – no makeup, long straight hair, jeans, handcrafted jewelry. He looked around and saw his friend, Milos the Czech, who was talking to two young Hispanic guys whom Rob took to be fellow students of his from CCNY. Milos was a few years older than most of the people here, about the same age as Rob – when Milos defected from Czechosolvakia and came to the U.S., the ungrateful authorities here made him start his college career again from the beginning.
“How are yew, Rob?” Milos asked. “My classmates here were just showing me this liqueur made of cane sugar. It’s from de Dominican Republic! De person giving dis party is dis vorking-class voman called Risa, I don’t know her, but she’s a gude person anyvay! So how’s de other party?”
“So boring! I’m glad I left there when I did!”
“My friend Jonasz is on his vay, you remember, de computer guy? He has two ideologies–de Buddhist ideology and de secretary-fucking ideology. Dey don’t mix!” Both laughed.
“Any food here?” Rob asked. “The other place had nothing but some chips and dip and raw carrots and celery.”
“Are you kidding?” answered Milos. “Here, ve have everything! Ve have chili, ve have vegetarian chili, ve have lasagna, ve have eggplant...”
“Great!” Rob answered. “Is your wife coming?”
“Yes, she’s coming a little vhile later vit one of her fellow anthropology students. I bet der having a debate about Melville Herskovits or Frank Bals now!” Both laughed. “You vant some grass?”
“Maybe a little later. I’ve got to eat first.”
“OK. I go to bathroom. I think dat tomorrow night, me and some of my friends, ve go to punk club in de East Village. Vant to go vit us?”
“Definitely! See you later, Milos. By the way, in a few weeks, Reagan will be president.”
“Don’t remind me! Dat stupid cowboy actor? Dat’s America for yew” Again, they laughed, and then Milos walked down the long hallway to the bathroom.
Rob walked back into the other room, took some chips with salsa and a piece of garlic bread, and sat down on the couch. It was so soft he fell backward into the cushion. Next to him was a breathtaking, very tall thin girl with long brown hair and olive skin, almost certainly Mediterranean. She was wearing turquoise earrings, a silver bracelet, jeans and a jacket with a fur collar – not the kind of fur collar you’d buy on Fifth Avenue, bu the kind you’d buy at a thrift store.
“Hi,” Rob said, extending his hand, “I’m Rob.”
“I’m Delia De Leon. Are you a City College student also?”
Aha. De Leon, an old Sephardic Jewish name. She was perfect. “No,” Rob answered, “I’m just friends with Milos over there. I’ve graduated already. I even have a master’s! I went to the State University at Albany, then Hunter.”
“Hey, my sister goes to Albany! So what do you do?”
“I’m a housing assistant for the city, but I’m looking to get a job in city planning–that’s what I got my master’s in. What are you majoring in?”
“I have a double major–psychology and art..Many of the people in my family were artists. Some of my photos are on display at the Ethical Culture Society in Riverdale ” Perfect! Rob loved artistic types, although he himself had no artistic talent. Maybe someday he’d write poetry.
The next question that Rob wanted to ask was embarrassing, so he decided to begin with a statement instead. “I live in a studio apartment on Cabrini Boulevard, across from Milos and his wife. How about you.”
“Oh, I was living with my parents, but I just moved with two other girls to our own place on Broadway Terrace, not too far from here.” Rob was glad. He was tired of meeting these dull, timid and socially awkward “nebbish” types who had never lived anywhere other than with their parents. Even when, after receiving his B.A., he had been stuck at home for almost a year, he consoled himself with the fact that at least he had lived away beforehand.
“That’s great!” Rob told Delia. “Where did you come from before?”
“I grew up in Kingsbridge, in Tibbett Towers.”
BOOM! Tibbett Towers!. To Rob, that meant just one thing.
“Do you know Celeste Bernstein?”
“Of course? Who doesn’t know Celeste? I haven’t heard from her lately. I hear she’s become a real women’s libber.”
Rob couldn’t help himself – he started asking question after question about Celeste Bernstein. Delia started to get annoyed. He knew he’d lost any chance of going out with her. In a haze, he made his way to the other room and took a glass of Chianti.
Celeste Bernstein had been the great love of Rob’s life. They met during Christmas vacation while Rob was a freshman in college and Celeste was still in high school. Her family seemed very exotic to him – her mother was a playwright and her father was a former Trotskyist, although he was now the branch manager of a bank. Rob lost his virginity with her, and that heart-felt, passionate night they spent together up in Albany was one of his most cherished memories. They wrote each other long romantic letters, and he’d come in to the city every other weekend to see her.
But even then, she seemed restless, occasionally talking about wanting to have sex with other guys and girls, although she never followed through. She changed her future plans every other week – one time she wanted to become a doctor, the next, an airplane pilot. Sometimes she would talk about living about Hawaii; other times, about moving to Europe. After she proposed that, for the Fourth of July, they run naked through the hallway of her apartment building to “freak everybody out,” he began to drift away from her. It was only when his friend from Brooklyn began seeing her that he realized how much she meant to him.
Last year, Rob had a second chance with Celeste. They had three dates. Then, on the way home, she suddenly started singing nonsense syllables and shrieking wildly. She reminded Rob of a former co-worker who forgot to take her psychiatric medication one day and had to be sent home. When he asked Celeste timidly if he could spend the night with her, she turned on him savagely and accused him of treating her “like a piece of meat” – as if they had never had a relationship, as if she had never had any of the one-night stands that she’d bragged about. When he called her the next week, she threatened to call the police. Now, he hungered for any news of Celeste. He started to cry.
A few minutes after New Year’s, he grabbed some chocolate cake and said goodbye to Milos and his wife. He went outside, not bothering to say goodbye to Delia.
Everywhere around him, people were celebrating the New Year. And here he was, mourning an old love.
Published in "Two Hawks Quarterly," Spring 2010
“Have you heard the story of Gunny Joe?
Who lived way down by the Kokomo?
AAAAH, GUNNY JOE!!!!”
Rob Rothstein bellowed the nonsensical rhyme at the top of his lungs, right in the middle of the sleazy donut place at 23rd Street and Eighth Avenue that he had entered to get away from the bitter cold. He was drunk and he didn’t care who knew it. The one-eyed old guy behind the counter, who had seen everything, just handed Ron his paper cup of coffee with no expression.
Rob was coming from one New Year’s Eve party and going to another. The first, in an old apartment house on 20th Street facing Gramercy Park, was given by Jamie, one of the people from his old job. The owner of the small PR firm was a Fordham graduate, and most of the other people who worked there had gone to Fordham too. Most of them, although Rob’s age, were fairly conservative – not in politics, which they didn’t talk about, but in terms of lifestyle, family, careers. They were clean-cut, well-dressed, red-cheeked and smiling, in contrast to Rob with his jeans he had worn three days in a row, his shirt with ink stains on the pocket, his unshined shoes, and his anger and frustration. They milled around, drank beer, greeted each other loudly and talked about football, with Billy Joel playing in the background. There was really only one thing Rob shared with them – drinking..
After being at the party for about an hour, Rob was beginning to feel claustrophobic. He had to leave. Now, he was getting on the subway, on his way to his second New Year’s Eve Party up in Inwood. By his calculations, he’d probably get there about an hour before the new year. .
The A train was packed with people going to New Year’s parties. Across from Rob was a group of young European tourists dressed in party hats and speaking a language that he couldn’t make out. Next to him was a leather-jacketed homeboy playing “Rapper’s Delight” on a boom box. The train picked up speed on the long stretch between 59th and 125th Streets. When it got to 181st, Rob felt strange because that was his stop. But he had to continue to 207th, the last stop on the line.
Once in Inwood, Rob walked up to 218th Street, then started walking west, soldiering forward against the icy wind. Some of these homes, he thought, had to be worth a fortune, like those brick houses where you had to walk up two or three stone staircases just to get to the front door. The Art Deco apartment houses weren’t too bad either. Without a doubt, this must be the most expensive part of Inwood. He identified the address where the party was, right across from Baker Field, rang the front bell, and took the elevator up.
If Rob’s first party was Billy Joel, this one was Elvis Costello, Devo and Blondie. There was a lot more dancing AND drinking, and quite a bit of pot smoking too. Unlike the 20th Street crew, these guys didn’t only drink beer – they passed around bottles of red wine and Sangria. Rob was finally able to relax. The girls were his type – no makeup, long straight hair, jeans, handcrafted jewelry. He looked around and saw his friend, Milos the Czech, who was talking to two young Hispanic guys whom Rob took to be fellow students of his from CCNY. Milos was a few years older than most of the people here, about the same age as Rob – when Milos defected from Czechosolvakia and came to the U.S., the ungrateful authorities here made him start his college career again from the beginning.
“How are yew, Rob?” Milos asked. “My classmates here were just showing me this liqueur made of cane sugar. It’s from de Dominican Republic! De person giving dis party is dis vorking-class voman called Risa, I don’t know her, but she’s a gude person anyvay! So how’s de other party?”
“So boring! I’m glad I left there when I did!”
“My friend Jonasz is on his vay, you remember, de computer guy? He has two ideologies–de Buddhist ideology and de secretary-fucking ideology. Dey don’t mix!” Both laughed.
“Any food here?” Rob asked. “The other place had nothing but some chips and dip and raw carrots and celery.”
“Are you kidding?” answered Milos. “Here, ve have everything! Ve have chili, ve have vegetarian chili, ve have lasagna, ve have eggplant...”
“Great!” Rob answered. “Is your wife coming?”
“Yes, she’s coming a little vhile later vit one of her fellow anthropology students. I bet der having a debate about Melville Herskovits or Frank Bals now!” Both laughed. “You vant some grass?”
“Maybe a little later. I’ve got to eat first.”
“OK. I go to bathroom. I think dat tomorrow night, me and some of my friends, ve go to punk club in de East Village. Vant to go vit us?”
“Definitely! See you later, Milos. By the way, in a few weeks, Reagan will be president.”
“Don’t remind me! Dat stupid cowboy actor? Dat’s America for yew” Again, they laughed, and then Milos walked down the long hallway to the bathroom.
Rob walked back into the other room, took some chips with salsa and a piece of garlic bread, and sat down on the couch. It was so soft he fell backward into the cushion. Next to him was a breathtaking, very tall thin girl with long brown hair and olive skin, almost certainly Mediterranean. She was wearing turquoise earrings, a silver bracelet, jeans and a jacket with a fur collar – not the kind of fur collar you’d buy on Fifth Avenue, bu the kind you’d buy at a thrift store.
“Hi,” Rob said, extending his hand, “I’m Rob.”
“I’m Delia De Leon. Are you a City College student also?”
Aha. De Leon, an old Sephardic Jewish name. She was perfect. “No,” Rob answered, “I’m just friends with Milos over there. I’ve graduated already. I even have a master’s! I went to the State University at Albany, then Hunter.”
“Hey, my sister goes to Albany! So what do you do?”
“I’m a housing assistant for the city, but I’m looking to get a job in city planning–that’s what I got my master’s in. What are you majoring in?”
“I have a double major–psychology and art..Many of the people in my family were artists. Some of my photos are on display at the Ethical Culture Society in Riverdale ” Perfect! Rob loved artistic types, although he himself had no artistic talent. Maybe someday he’d write poetry.
The next question that Rob wanted to ask was embarrassing, so he decided to begin with a statement instead. “I live in a studio apartment on Cabrini Boulevard, across from Milos and his wife. How about you.”
“Oh, I was living with my parents, but I just moved with two other girls to our own place on Broadway Terrace, not too far from here.” Rob was glad. He was tired of meeting these dull, timid and socially awkward “nebbish” types who had never lived anywhere other than with their parents. Even when, after receiving his B.A., he had been stuck at home for almost a year, he consoled himself with the fact that at least he had lived away beforehand.
“That’s great!” Rob told Delia. “Where did you come from before?”
“I grew up in Kingsbridge, in Tibbett Towers.”
BOOM! Tibbett Towers!. To Rob, that meant just one thing.
“Do you know Celeste Bernstein?”
“Of course? Who doesn’t know Celeste? I haven’t heard from her lately. I hear she’s become a real women’s libber.”
Rob couldn’t help himself – he started asking question after question about Celeste Bernstein. Delia started to get annoyed. He knew he’d lost any chance of going out with her. In a haze, he made his way to the other room and took a glass of Chianti.
Celeste Bernstein had been the great love of Rob’s life. They met during Christmas vacation while Rob was a freshman in college and Celeste was still in high school. Her family seemed very exotic to him – her mother was a playwright and her father was a former Trotskyist, although he was now the branch manager of a bank. Rob lost his virginity with her, and that heart-felt, passionate night they spent together up in Albany was one of his most cherished memories. They wrote each other long romantic letters, and he’d come in to the city every other weekend to see her.
But even then, she seemed restless, occasionally talking about wanting to have sex with other guys and girls, although she never followed through. She changed her future plans every other week – one time she wanted to become a doctor, the next, an airplane pilot. Sometimes she would talk about living about Hawaii; other times, about moving to Europe. After she proposed that, for the Fourth of July, they run naked through the hallway of her apartment building to “freak everybody out,” he began to drift away from her. It was only when his friend from Brooklyn began seeing her that he realized how much she meant to him.
Last year, Rob had a second chance with Celeste. They had three dates. Then, on the way home, she suddenly started singing nonsense syllables and shrieking wildly. She reminded Rob of a former co-worker who forgot to take her psychiatric medication one day and had to be sent home. When he asked Celeste timidly if he could spend the night with her, she turned on him savagely and accused him of treating her “like a piece of meat” – as if they had never had a relationship, as if she had never had any of the one-night stands that she’d bragged about. When he called her the next week, she threatened to call the police. Now, he hungered for any news of Celeste. He started to cry.
A few minutes after New Year’s, he grabbed some chocolate cake and said goodbye to Milos and his wife. He went outside, not bothering to say goodbye to Delia.
Everywhere around him, people were celebrating the New Year. And here he was, mourning an old love.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Civil Rights Movement and the Cold War
By Raanan Geberer
Originally published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle
On the birth anniversary of the Rev. Martin Luther King, we celebrate the enlargement of civil rights in the U.S. to include African-Americans in the mid-1960s.
While no one doubts the importance of King, other civil rights leaders and the “freedom riders,” there were other factors, I believe, that also contributed the end of racial segregation in the South and, to a lesser extent, in the North.
One is the increasingly militant attitude of the generation of Black Americans who had fought in World War II. After risking their lives for this country, they had no desire to a life of second-class citizenship.
But there is another factor, one rarely mentioned. During the 1950s and early 1960s, the main conflict in the world was the Cold War between the U.S. and the Soviet Union.
At the same time, the old British and French empires were breaking up. Dozens of former colonies were becoming independent. Most of these nations were in Africa, the Caribbean, Asia and the Indian subcontinent. In other words, most were nonwhite nations.
As long as African-Americans were treated like second-class citizens in both the South and the North, the Soviet Union and Communist China could say to these nations, “See how America treats nonwhites? You can’t trust the U.S.! The Soviet Union, not America, is the land of equality!”
The U.S. was vulnerable on that score, and its leaders, President Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson, knew it.
For years, the national Democratic Party had tolerated the prejudice-filled racial beliefs espoused by most elected representatives in the Deep South. After all, these states were an integral part of the Democratic machine, and their leadership was instrumental in getting Democratic-sponsored legislation passed in the House and the Senate.
Up until about 1960, just about the only people willing to plead for African-American equality were African-Americans themselves; lawyers and journalists from liberal states such as New York and Illinois; some academics and clergymen; a few industrial labor unions; show-business types like Frank Sinatra; some Jewish organizations, and left-wing radicals.
There was progress in some fields — such as the integration of major-league baseball and Nat King Cole’s short-lived TV show — but a real lack of progress in others. I once read that in 1950, one could walk from one end of the Manhattan business district to the other without encountering a single black secretary. Here in Brooklyn, the construction of Downstate Hospital during the early 1960s sparked angry demonstrations because the construction unions had effectively barred hiring any black workers other than janitors.
All this soon changed, and in a big way. The stakes were now higher. The U.S. couldn’t tolerate a Soviet-allied Africa, a Soviet-allied Asia, a Soviet-allied Caribbean. Keeping the Soviets out of these areas was much more important to those in power in Washington, D.C., than pleasing “good old boys” in Mississippi and Alabama and Archie Bunker types in New York and Boston.
In short, segregation had to go.
Once again, Martin Luther King’s message was a powerful one. No one doubts the heroism of King, his Southern followers who put their lives on the line, and the Northern college students who volunteered to help his cause. But his movement was not the only force that ended institutional segregation in the U.S. Geo-politics and the Cold War also played a role.
Originally published in Brooklyn Daily Eagle
On the birth anniversary of the Rev. Martin Luther King, we celebrate the enlargement of civil rights in the U.S. to include African-Americans in the mid-1960s.
While no one doubts the importance of King, other civil rights leaders and the “freedom riders,” there were other factors, I believe, that also contributed the end of racial segregation in the South and, to a lesser extent, in the North.
One is the increasingly militant attitude of the generation of Black Americans who had fought in World War II. After risking their lives for this country, they had no desire to a life of second-class citizenship.
But there is another factor, one rarely mentioned. During the 1950s and early 1960s, the main conflict in the world was the Cold War between the U.S. and the Soviet Union.
At the same time, the old British and French empires were breaking up. Dozens of former colonies were becoming independent. Most of these nations were in Africa, the Caribbean, Asia and the Indian subcontinent. In other words, most were nonwhite nations.
As long as African-Americans were treated like second-class citizens in both the South and the North, the Soviet Union and Communist China could say to these nations, “See how America treats nonwhites? You can’t trust the U.S.! The Soviet Union, not America, is the land of equality!”
The U.S. was vulnerable on that score, and its leaders, President Eisenhower, Kennedy and Johnson, knew it.
For years, the national Democratic Party had tolerated the prejudice-filled racial beliefs espoused by most elected representatives in the Deep South. After all, these states were an integral part of the Democratic machine, and their leadership was instrumental in getting Democratic-sponsored legislation passed in the House and the Senate.
Up until about 1960, just about the only people willing to plead for African-American equality were African-Americans themselves; lawyers and journalists from liberal states such as New York and Illinois; some academics and clergymen; a few industrial labor unions; show-business types like Frank Sinatra; some Jewish organizations, and left-wing radicals.
There was progress in some fields — such as the integration of major-league baseball and Nat King Cole’s short-lived TV show — but a real lack of progress in others. I once read that in 1950, one could walk from one end of the Manhattan business district to the other without encountering a single black secretary. Here in Brooklyn, the construction of Downstate Hospital during the early 1960s sparked angry demonstrations because the construction unions had effectively barred hiring any black workers other than janitors.
All this soon changed, and in a big way. The stakes were now higher. The U.S. couldn’t tolerate a Soviet-allied Africa, a Soviet-allied Asia, a Soviet-allied Caribbean. Keeping the Soviets out of these areas was much more important to those in power in Washington, D.C., than pleasing “good old boys” in Mississippi and Alabama and Archie Bunker types in New York and Boston.
In short, segregation had to go.
Once again, Martin Luther King’s message was a powerful one. No one doubts the heroism of King, his Southern followers who put their lives on the line, and the Northern college students who volunteered to help his cause. But his movement was not the only force that ended institutional segregation in the U.S. Geo-politics and the Cold War also played a role.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Credit Card, Foreclosure Wrongs Require Organized Opposition
Reprinted from Brooklyn Daily Eagle
By Raanan Geberer
During the weekend, I happened to see Suze Orman’s well-known financial advice program. The the guest was Ann Minch, who has gotten more than 100,000 hits on her YouTube post describing her one-woman “credit card revolt.”
It seems that the Bank of America, where she had her credit card, suddenly and arbitrarily raised her interest rate from 17 percent to 30 percent. Perhaps the bank had to make up money it lost in bad investments, so it decided to roll the expense onto its credit-card customers — I don’t know. But Ms. Minch, a California resident, was so incensed that she decided to make a video announcing to the whole world that she wasn’t paying her credit-card bill, telling everybody why. “I know it’ll be bad for my credit rating,” she said, “but the banks aren’t lending anyway, so what difference does it make?”
This strategy worked. Soon, Bank of America called and offered to lower her interest rate. Suze Orman congratulated her about this on the show.
As I see it, this development is similar to the spontaneous, unorganized protests that sprang up during the early 1930s at the very beginning of the Great Depression — and is symbolic of the fact that we may be entering such a period now.
At that time, for example, a group of farmers armed with shotguns might show up at a fellow farmer’s place to prevent the county sheriff from foreclosing on the place. Similarly, in an urban setting, neighbors might have gathered in front of an apartment house to prevent the marshal from evicting one of their neighbors. While it’s true that radical groups soon got involved in these types of protests, they were merely following and trying to exploit the popular mood — the discontent was already there.
At any rate, actions like this, although they’re important, are very limited in effectiveness and are only “step one.” Ann Minch is only one person. What’s needed are well-thought-out strategies.
If people are really worried about high credit-card rates, every one of them should deluge their Congressperson, their Senator and even the White House with e-mails and phone calls. They should write letters to newspapers, phone in to call-in shows, post on Internet bulletin boards, hold press conference, stage large protest rallies.
At that point, and only at that point, will the “powers that be” start to really take them seriously. Issues like high credit-card rates are important, but to even get to first base, those who wish to change things have to learn how to play the game.
By Raanan Geberer
During the weekend, I happened to see Suze Orman’s well-known financial advice program. The the guest was Ann Minch, who has gotten more than 100,000 hits on her YouTube post describing her one-woman “credit card revolt.”
It seems that the Bank of America, where she had her credit card, suddenly and arbitrarily raised her interest rate from 17 percent to 30 percent. Perhaps the bank had to make up money it lost in bad investments, so it decided to roll the expense onto its credit-card customers — I don’t know. But Ms. Minch, a California resident, was so incensed that she decided to make a video announcing to the whole world that she wasn’t paying her credit-card bill, telling everybody why. “I know it’ll be bad for my credit rating,” she said, “but the banks aren’t lending anyway, so what difference does it make?”
This strategy worked. Soon, Bank of America called and offered to lower her interest rate. Suze Orman congratulated her about this on the show.
As I see it, this development is similar to the spontaneous, unorganized protests that sprang up during the early 1930s at the very beginning of the Great Depression — and is symbolic of the fact that we may be entering such a period now.
At that time, for example, a group of farmers armed with shotguns might show up at a fellow farmer’s place to prevent the county sheriff from foreclosing on the place. Similarly, in an urban setting, neighbors might have gathered in front of an apartment house to prevent the marshal from evicting one of their neighbors. While it’s true that radical groups soon got involved in these types of protests, they were merely following and trying to exploit the popular mood — the discontent was already there.
At any rate, actions like this, although they’re important, are very limited in effectiveness and are only “step one.” Ann Minch is only one person. What’s needed are well-thought-out strategies.
If people are really worried about high credit-card rates, every one of them should deluge their Congressperson, their Senator and even the White House with e-mails and phone calls. They should write letters to newspapers, phone in to call-in shows, post on Internet bulletin boards, hold press conference, stage large protest rallies.
At that point, and only at that point, will the “powers that be” start to really take them seriously. Issues like high credit-card rates are important, but to even get to first base, those who wish to change things have to learn how to play the game.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Insurance Firms' Healthcare ROle
Originally published in "Brooklyn Daily Eagle"
By Raanan Geberer
What’s missing from the debate on President Obama’s healthcare-reform plan?
Any mention of the big insurance companies, it seems. Just about the only time they were mentioned was in Obama’s initial speech on the subject, when he said that “people who like their health insurance won’t have to give it up.”
Both Democrats and Republicans have said that the current healthcare system needs fixing, but they never mention what brought the nation’s healthcare system to its current state.
As I see it, the trouble started back in the mid- or late 1980s, when the insurance companies began to switch to managed care. When I got my first managed-care plan, I was actually happy. Before that, because I took (and still take) multiple asthma medications, I had to pay the full price, then submit a bill and wait until I got a refund for, I believe, 80 percent of the price. Now, I didn’t have to pay anything up front except for a co-payment.
However, managed care had its down side. If someone wanted to go to, say, a neurologist or a pulmonary doctor, one had to go to the primary care doctor and ask his permission. In some cases this was no problem, but many doctors were and are very reluctant to refer patients to specialists except in cases of life-threatening conditions.
According to some reports, which I can’t confirm but can’t find denial of either, in many networks doctors are penalized for making too many referrals to specialists. And according to the “California Physician” web site, in 2007, United Healthcare decided to fine physicians who refer patients to out-of-network doctors.
One thing I do know is that this is true for drugs. For years, my doctor prescribed Lipitor. About a year ago, I began getting all sorts of phone calls and messages about why I should use a cheaper, “preferred” drug. Then I was told by the pharmacist that I had to get a new prescription every single time I asked for Lipitor. Eventually, I got tired of this and asked my doctor to prescribe the cheaper drug — even though some surveys show that Lipitor is slightly more effective.
The more illnesses, prescriptions and/or operations you have, the more likely it is that you will have serious problems with your HMO. A while ago my wife had a sinus operation. She soon received a letter saying that her doctor had never given a referral to the surgeon for the operation (he obviously did, otherwise the surgery would not have taken place). It took about 10 e-mails back and forth to straighten that out.
There seems to be a double standard for criticizing corporations in this country: everyone loves to slam the Big Three auto companies, but no one dares criticize either the big investment banks or the big insurance companies. If President Obama really wants more support for his healthcare measures, he must criticize the insurance companies publicly. Not only will this gain support among the average person, it will focus the spotlight on the ties legislators who oppose the plan have with the insurance companies and how much money they have received in campaign contributions. Then it would be their turn to be on the defensive.
By Raanan Geberer
What’s missing from the debate on President Obama’s healthcare-reform plan?
Any mention of the big insurance companies, it seems. Just about the only time they were mentioned was in Obama’s initial speech on the subject, when he said that “people who like their health insurance won’t have to give it up.”
Both Democrats and Republicans have said that the current healthcare system needs fixing, but they never mention what brought the nation’s healthcare system to its current state.
As I see it, the trouble started back in the mid- or late 1980s, when the insurance companies began to switch to managed care. When I got my first managed-care plan, I was actually happy. Before that, because I took (and still take) multiple asthma medications, I had to pay the full price, then submit a bill and wait until I got a refund for, I believe, 80 percent of the price. Now, I didn’t have to pay anything up front except for a co-payment.
However, managed care had its down side. If someone wanted to go to, say, a neurologist or a pulmonary doctor, one had to go to the primary care doctor and ask his permission. In some cases this was no problem, but many doctors were and are very reluctant to refer patients to specialists except in cases of life-threatening conditions.
According to some reports, which I can’t confirm but can’t find denial of either, in many networks doctors are penalized for making too many referrals to specialists. And according to the “California Physician” web site, in 2007, United Healthcare decided to fine physicians who refer patients to out-of-network doctors.
One thing I do know is that this is true for drugs. For years, my doctor prescribed Lipitor. About a year ago, I began getting all sorts of phone calls and messages about why I should use a cheaper, “preferred” drug. Then I was told by the pharmacist that I had to get a new prescription every single time I asked for Lipitor. Eventually, I got tired of this and asked my doctor to prescribe the cheaper drug — even though some surveys show that Lipitor is slightly more effective.
The more illnesses, prescriptions and/or operations you have, the more likely it is that you will have serious problems with your HMO. A while ago my wife had a sinus operation. She soon received a letter saying that her doctor had never given a referral to the surgeon for the operation (he obviously did, otherwise the surgery would not have taken place). It took about 10 e-mails back and forth to straighten that out.
There seems to be a double standard for criticizing corporations in this country: everyone loves to slam the Big Three auto companies, but no one dares criticize either the big investment banks or the big insurance companies. If President Obama really wants more support for his healthcare measures, he must criticize the insurance companies publicly. Not only will this gain support among the average person, it will focus the spotlight on the ties legislators who oppose the plan have with the insurance companies and how much money they have received in campaign contributions. Then it would be their turn to be on the defensive.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Private ‘Bureaucracy’ Is Why Healthcare Needs Public Option
(Originally published in "Brooklyn Daily Eagle")
By Raanan Geberer
Managing Editor
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
A recent ad on TV placed by a Republican front group raised alarm about President Obama’s new healthcare initiative. Among other things, it asked, “Do you want the freedom to choose your own doctor, or do you want that decision to be made for your by a government bureaucrat?”
First of all, we don’t really make all of our own healthcare decisions now. Maybe some of us, those who can afford fee-for-service plans, do, but the majority of people nowadays have HMO plans. Yes, we do have some decision-making power, but within a narrow range. You have to choose your doctor from within a list of the plan’s doctors, and if your health care plan changes, you have to change doctors, that’s all.
Another case in point is this “primary-care doctor” business. You don’t have the right to decide whether you should see a neurologist, a cardiologist, etc. You have to go to your primary-care doctor, and he or she decides. And your options are even more limited if you want mental-health care. I have even heard that in some instances doctors are penalized if they refer too many patients to specialists.
Who makes these decisions? Bureaucrats! No, not government bureaucrats, but bureaucrats in the offices of the healthcare offices. Moreover, those bureaucrats probably have very little, if any, medical training. So what is a “bureaucrat?” Among the definitions of “bureaucrat” given by Wikipedia are:
1. A hierarchy among offices, such that the authority and status are differentially distributed among actors, and
2. Formal and informal networks that connect organizational actors to one another through flows of information and patterns of cooperation.
Government agencies aren’t the only “bureaucracies,” not by a long shot. They’re not even the only inefficient bureaucracies! Enron had a bureaucracy, General Motors had a bureaucracy, Countrywide Mortgages had a bureaucracy, Bear Stearns had a bureaucracy, Chrysler had a bureaucracy, Citicorp had a bureaucracy, CVS and Rite Aid have bureaucracies, and the big insurance companies have their bureaucracies.
If, as corporate lobbyists and the Republican leadership would have you believe, only government bureaucrats were inefficient, General Motors would still be an up-and-coming company, mortgage companies would have rejected questionable mortgages out-of-hand, banks would still be making loans, and you wouldn’t have a glut of chain drugstores in some areas and none at all in other areas.
Yes, government bureaucrats are often inefficient. But to single out government as being the sole perpetrator of inefficiency is just a cover-up for the faults of the insurance companies’ own bureaucrats.
By Raanan Geberer
Managing Editor
Brooklyn Daily Eagle
A recent ad on TV placed by a Republican front group raised alarm about President Obama’s new healthcare initiative. Among other things, it asked, “Do you want the freedom to choose your own doctor, or do you want that decision to be made for your by a government bureaucrat?”
First of all, we don’t really make all of our own healthcare decisions now. Maybe some of us, those who can afford fee-for-service plans, do, but the majority of people nowadays have HMO plans. Yes, we do have some decision-making power, but within a narrow range. You have to choose your doctor from within a list of the plan’s doctors, and if your health care plan changes, you have to change doctors, that’s all.
Another case in point is this “primary-care doctor” business. You don’t have the right to decide whether you should see a neurologist, a cardiologist, etc. You have to go to your primary-care doctor, and he or she decides. And your options are even more limited if you want mental-health care. I have even heard that in some instances doctors are penalized if they refer too many patients to specialists.
Who makes these decisions? Bureaucrats! No, not government bureaucrats, but bureaucrats in the offices of the healthcare offices. Moreover, those bureaucrats probably have very little, if any, medical training. So what is a “bureaucrat?” Among the definitions of “bureaucrat” given by Wikipedia are:
1. A hierarchy among offices, such that the authority and status are differentially distributed among actors, and
2. Formal and informal networks that connect organizational actors to one another through flows of information and patterns of cooperation.
Government agencies aren’t the only “bureaucracies,” not by a long shot. They’re not even the only inefficient bureaucracies! Enron had a bureaucracy, General Motors had a bureaucracy, Countrywide Mortgages had a bureaucracy, Bear Stearns had a bureaucracy, Chrysler had a bureaucracy, Citicorp had a bureaucracy, CVS and Rite Aid have bureaucracies, and the big insurance companies have their bureaucracies.
If, as corporate lobbyists and the Republican leadership would have you believe, only government bureaucrats were inefficient, General Motors would still be an up-and-coming company, mortgage companies would have rejected questionable mortgages out-of-hand, banks would still be making loans, and you wouldn’t have a glut of chain drugstores in some areas and none at all in other areas.
Yes, government bureaucrats are often inefficient. But to single out government as being the sole perpetrator of inefficiency is just a cover-up for the faults of the insurance companies’ own bureaucrats.
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