Hidden Figures

Last night, the lovely Amanda and I went to see Hidden Figures. For those who don’t know, this film tells the story of three pioneering African American women who worked for NASA during the space race.

Mary Jackson, aerospace engineer, in an era when neither women nor blacks were heard of in that position.

Dorothy Vaughan, mathematician and computer programer. And also the first African American woman to be a supervisor at NASA, and later the first to be head of personnel.

Katherine Johnson, who merely calculated the flight path for Alan Shepherd’s spaceflight, calculated John Glenn’s orbit and reentry, worked on the Apollo and Space Shuttle programs, co-authored 26 scientific papers, and now has a facility at NASA named after her for her decades of brilliant contributions to the space program. Basically as badass as they come.

These names really should be better known than they are. Kudos to NASA for doing its part to recognize them. 

 Mary Jackson (Janelle Monae), Katherine Johnson (Taraji Henson) and Dorothy Vaughan (Octavia Spencer)

We tend to forget it these days, but in those pre-electronics years, all the math for space flight - and it is a LOT - was done by human “computers.” And many of these computers were women. (This didn’t just apply to flight, much of science was conducted this way. See How Old Is The Universe? for a bit more about women who contributed behind the scenes but never got credit.)

Some of these women - an entire unit at NASA in fact - were African American. These were the days of Jim Crow, so they had segregated bathrooms and so on, a fact which plays a major role in the film.

I don’t want to spoil the film (although history is history…), so I won’t go into too much further detail. This is a great film, though, and tells the story well. I was impressed that the focus remained firmly on the African American women, and didn’t become all about the whites who helped them.

A few things really struck me. One was the scene where John Glenn refuses to fly unless Katherine Johnson personally calculates his landing trajectory. This sounded a bit Hollywood, so I looked it up. Well blow me to Bermuda! It really happened. And Glenn really was as shockingly progressive as the film portrays him. Fraternizing with the “coloreds” indeed! (Glenn Powell really nailed the portrayal of Glenn too. Nice casting.) 

I also found the issue that arises between Katherine Johnson and Paul Stafford (portrayed by Jim Parsons). I have no idea exactly how this went in real life, but in the movie, Katherine stubbornly affixes her name as co-author of each report she types up, featuring work she does, but Paul insists that only his name be on there, because “computers don’t author reports.” Again, Hollywood license? Maybe. Or not. What I do know is that this sort of thing goes on all the time in the real world. Woman does work and comes up with ideas, man gets credit. My wife was specifically trained, so to speak, on how to play the nurse/doctor game. Nurse comes up with an idea, but must sell it to the doctor in a way that he thinks it is his idea, and can thus take credit for it. My wife’s generation, though, has been saying screw it to this game, and is more likely to insist on interacting as equals in different roles, not as superior and inferior. (Nurses work for the hospital, not doctors…) So I fully believe that Katherine Johnson had to put up with this from the white males on her team. In what had to have been a satisfying development, Johnson would go on to co-author a good many reports and scientific papers - and get credit for them.

Another powerful scene was where Al Harrison (Kevin Costner) truly realizes the cost that segregation is having on his team - Katherine must walk a half mile each way to relieve herself in the “colored” restroom - he goes ballistic, and violently destroys the sign on the segregated restroom, and proclaims that anyone can use any restroom in any building, white or black. His closing line is great:

At NASA, we all pee the same color.

The other line that was amazing and profound was this: Dorothy Vaughan meets Vivian Mitchell, who is some mucky-muck in Personnel in the newly desegregated bathroom. The two of them have a history, because Vaughan has been doing the work of supervising the “colored computer” unit, but has been refused a promotion. Mitchell claims it is just “how NASA works,” but everyone knows that the problem is that Vaughan is black.

After a bit of an awkward exchange in the bathroom, Mitchell says (more or less), “You know I never held any ill will toward you ladies.”

Vaughan hesitates, then softly says, “I know...I know that’s what you want to think.”

Mic drop.

I can’t get this line out of my mind.

Because this is really what I feel I am up against trying to discuss racial issues with my own tribe. Because everyone keeps saying, “I’m not a racist, but…”

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you just said that Black Lives Matter is a media creation, and that police brutality is a myth.

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you just voted to give Steve Bannon a leadership position. (Sorry, he bragged about giving White Supremacy, sorry, the “Alt-Right” a platform at Brietbart. He doesn’t get a pass for that.)

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you just said that blacks are “more criminal” or “less civilized” than whites.

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you said racism doesn’t exist, or if it does, it is toward white people.

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you just reposted that meme mocking Michelle Obama in racial terms.

“I don’t have ill will toward brown skinned people.” But you just referred to protesters as “thugs” and “animals.”

“I’m not racist.”

“I know...I know that’s what you want to think.”

Damn, that’s a good line. It absolutely gets to the heart of the problem. Many people don’t really want to think about the impact their actions or inactions have on people of color. What is most important is that they don’t feel discomfort or have to look at themselves honestly. Mitchell wants to preserve her own sense that she is a good person, without having to actually stick her neck out and advocate for justice for Vaughan.

This perhaps is why I will be making sure my kids see this movie at some point. They need to see and understand that positive change requires more than positive feelings. It requires action. Each of the three women has to at some point demand justice for themselves - and they make the white people in power VERY uncomfortable when they do so. It also requires that those of us who wish to be allies for people of color cannot simply content ourselves by saying that we personally would never discriminate. We have to be like Harrison and refuse to allow segregation, consequences be damned. We have to be like the (unnamed) judge who goes against Virginia law to side with Brown v. Board of Education to allow Mary Jackson to attend engineering classes. We have to be like John Glenn and actively and expressly side with our brown skinned brothers and sisters - and yes sometimes that means politically too - no matter how much disapproval we get from our own tribe.

Otherwise, we are just staying in our little bubble, thinking a little good intention will paper over action and inaction that does evil. No, we’re not racist. Right?

“I know...I know that’s what you want to think.”

It’s very encouraging to me that Hidden Figures is doing well at the box office. Yes, it is well cast and well acted. (Taraji Henson, Janelle Monae, and Octavia Spencer are all outstanding.) But the story is powerful, and comes at a time where there has been an open revival of White Supremacy, and far too many people feel free to say openly racist things. This film is a reminder that, jackasses like Steve King notwithstanding, it wasn’t just white people who have contributed to the world. They just haven’t gotten the degree of credit they deserve. I am thrilled that this story is finding an audience.

Go see this film. Take your children (it has no gratuitous sex, violence, or language, actually). Let them see what our nation was like not very long ago, so they can understand what an appeal to return to the past really means for many Americans. This film should also encourage our daughters, and children of color, to aspire to careers in math and science. These women were nothing short of amazing, and without them, the space race would likely have played out very differently. Our society is better off when we encourage the contributions of all, regardless of gender, race, national origin, or religion. We must never forget that, and we must constantly fight against the ideas that seek to deny this truth. 

***

Update: I took the kids to see this. They loved it. We had some great conversations afterward. 

Pixar's Inside Out and the Importance of Sadness

[Warning: this review contains spoilers. If you haven’t seen the movie, be warned. Also, this post will make more sense if you have seen the movie.]

I’m not that much of a movie person. Sure, I enjoy the occasional flick, and can quote you Princess Bride like nobody’s business. But I rarely see stuff at the theater.

However, the kids have mellowed me a bit, and I went and saw Frozen when it came out, and I ended up writing a whole post on it.

Inside Out looked interesting, so we decided to go see it together during a recent vacation. (I’m pretty sure this is the first time I have ever seen a movie on its opening weekend.)

Four out of five kids liked it. My older daughters, naturally, did. (They are both within a year of Riley’s age, and yes, there is some resemblance…) My seven year old son like everything - including the previews - so naturally he liked this. I was more surprised that my four year old daughter found it to be very intense, and was genuinely concerned that they might not get Riley to be happy ever again. (I should know better by now than to underestimate the ability of Miss Lillian to understand stuff.) My nine year old son wasn’t impressed, but introspection has never been his strong suit. He’ll wait for the Minion Movie, thank you very much.

On the other hand, like many other parents I know, I found myself a bit moved, and have been continuing to think about the movie since.

I’ve always be a bit of an introspective introvert, but it hasn’t been until the last decade or so that I have really been willing to admit that I am also a very emotional sort. Sure, I like to think of myself as logical - and I still think I am. To a degree. But my emotional side is pretty strong, even if I didn’t want to admit it when I was a teen and young man.

Inside Out looks at that awkward transition from child to teen, when everything becomes complicated. For the subject of the film, Riley, this happens at age 11. For me, I would say it was at 12 and 13. Boys develop a bit later. Whatever the case, Pixar really got it right. It was a bit like being inside my own head at that age.

There are a number of fun and witty moments. I particularly liked the bit where Joy, Sadness, and Bing Bong get caught in “Abstract Thought.”

But, what I was really left with at the end was the turning point, the pivotal moment. Riley has been governed mostly benignly by Joy, who simply cannot understand why Sadness even exists. But, after a traumatic move and some rocky experiences thereafter, Sadness (for reasons she herself can’t understand) starts changing happy memories to sad. Joy is livid, and ratchets her controlling personality up to the limit. But then, she and Sadness are sucked up and deposited into a remote bit of memory, and have to get back with the key “core memories.”

The epiphany for Joy comes when she realizes that Sadness is as important to life and wellbeing as she is, and that many joyful memories are touched with sadness. The realization occurs as she turns a memory through its entire rotation in time. The sadness itself attracts a resonant feeling in others (in this case, between Riley and her parents), and brings out the actions of comfort and assistance. Sadness serves as a mutual bonding.

Thus, Joy realizes that the key to getting Riley back to emotional stability isn’t to make Sadness stand in a circle by herself where she can do no harm - or good. Rather, Sadness needs to take the controls for a while so that Riley can again feel rather than repress her pain.

It is this insight as to the role and importance - indeed the necessity of sadness that has occupied my thoughts since seeing the movie.

My cousin-by-marriage and theologian, Todd Billings, has referred to this need as that of “lament,” as found in the Psalms, and I think he is on to something.

In our greater society, but also in our churches, there is a relentless pressure to be positive, no matter what. Sometimes we can feel bludgeoned by platitudes, whether from preachers or motivational speakers. Joy, joy, joy, joy, all the time. (Another way that our society and churches favor extroversion and punish introversion.) But it is when we become truly real that we are able to make that connection. Bonding isn’t really about shared peaks, but about shared valleys.

I am particularly reminded of the way that Bill Gothard painted so called “negative” emotions as sins of the worst sort, lumping everything from expression of pain and hurt to disagreement as “bitterness,” which opened your heart to Satan. You wouldn’t want to be bitter, so pain and frustration and fear all were suppressed and not spoken of.

And so, one must always present a facade to others, lest one be tarred with the mark of “bitterness.”

In reality, the strength of the church should be to mourn with those who mourn. Those connections made in the sharing of pain and sadness are the ones that are strong - and last.

On a related note, another thing this film got absolutely right is the “islands” of Riley’s identity. These core areas of self-image are the keys to how we view ourselves and present ourselves to others. When stressed, these islands can prove to be fragile, and we crumble. As the movie shows, they can be particularly vulnerable at times of transition, and it can be difficult to recover from an identity crisis.

This is one reason why no amount of money in the world could ever induce me to repeat my Junior High years. While I have some good memories - and I believe that some of those experiences are key to my own “islands,” those years were really hard for me emotionally.

On a related note, the transition from law school (where I mostly knew my identity) to finding a job, which wasn’t automatic, and seriously stressed this risk-adverse guy, was difficult and required a period of trying to re-orient and right my emotional ship. (Big time thanks to my parents and my (now) wife for helping me through that.)

These transitions also highlight the role of sadness in transitioning from child to adult. So much about childhood is uncomplicated. Happy is happy, and sad is sad, and there is little to confuse it. But in the transition, the line is blurred, and more and more is a mixture of joy and sadness. With every gain, there is a loss. And happy times that were become a memory of pleasure and wistfulness at what can never come back. (I remember with great joy holding my children as babies - but there is also that sadness that they will never be that small again.)

Bittersweet.

There is no better way to describe it. And yet, without the bitter, the sweet would be cloying.

I remember one of those memories tonight. When I moved out of my family home to my own place, I was thrilled and excited. And, don’t get me wrong, I have never wished to go back. I’m an adult, not a child, and I am glad of that.

But. That one night, months after that move. I went home for a night and slept on the bare floor of my old room in a sleeping bag. That place with all its memories, now just a bare room. I was choked up that night.

And so, Sadness comes and inexplicably touches that yellow orb, and a part turns blue.

Yet, this too is part of the way things must be. As those islands of identity crumble, they are replaced and rebuilt. Not quite like they were, because childish things have been put away. But they are rebuilt, on a foundation not merely of joy, but of that mixed bittersweet amalgam that makes us who we are. Our sense of self isn’t just what has made us happy, but what we have overcome. And our connections with others don’t arise just from the fun of childhood, but from the burdens we have shared, the challenges we have faced, and the pain we have endured.

After the foundation crumbles, and we are left fishing for that centering again, it takes both hands: that of Joy and of Sadness, pushing that button together to create that mixture of yellow and blue that supports the new grownup identity.

(So yes, count me among the number that got a little glassy behind those 3d glasses…)

***

Dickens was here first: 

I wrote a bit about the way that pain and sorrow make us who we are and teach us empathy in my bit on Charles Dickens' The Haunted Man. The original Star Trek characters would also explore this in The Final Frontier.  

A bit of music:

In case it wasn’t obvious, music has been meaningful to me (and one of those “identity islands”) as long as I can remember.

Also, as long as I can remember, the bittersweet has called to me in music. I love minor keys, and I love heart-rending sorrow expressed in words that cannot be uttered.

Thus, if you want to see me governed by Anger, in his little suit and tie, remind me of all that Gothard tried to take from me in his crusade against “evil” music. It was bad enough that Jazz and Rock and all their relatives were forbidden. (Because, well, racism.)

But he also had a problem with minor keys. Perhaps because such “negative” emotions were unacceptable. Needless to say, this was a problem for for me. Music has always been a cathartic experience for me, and I experience it viscerally when I play it. That’s why music was the one thing I clung to for dear life throughout the transition to adulthood and beyond.

So, in honor of the bittersweet, here are eight minor key pieces that have been part of my soundtrack. This is by no means a definitive list, or a list of my favorites. These are just the ones that came to mind most readily as having impacted me at key transitional times.

Empty Canvas by John Michael Talbot: 

Probably the first bittersweet song that I played to death in my childhood. Tune that guitar down to an open D. And really, the longing for communion with the Divine has haunted me ever since.

The Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel: 

My dad’s teen theme song was I Am A Rock, but this was mine. Sure, it’s preachy. But sometimes I think it is even more relevant these days.

Isle of the Dead by Rachmaninoff: 

I got the opportunity to play some great pieces in my years with the Bakersfield College orchestra. I’ll never forget the chances I had to play solo parts: Danse Macabre, Vivaldi’s Spring, the Pas De Deux from Swan Lake, Albinoni’s Adagio, Grand Canyon, the Saint Saens Violin Concerto, and most of all Scheherezade, but I will never forget playing Isle of the Dead for the first time. That haunting tune in 5/4 time. That descant in the solo violin. The chorus welcoming the dead to the underworld, and then the fade to the silence of the River Styx as the waves lap the shore.  

Brahms’ Piano Concerto #2, third movement: 

Anyone who can listen to the 3rd movement of this piece, and not be moved, has a heart of stone indeed. We did this my first year with the BSO, with Anton Nel. [link]. Yes, I still remember it. Definitely my favorite piano concerto, although Mozart’s final concerto, in B flat comes close. (Also bittersweet, if in a major key.)

Mozart’s Symphony #40: 

Mozart has an undeserved reputation as a “light” composer. Sure, he wrote some light stuff, particularly in his teens. But underestimate his emotional depth at your own risk. I never get tired of the melancholy of #40.

Symphony #6 “Pathetique” by Tchaikovsky, fourth movement : 

Oh man. Heartrending and lacerating, and like nothing else. Maybe Mahler approaches it sometimes (and he had a lot of heartache), but Tchaikovsky wore his emotions on his sleeve. Is this despair, resignation, or something else. It was hard to come back after playing this one, particularly after the excess and vulgarity of the preceding movement. That garish plastered happy face and exaggerated jollity crashing down to such pain that it doesn’t end so much as fade into unutterable quiet.

Nothing Else Matters by Metallica: 

A more recent discovery, and my favorite Metallica song. Ultimately, to me, it represents the quest for truth and the Giver of Truth, despite the endless hypocrisy and game playing.

The Prodigal Son Suite by Keith Green: 

The ultimate in redemption, and another song that got me through childhood and the teens. A reminder that, ultimately, grace is undeserved, and doesn’t even make sense. It is a love that conquers all and defies all, and exemplifies that upside down kingdom.

Fear and Love: The Unexpected Message of Disney's Frozen

One of the side effects of having daughters is that I have seen more Disney “Princess” movies than I would have on my own. My three year old in particular is in to princesses at the moment, even though her physical approach to life says “linebacker” more than “princess.” Also, she had never seen a movie on the big screen. So, we all went to see Frozen.

On a related note, having friends that care about literature, movies, and themes means having interesting discussions about kid movies after seeing them. In particular, I have had an ongoing discussion over whether a certain plot development was “fair” within the expectations of the genre and “realistic” in the broader sense.

However, there is another element to this movie that I have been thinking about in my spare time since seeing Frozen yesterday with the family.

[Spoiler alert: this discussion necessitates plot spoilers. If you haven’t seen the movie, go see it first. It’s not a waste of time, and it has plenty for the XY contingent if you have them.]

It’s pretty well known that the movie is based loosely on The Snow Queen, by Hans Christian Andersen. Very loosely indeed, so if you have read the original or any of its other literary or motion picture adaptations, put those completely out of your mind and consider this a completely new story.

In the Disney version, the older of two sisters, Elsa, has cryokinetic powers. (I adore that word, so I am using it.) Basically, she can make ice and snow. While she and her younger sister Anna are surreptitiously playing in an indoor winter wonderland using Elsa’s powers, Elsa accidentally injures her sister.

The family visits the trolls, who heal Anna, and erase any memory of her sister’s powers. Elsa knows that her powers are dangerous, so she is isolated (or isolates herself) from Anna, and wears gloves at all times lest she accidentally use her power. She struggles to completely hide her powers, and ends up completely isolated.

Later, after the girls are orphaned, Elsa is crowned queen, and there is a huge party. Elsa and Anna quarrel, and Elsa accidentally reveals her powers. She flees to the mountains, causing perpetual winter to the kingdom as she goes. The loyal Anna follows her, and is again wounded, this time more seriously. The trolls inform her that they cannot heal her, but that she can only be healed by an act of true love.

Much has been said about the ways that this film turns fairy tale tropes on their head. The fact that a man doesn’t save the day in the end is a departure from the past. (Although I will note that this is a positive trend in Disney films as of late. I am glad my tough, strong, and ornery daughters have more relatable characters.) I also mentioned the ongoing discussion about whether it was fair to have Hans turn heel without sufficient foreshadowing in the early part of the movie. (I would say yes, some of my friends, no.) These are all interesting, and I have seen plenty of discussion in the media about them as well.

I want to talk about what I consider a key theme of the movie, which seems for some reason to have been largely missed.

Fear versus love.

With the exception of the happy ending, (mandatory for Disney) Frozen largely follows the blueprint of a Shakespearean tragedy. 

In this case, the inciting force is the accidental injury to Anna. At that point, Elsa and her parents have decisions to make, and they make the wrong ones.

After taking Anna (and Elsa) to the trolls so that they can heal Anna, the chief troll explains that Elsa must learn to control her powers. He also says something hugely important, but the point seems to be lost on the parents. (Both girls are just children at this point.)

“Fear will be her enemy.”

As the movie continues, it becomes obvious that Elsa’s powers grow and become uncontrollable when she is afraid. As she attempts to use her steely self control, her fear becomes tied up with the equally damaging anger (as it does for us all.) Every catastrophe in which she is involved is caused by her fear.

Again, back to that key moment - the hamartia. ”Fear will be her enemy.” So what do Elsa and her parents do? They give in to fear. Fear of her powers dominates their decisions. She basically shuts herself in her room. (Do the parents mandate this, or do they just let it happen?) She does her best to never use her powers. She tries to wish them away, to suppress them, to act as if they don’t exist.

Which is exactly why when she finally lets herself go, the result is mass havoc. She has no idea how to control her powers. Either it is complete self-suppression, or out-of-control disaster. She feels better for a while, but causes immense damage to everyone else.

It is as if no one noticed what the chief troll said. The problem isn’t Elsa’s powers. It is the fact that she never learns to control her fear - and thereby control her powers.

Instead of taking the wise action, which would be to encourage Elsa to practice using her powers - and use them for good - the plan appears to have been to pretend her powers didn’t exist and hope they went away.

Here is where the second element comes in. The opposite of fear isn’t bravery, just like the opposite of love isn’t hate.

The opposite of fear is love.

That’s why the cure for the incurable injury done to Anna isn’t bravery. It isn’t heat. It is an act of true love. Although the movie doesn’t explicitly say this, the clear implication is that true love is selfless love. That’s why a kiss from Hans wouldn’t have saved Anna. Even if he hadn’t officially turned heel, his love wasn’t true selfless love, but merely fairly tale infatuation. Whether or not a kiss from Kristoff would have worked is an interesting question, but in the end, salvation came through the kind of love that was truly selfless.

“Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends.” (Gospel of John 15:13)

This isn’t a particularly original sentiment, of course, and neither is the idea that fear and love are opposites.

From the words of Saint John:

“There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.” ( I John 4:18)

Disney has taken a beating from certain conservative and conservative Christian circles in the last few decades, with accusations of a feminist agenda and far worse being hurled. I, for one, welcome a change from the usual “waiting for my prince to come” trope, but I know a number of my friends have really taken exception to movies like Brave and Tangled. And particularly The Princess and the Frog.

For the record, I have yet to see Brave, but I do love the whole idea of a girl competing for the right to her own hand - to her own self determination in marriage. (I love female badasses as a general rule. Which might explain why I married one. She ran a 10K while 5 months pregnant. Case closed.) I did enjoy Tangled, both for its themes and for the use of a frying pan. (The discussion of Tangled’s themes as applied to trends within the homeschooling movement would be an interesting post. As would unpacking the hostility to The Princess and the Frog, which I think is mostly undeserved.)

That’s why there is a certain amount of irony in the fact that this movie is what it is. The themes could almost serve as an object lesson for, ahem, the teachings of Christ and Saint John. From Disney, no less.

I can’t resist also taking a bit of a look at how I believe that it is a great temptation to us parents to take the same approach as Elsa’s parents did to her powers.

An acquaintance of mine, from my days in the extremely patriarchal home church illustrates this point. (See my note at the end of my discussion of The Scarlet Letter for a brief discussion of this experience.)

This person was, I have been told, a talented musician. However, I never heard her play. She had at some point determined that her talent was a source of pride, so she smothered her gift, and never played again. Leaving aside for the moment the application of the Parable of the Talents, let me submit that this a good parallel with the movie.

A gift. A power, if you will. Rather than develop and channel the power, fear led to the stifling of the power.

This is a huge temptation for us parents. We see in our children, as they grow up, danger. One can see it in some cases where a macho father fails to appreciate the artistic talents of a less athletic son. (Thankfully, this was NOT the case in my own childhood. My parents always encouraged my gifts.) I feel that this particular manifestation is losing power, which is good. One also sees this fear expressed with daughters as well. I have noticed a number of parents, particularly in those circles that believe that women should be only wives and mothers, that are seriously threatened by the intelligence and strength of their daughters. I would add in here the additional fear that perhaps most parents have of their children’s developing sexuality. Like Elsa’s powers, these can be dangerous and cause damage - and are the source of great fear. But I believe that, likewise, the opposite of fear is love. Rather than trying to suppress our children’s powers of whatever sort, I believe we need to focus on teaching them to control their fears and learn to express their gifts in love. It is so easy to react out of fear.

Rather than hide, suppress, deny, and attempt to kill, we can encourage them to practice their powers. To use what they have been given in love.

So there you have it. My opinion on the meaning of Frozen.

The Opposite of Fear is Love.