Thinking Cap

Yesterday, I toured Delaware's Fort Dupont, built by the federal government during the Civil War to protect Philadelphia, and decommissioned at the end of Word War II. During the latter conflict, the fort, besides protecting Philly from U-boats, housed over 3,000 German POWs.

Delaware's acute manpower shortage in 1944 prompted the Army to put the POWs to work. Under light guard, captured Germans soldiers and sailors worked inside Fort Dupont as dishwashers, waiters, grocers, butchers and groundskeepers; and in nearby communities, as farmhands, canners, chicken processors, and garbagemen. German POWs even rebuilt the boardwalk at Rehoboth Beach. The Germans were treated with dignity, well fed and clothed, and paid for their labor—40 cents a day.

While the Army was roundly criticized by The Philadelphia Inquirer for "coddling" the Germans—columnists called Fort Dupont the "Fritz Ritz"—few civilians knew the Army, under pressure from Eleanor Roosevelt, had undertaken a massive "reeducation" effort designed to denazify the POWs.

The effort, led by Eleanor and a committee of Ivy League educators, comprised a kind of "barbed-wire college" where critical-thinking courses were taught, using subjects like civics, history, geography, art, film, music, and literature.

At least half of the German POWs—draftees in Hitler's armed forces—required little in the way of coursework to become denazified; but just as many—avid, vicious and fanatical fascists—required intensive instruction. The educators found these Nazis, regardless of age, to be "intellectually and ideologically adolescent," lacking all self-awareness and prone to accepting propaganda as fact (they believed, for example, Hitler's claim that the Luftwaffe had leveled New York, and were shocked to learn the city still stood).

By the end of the war, over 370,000 German POWs in America graduated barb-wire college. Student assessments were positive. "Most now know that there is only one superman and that he is an American reporter on the Daily Planet," one educator wrote.

As coincidence would have it, as I was touring Fort Dupont, home-grown Hitlerites were massing in downtown Washington. The coincidence led me to wonder: Do we need another reeducation effort? And how timely Dr. Jill is an educator!

Wunderkind

I remember at age 12 riding with friends on the Tubes downtown, to visit a men's hat shop off Herald Square, where I bought a Greek fisherman's cap to go with my new wire-rim glasses.

I remember, too, how happy we always were to hear Cousin Brucie play yet another new Beatles tune on the radio, and to find yet another new album by the band gracing the front rack of the record store.

I loved how John referred to boys as "lads," girls as "birds," and friends as "mates;" how he made wise-ass statements during interviews and released inane tape recordings at Christmas; how he wore mod glasses and hats; how he'd been born in the midst of a Nazi air raid and given the middle name Winston; and how he seemed to have wisdom beyond his years.

The Beatles were as puzzled by their overnight success in America as anyone. But I never was.

The band, after all, had songs like "Help," "All My Loving," "Help," "We Can Work It Out" and "Nowhere Man." 

The band had John.

I read a comment on social media today, oh boy, by someone who couldn't remember the name Mark David Chapman or his motive, and I realized 40 years is a long, long time. It just doesn't feel like it. 

Life is very short.

Panacea

Americans—boosterish businesspeople, in particular—are being lulled into believing the forthcoming Covid-19 vaccine is a panacea, a "universal remedy."

It isn't.

According to the new issue of Health Affairs, at the current rate of confirmed new infections per day, over 160,000 Americans will die in the six months after the vaccine's rollout.

Those deaths alone are enough to scare people into avoiding stores, malls, movie theaters, concerts, sports events, conventions, tradeshows, airports and other places where crowds gather.

The optimism is mistaken.

Panacea entered English in the 16th century. It derives from the Latin name given by the Ancient Romans to various herbs thought to cure illnesses. 

The Romans borrowed the word from the Greek panakeia, or "cure-all." The Greek god of healing, Asclepius, had a daughter named Panacea. Her name became synonymous with medicinal plants.

The vaccine is coming, but it isn't the cure for what ails us.

Time is.

Parting Words

The application for injunctive relief presented to Justice Alito and by him referred to the Court is denied.

— The Supreme Court

For better or worse, I've been basting Trump on Goodly since November 28, 2016, for the threat to decency and democracy he represented.

Note the past tense: represented.

Yesterday, with only 18 words, the Supreme Court parted Trump from the office he has soiled.

As Trump fades into obscurity—he's already fading by the moment from this writer's thoughts—take heart in one thing.

Obscurity is forever.

Vaccine against Fake-Believe

Typically, conservatives stand in the way of economic recoveries. 

This time round, antivaxxers do.

Unless at least 85% of Americans are vaccinated against Covid-19, a rebound remains out of reach, according to Anthony Fauci.

But most Americans will never get the jab, if antivaxxers have their way.

Like those of the QAnon followers, antivaxxers' kooky beliefs rest on conspiracy theories: Covid-19 is a Democrat hoax; a Chinese weapon; a 5G side effect; a "plandemic" hatched by Bill Gates; a Commie plot to insert tracking devices in our arms; an evil inventor's dastardly scheme to control our thoughts.

Fortunately such nonsense is assailable, says Cambridge psychologist Sander van der Linden, through a method he calls prebunking.

Prebunking works like a vaccine against disinformation.

Because it's so "sticky"—able to overshadow real news—disinformation can't be debunked, van der Linden says; the only cure is to prebunk it with a strong dose of reality.

Van der Linden's fake-believe "vaccine" comes in the form of a warning. 

Through behavioral studies, the psychologist found that when believers of disinformation are informed they're being manipulated, they tend to question, if not reject, false claims, and become less willing to share them.

Much like a stop light, van der Linden's vaccine works because the warning ("You're being manipulated!") interrupts our processing of news—which is unconscious—and forces us to slow down. 

At slower speeds, we no longer accept news at face value. Our brainwaves, as it were, become disinformation-resistant.

An effective way to warn conspiracy-theory believers they're being manipulated, van der Linden adds, is to acknowledge actual conspiracies in history.

Reminding or informing them, for example, that Richard Nixon once duped the whole country suggests that they, too, can be deceived by wrong-doers.