Norman Podhoretz On Race

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Luke Ford

Grok says:

Norman Podhoretz’s essay “My Negro Problem—And Ours,” published in Commentary magazine in February 1963, is a deeply personal and provocative exploration of race relations in mid-20th-century America, filtered through the author’s experiences growing up in a racially mixed neighborhood in Brooklyn during the 1930s and 1940s. The essay combines autobiographical reflection with broader social commentary, revealing Podhoretz’s complex and conflicted feelings about African Americans—feelings of fear, envy, and hatred that persist despite his later intellectual commitment to liberal ideals. Below is an analysis of the essay’s key themes, structure, and arguments.
Key Themes
Personal Experience vs. Abstract Ideology
Podhoretz begins with a stark contrast between the stereotypes he encountered as a child—that Jews were rich and Negroes were persecuted—and the reality of his lived experience, where poor Jews like himself were often victimized by their Black neighbors. This tension between ideology (e.g., his sister’s leftist assertions about racial oppression) and visceral experience shapes the essay’s central conflict. He suggests that his fear and hatred of Black people were not abstract or inherited but rooted in concrete incidents of violence and intimidation, such as being beaten with a bat or robbed by Black peers. This personal lens challenges the prevailing liberal narratives of the time, which often framed racial dynamics solely in terms of white guilt and Black victimhood.

Reciprocity of Hatred and Facelessness
Drawing on James Baldwin’s insight that Black people hate whites because whites refuse to see them as individuals, Podhoretz extends this idea to argue that the “facelessness” operates in both directions. In his childhood, Black kids saw him as a generic white enemy, just as he saw them as a monolithic threat. He also engages with psychological theories of projection, noting that he envied Black boys for their perceived toughness and freedom—qualities he felt lacking in himself—while they might have envied his potential for future social mobility. This mutual projection, he argues, fueled a hatred that transcended rational explanations like historical guilt or economic oppression.

The Limits of Integration
By 1963, as the Civil Rights Movement gained momentum, Podhoretz expresses skepticism about the feasibility and desirability of integration as a solution to America’s racial divide. He observes the reluctance of white liberals—including himself—to fully embrace integration in practice, citing their flight to suburbs or avoidance of Black neighborhoods. He contrasts this with the growing militancy of Black movements like the Black Muslims, who reject integration outright. Podhoretz argues that the pace of progress is too slow to satisfy Black demands for equality “now,” predicting a potential for violence if the impasse persists.

Miscegenation as a Radical Solution
The essay’s most controversial proposition is Podhoretz’s advocacy for “miscegenation”—the blending of races through intermarriage—as the only viable long-term solution to the “Negro problem.” He rejects integration as a mere coexistence of distinct groups, suggesting instead that racial differences must be erased entirely through assimilation. This stance, he admits, is neither immediately practical nor widely accepted, but he frames it as a moral imperative, rooted in his belief that color should not dictate human worth. His personal evolution—from recoiling at the idea of his sister marrying a Black man to hoping he’d bless such a union for his daughter—underscores this shift.

Structure and Style
The essay unfolds in two main parts: a narrative recounting of Podhoretz’s childhood experiences (pp. 93-98) and a reflective analysis of those experiences in the context of broader racial dynamics (pp. 98-101). The first section is episodic, detailing specific “items” or incidents—such as fights over a playground, a beating by Quentin, and a stolen medal—that vividly illustrate the racial hostility of his youth. These anecdotes are raw and unfiltered, emphasizing physicality and emotion over intellectualization.
The second section shifts to a more introspective and argumentative tone, as Podhoretz grapples with his lingering feelings and critiques the liberal orthodoxy of his day. He cites Baldwin extensively, using The Fire Next Time as a touchstone to frame Black despair and white intransigence. His prose is candid, often uncomfortably so, as he admits to envying Black physicality or bristling at “Negro anti-Semitism.” This honesty, paired with a rhetorical escalation toward the miscegenation proposal, makes the essay both a confession and a polemic.
Strengths and Critiques
Strengths: Podhoretz’s willingness to confront his own prejudices head-on lends the essay authenticity and emotional weight. By grounding his argument in personal narrative, he avoids the detached moralizing common in discussions of race at the time. His engagement with Baldwin and psychological theory shows intellectual rigor, while his radical conclusion challenges readers to rethink entrenched positions.

Critiques: The essay’s focus on Podhoretz’s individual experience risks overgeneralization; his Brooklyn neighborhood may not represent the broader American racial landscape. His dismissal of historical factors like slavery as irrelevant to his personal hatred can seem reductive, ignoring how systemic forces shaped the behaviors he describes. Additionally, the miscegenation proposal, while bold, lacks practical grounding and may strike modern readers as naive or insensitive, especially given its implication that Black identity should “disappear.”

Historical Context and Legacy
Written in 1963, amid the Civil Rights Movement’s peak—months before the March on Washington and the Birmingham church bombing—the essay reflects a moment of both hope and disillusionment. Podhoretz, then editor of Commentary, was transitioning from liberalism toward the neoconservatism he’d later embrace, and this piece hints at that shift with its skepticism of progressive ideals. Its unflinching tone and controversial stance sparked debate, cementing its status as a classic, if polarizing, work on race in America.
In sum, “My Negro Problem—And Ours” is a complex meditation on race that resists easy categorization. It’s a product of its time yet timeless in its exploration of how personal encounters shape, and sometimes defy, societal narratives. Podhoretz’s call for honesty about racial feelings remains a provocative challenge, even if his ultimate solution raises as many questions as it answers.

Posted in Race | Comments Off on Norman Podhoretz On Race

Fat Acceptance and Vaccine Rejectionism

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Luke Ford

Rony Guldmann writes:

Sweetgreen CEO Jonathan Nemen sparked a firestorm in October 2021 when he posted on Linkedin that America hadn’t been paying enough attention to obesity’s role in aggravating Covid’s dangers. While endorsing the vaccines, Nemen seemed to downplay their usefulness as public health measures, lamenting that Covid “is here to stay for the foreseeable future” because “no vaccine nor mask will save us.” Foregoing these false hopes, Nemen recommended focusing on the root cause of many Americans’ susceptibility to Covid’s worst outcomes, our unhealthy lifestyles and, specifically, surging rates of obesity, suggesting that, with government health mandates now de rigueur, we might consider taxing “processed food and refined sugar to pay for the impact of the pandemic” and “incentivize health.”

This foray into social commentary drew sharp rebukes from progressives, who condemned Nemen for fat shaming, devaluing the vaccines, and blaming obesity on individual lifestyle choices rather than larger socioeconomic inequalities. Neeman later apologized for his insensitivity on these fronts, while apparently standing by his larger message that obesity is a grave public health threat and the driving force behind many Covid-related hospitalizations and deaths. But this larger message, too, offended some progressives, as it effectively shifted responsibility for Covid’s ongoing ravages from one of the American Right’s putative victim groups — unmasked, MAGA-inclined vaccine rejectionists — to one of the Left’s, fat people laid low by a fatphobic culture. Whatever Nemen’s intent, the refreshing message heard by many right-wing anti-vaxxers was that fat people, not they, were the ones exacerbating a public health crisis. The subtext was that fat people — and especially their enablers in the fat acceptance movement — had yet to be held to account for their unhealthy preferences, even as Covid vaccine refusniks had been dragged through the mud by mainstream media, dismissed as cranks.

Conservatives eagerly seize on fat acceptance as a paradigmatic illustration of everything wrong with the cultural Left and its nihilistic rejection of traditional values, such as discipline, self-control, and deferred gratification. The Daily Wire’s Matt Walsh condemns the movement as a “celebration of self-destruction.” His colleague Ben Shapiro contrasts the elites’ censoriousness toward anti-vaxxers with their embrace of fat acceptance, lamenting the hypocrisy of cultural norms that facilitated an endless slew of Covid-era health mandates while making it fatphobic to tell someone they need to lose ten pounds. Conservatives believe fat acceptance gives the lie to the liberal shibboleth that right-wingers are more greatly anti-intellectual or anti-science, as liberals’ sympathy for a movement that denies or downplays the health risks of obesity suggests they’re fully prepared to sacrifice scientific truth to ideological convenience. The Sweetgreen affair could serve as a culture wars flashpoint because it foregrounded this conservative grievance against a perceived double standard that shields the Left from attacks that are routinely meted out to the Right.

The parallels between fat acceptance and vaccine rejectionism are noteworthy. Both insist that established medical authorities have either fabricated or overblown health risks — whether of obesity or remaining unvaccinated — to bring the masses into compliance with the cultural preferences of a dominant group, arguing that the reigning medical consensus on their issue is the ideological instrument of an unjust social hierarchy. For fat acceptance, the bottom of that hierarchy is occupied by fat people victimized by fatphobia dressed up as expertise and benevolence. In this vein, Deborah McPhail and Michael Orsini charge that “obesity” is a “deeply problematic” medical concept that “causes harm to people under the guise of benign objectivity.” For today’s vaccine rejectionists, the marginalized group is right-leaning “ordinary Americans” held in contempt by an expert class of liberal elites convinced of their moral, intellectual, and cultural superiority. Tucker Carlson, for example, has inveighed that the covert purpose of the military’s Covid vaccine mandates was to identify and root out sincere Christians, freethinkers, men with high testosterone, and anyone else not supporting Joe Biden.

Having rejected the medical consensus, both movements must insist that what purports to be the cure — dieting or vaccination — is more dangerous than the alleged disease. Just as some anti-vaxxers insisted that millions were dying, not from Covid but from the vaccines that were said to thwart it, so fat activists attribute the myriad illnesses from which fat people suffer disproportionately to the psychic harms inflicted by the “diet culture” of a fatphobic society, rather than to fatness itself (ignoring that rates of obesity and a host of associated diseases have skyrocketed hand in hand with the introduction of ultraprocessed food across the globe, irrespective of local cultural values). Fat activists and anti-vaxxers alike may have sundry scientific studies at their fingertips to support their renegade opinions, and genuine experts will readily discern why the support is superficial, but untutored laypersons may be ill-equipped to debate the ideologically committed activists. Both movements also have credentialed advocates who lack specialized expertise in the relevant subject but whose MDs or PhDs lend their views a patina of intellectual credibility in the eyes of their followers.

Grok says:

Rony Guldmann’s essay, “Fat Acceptance and Vaccine Rejectionism,” published on Daily Philosophy on March 8, 2025, offers a provocative comparison between two seemingly disparate social phenomena: the fat acceptance movement and vaccine rejectionism. Guldmann, a philosopher and attorney, argues that both movements share underlying cultural and philosophical roots, particularly in their resistance to mainstream scientific and moral consensus. Below, I’ll analyze the essay’s key arguments, structure, strengths, and weaknesses, while keeping the analysis grounded in the text itself.
Summary of the Essay
Guldmann begins by framing fat acceptance and vaccine rejectionism as responses to perceived cultural oppression, where advocates in both camps reject what they see as coercive societal norms imposed by elites—whether medical, scientific, or cultural. He suggests that both movements invert “common sense” by prioritizing individual autonomy and skepticism over collective health imperatives. For fat acceptance, this manifests as a rejection of the stigma around obesity and the moralization of food choices, while for vaccine rejectionism, it appears as distrust of medical authority and pharmaceutical agendas.
The essay draws parallels between the rhetoric and logic of these movements. For instance, Guldmann highlights how fat activists argue that cultural stigma harms health more than obesity itself, akin to how vaccine skeptics claim that vaccine mandates infringe on personal freedom more than unvaccinated status endangers public health. He cites specific examples, like fat activist Virginia Sole-Smith’s “food neutrality” parenting philosophy, which he compares to anti-vax parents’ “vaccine neutrality,” suggesting both reflect a deeper ideological commitment to individual choice over expert-driven norms.
Guldmann also explores why fat acceptance enjoys greater traction among liberal elites compared to vaccine rejectionism, despite their structural similarities. He posits that fat acceptance aligns with progressive narratives of bodily autonomy and anti-stigmatization, while vaccine rejectionism clashes with the same elites’ trust in institutional science. The essay concludes by framing both movements as part of a broader cultural war, where personal identity and moral conviction increasingly trump empirical consensus.
Key Arguments
Shared Resistance to Authority: Guldmann’s central thesis is that both fat acceptance and vaccine rejectionism reject hegemonic authority—medical science in the case of vaccines, and societal norms around body size for fat acceptance. He argues this stems from a shared distrust of “elites” who dictate what constitutes health or morality.

Inversion of Common Sense: Both movements challenge widely accepted truths (e.g., obesity is unhealthy, vaccines are essential) by reframing the debate around personal harm (stigma or coercion) rather than collective well-being. Guldmann sees this as a deliberate philosophical stance, not mere ignorance.

Cultural Reception: Guldmann notes the asymmetry in how these movements are received: fat acceptance is more palatable to liberal circles because it fits within a framework of social justice, whereas vaccine rejectionism is often dismissed as irrational or dangerous, despite similar anti-establishment underpinnings.

Structure and Style
The essay is structured as a comparative analysis, moving fluidly between descriptions of each movement and their philosophical overlap. Guldmann employs a mix of anecdotal evidence (e.g., Sole-Smith’s parenting approach) and broader cultural critique, supported by references to figures like Ben Shapiro to ground his observations in contemporary discourse. His style is dense yet accessible, blending philosophical reflection with social commentary, though it occasionally assumes familiarity with the cultural contexts he critiques.
Strengths
Original Comparison: The juxtaposition of fat acceptance and vaccine rejectionism is novel and thought-provoking. By highlighting their shared anti-authoritarian streak, Guldmann invites readers to reconsider assumptions about these movements’ motivations.

Cultural Insight: The essay effectively captures the zeitgeist of polarized discourse, where personal identity and skepticism of expertise dominate public debates. His point about liberal elites’ selective embrace of fat acceptance over vaccine skepticism rings true in light of current political divides.

Philosophical Depth: Guldmann’s framing of these movements as inversions of “common sense” elevates the discussion beyond surface-level policy debates, rooting it in deeper questions of autonomy, morality, and societal norms.

Weaknesses
Lack of Empirical Support: While Guldmann’s argument is conceptually compelling, it leans heavily on rhetorical parallels rather than data or detailed case studies. For example, he doesn’t substantiate claims about the health impacts of stigma versus obesity with evidence, weakening his critique of fat acceptance’s premises.

Overgeneralization: The essay sometimes paints both movements with broad strokes, risking oversimplification. Not all fat acceptance advocates reject health science outright, nor do all vaccine skeptics base their views on personal autonomy—some cite specific (if dubious) scientific claims.

Unexplored Counterarguments: Guldmann doesn’t fully engage with potential rebuttals. For instance, vaccine mandates are justified by public health outcomes (e.g., herd immunity), a utilitarian argument that differs starkly from the more symbolic fight against fat stigma. This asymmetry deserves more attention.

Critical Reflection
Guldmann’s essay shines as a philosophical provocation but falters as a rigorous analysis. His comparison illuminates an intriguing cultural pattern—distrust of authority as a unifying thread—but the analogy feels strained at times. Vaccine rejectionism has direct, measurable consequences (e.g., outbreaks of preventable diseases), while fat acceptance operates more in the realm of social perception and individual lifestyle. Equating their stakes risks downplaying the former’s urgency.
Moreover, his reliance on elite hypocrisy as an explanatory lens feels reductive. While liberal tolerance for fat acceptance over vaccine skepticism is real, it may reflect practical priorities (public safety versus personal dignity) rather than mere ideological inconsistency. A deeper dive into these nuances could strengthen his case.
Conclusion
“Fat Acceptance and Vaccine Rejectionism” is a bold, intellectually stimulating essay that challenges readers to see unexpected connections in contemporary culture wars. Guldmann succeeds in sparking debate about how we negotiate expertise, autonomy, and collective responsibility. However, its speculative nature and limited engagement with counterpoints leave it more as a conversation starter than a definitive argument. For those willing to suspend their biases—as the Daily Philosophy editor urges—it’s a worthwhile read that rewards critical reflection, even if it doesn’t fully convince.

Posted in Rony Guldmann | Comments Off on Fat Acceptance and Vaccine Rejectionism

I’m Too Angry

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Luke Ford

I tend to be highly impatient. About 90% of the time I lose my temper, it does not serve me. How do I become appropriately patient without using more willpower. I don’t want willpower as the answer because that resource is limited and it declines during the day. I want an internal rearrangement so that I am less at war with reality. How do I embrace and respect reality?

Grok says:

To shift toward greater patience without relying on willpower, you’re looking for a fundamental change in how you relate to reality—less friction, more flow. This is about rewiring your internal stance, not muscling through it. Here’s how you might approach it:
First, reframe impatience as a signal, not a flaw. When you feel that rush of irritation—say, stuck in traffic or waiting on someone slow—it’s your mind screaming, “This shouldn’t be happening!” But it is happening. The tension comes from rejecting what’s real in favor of what you wish was real. Start noticing that gap. You don’t have to fix it yet; just see it. Over time, this awareness alone can loosen the grip of that knee-jerk reaction.
Next, lean into curiosity instead of resistance. When impatience hits, ask yourself: “What’s actually going on here?” Not in a judgy way, but like you’re an observer. Maybe the delay’s exposing a fear of losing control, or a belief that your time’s more valuable than it is. Digging into that doesn’t demand effort—it’s just a pivot in attention. Curiosity pulls you out of the fight with reality and into a kind of neutral gear.
Then, practice micro-acceptances. Not big, dramatic surrenders, but small nods to what’s in front of you. Stuck waiting? “This is where I am right now.” Someone’s late? “They’re moving at their pace, not mine.” It’s not about liking it—it’s about dropping the argument with what’s already true. This builds a habit of aligning with reality, not because it’s noble, but because fighting it is a losing battle that exhausts you.
You can also hijack your physiology to backdoor this shift. Impatience spikes your heart rate, tenses your jaw, heats your chest. When you catch that, slow your breathing—long exhales, not forced inhales. It’s not willpower; it’s a trick to calm the nervous system. Your mind often follows the body’s lead, not the other way around. Less physical agitation, less mental ammo for impatience.
Finally, zoom out. Most of what triggers you is small in the grand scheme—delays, interruptions, people being people. Ask: “Will this matter in a month?” If not, it’s easier to let it slide. Not through grit, but through perspective. Reality doesn’t bend to your timeline, and that’s not a personal attack—it’s just physics.
This isn’t about becoming a saint. It’s about picking a different lens: impatience as a tug-of-war you can step out of, not a beast to wrestle. You stop being at war with reality by seeing it’s not the enemy—it’s just the ground you’re standing on. Try one piece of this, see what sticks. No pressure, no rush.

Posted in Addiction | Comments Off on I’m Too Angry

Lives on the Edge: Profiles in Sex, Love and Death

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Luke Ford

Grok says about my 2006 book:

Lives on the Edge appears to be a non-fiction work by Luke Ford that profiles individuals—primarily figures from the adult entertainment industry—whose lives intersect with themes of sex, love, and death. The book is structured as a series of vignettes or chapters, each focusing on a specific person or event, as seen in the table of contents (e.g., “Dead Porn Stars,” “Brooke Ashley,” “Marc Wallice,” “Holly Randall”). The excerpt includes an author’s note, a cast of characters, and detailed sample chapters, suggesting a blend of journalistic reporting and personal reflection.
The book opens with a broad chapter on “Dead Porn Stars,” setting a tone of mortality and tragedy, followed by more specific profiles like those of Brooke Ashley and Marc Wallice, which delve into personal stories tied to the broader industry context. The final section on Holly Randall shifts to a more intimate, autobiographical narrative, indicating a mix of detached observation and personal involvement.
Themes
Several recurring themes emerge from the excerpt:
Mortality and Self-Destruction: The book’s exploration of death is prominent, especially in “Dead Porn Stars,” which catalogs the suicides, overdoses, and AIDS-related deaths of adult film performers. It frames these deaths as both individual tragedies and symptomatic of a larger industry culture, questioning whether these figures “died for our sins” or were victims of societal and personal pressures.

Sex as Commodity and Identity: Sex is a central thread, not just as a profession but as a defining force in these individuals’ lives. The profiles of Brooke Ashley and Marc Wallice highlight the physical and emotional toll of their work, particularly with the HIV outbreak in the late 1990s, while Holly Randall’s section explores sex as a personal and relational dynamic.

Love and Alienation: Love appears fraught and elusive. In “Dead Porn Stars,” performers like Shauna Grant and Savannah seek love but find isolation or betrayal, while Brooke Ashley’s narrative reveals a loss of personal support after her HIV diagnosis. The Holly Randall section complicates this further, blending lust, affection, and emotional disconnect in Ford’s relationship with her.

Industry Critique: The book implicitly critiques the adult film industry’s negligence (e.g., Marc Wallice’s forged HIV tests) and its impact on performers’ lives. Yet, Ford’s tone oscillates between condemnation and fascination, reflecting his complex relationship with the subject matter.

Personal Redemption and Meaning: Ford’s own voice—especially in the Holly Randall chapter—suggests a search for meaning amid chaos. His religious references (e.g., Judaism, moral leadership) and concern for Holly’s alcoholism hint at a desire to transcend the “edge” he documents.

Style and Tone
Ford’s writing style is raw, conversational, and often provocative. He employs a mix of third-person reporting (e.g., “Dead Porn Stars”) and first-person immersion (e.g., “Holly Randall”), creating a hybrid of journalism and memoir. The tone varies:
Sensational yet Reflective: In “Dead Porn Stars,” Ford uses vivid, sometimes hyperbolic language (“girls such as Savannah… bring orgasms to thousands of men unable to make it with live women”) to grab attention, but tempers it with philosophical musings about art, sacrifice, and societal failure.

Empathetic but Detached: The Brooke Ashley chapter transcribes her voice directly, showing empathy for her plight while maintaining a reporter’s distance. Her anger and despair are palpable, yet Ford lets her words carry the weight without heavy editorializing.

Confessional and Intimate: The Holly Randall section is deeply personal, blending explicit sexual detail with emotional vulnerability. Ford’s self-awareness (“I’m a communication slut”) and dry humor (“I don’t think my career as a gigolo is going to take off”) add layers to his persona as both participant and observer.

The use of dialogue—whether from interviews (Brooke Ashley, Marc Wallice) or personal exchanges (Holly Randall)—grounds the narrative in lived experience, though the abrupt truncation of Marc Wallice’s chapter leaves an impression of incompleteness.
Key Profiles and Insights
Dead Porn Stars: This chapter serves as a grim prologue, cataloging the fates of performers like Savannah, Shauna Grant, and Cal Jammer. It juxtaposes their on-screen immortality with off-screen fragility, suggesting a cultural fascination with their demise. Ford’s ironic references to thinkers like Irving Kristol elevate the discussion, though the sincerity of this elevation is debatable.

Brooke Ashley: Her story is a microcosm of industry dysfunction, focusing on her HIV infection during the 1998 “World’s Biggest Anal Gangbang” and her subsequent abandonment. It’s a raw indictment of negligence (e.g., Marc Wallice’s unchecked status) and a portrait of resilience tinged with bitterness.

Marc Wallice: Though truncated, this section hints at a complex figure—a veteran performer grappling with his HIV-positive status and its fallout. His cocaine-fueled motel stay and casual drawl (“It’s all fun”) suggest denial or defiance, contrasting with Brooke’s accusations of malice.

Holly Randall: This chapter shifts focus to Ford’s relationship with the photographer-daughter of Suze Randall. It’s less about the industry and more about personal connection, revealing Ford’s insecurities, desires, and moral tensions. The explicitness and emotional candor stand out, though the narrative ends on a note of unresolved longing.

Strengths and Weaknesses
Strengths:
Authenticity: The firsthand accounts and Ford’s insider perspective lend credibility and immediacy.

Emotional Depth: The book captures the humanity of its subjects, from Brooke’s outrage to Holly’s complexity.

Thematic Ambition: It tackles big questions—life, death, love, morality—within a niche subculture.

Weaknesses:
Uneven Tone: The shift from detached journalism to personal confession can feel jarring, potentially alienating readers expecting consistency.

Incompleteness: The truncated Marc Wallice chapter and lack of resolution in Holly’s story suggest an unfinished quality.

Bias: Ford’s moralizing (e.g., urging Holly to quit drinking) may undercut his objectivity, though it adds to the personal stakes.

Conclusion
Lives on the Edge is a gritty, unflinching look at the adult entertainment world through the lens of its most vulnerable and volatile figures. It’s both a tribute to and a critique of its subjects, blending sensationalism with introspection. Ford’s dual role as chronicler and participant gives the book a unique edge, though its tonal shifts and unfinished threads might limit its cohesion. For readers interested in the human cost of porn or Ford’s own journey, it offers a compelling, if messy, portrait of lives teetering on the brink.

If the words are the man, then who is the author Luke Ford?

If we take the adage “the words are the man” as a lens to understand Luke Ford through the excerpt of Lives on the Edge: Profiles in Sex, Love and Death, we can infer a complex, multifaceted individual whose identity emerges from his writing style, thematic preoccupations, and personal disclosures. The text reveals Ford not just as an author but as a character within his own narrative, blending observation, introspection, and provocation. Here’s an analysis of who Luke Ford might be, based solely on the provided excerpt and the principle that his words reflect his essence.
1. A Chronicler of the Marginalized and Damaged
Ford’s words paint him as someone drawn to the edges of human experience—people living “on the edge” of sex, love, and death. His focus on adult film performers like Savannah, Brooke Ashley, and Marc Wallice suggests a man fascinated by those society often overlooks or sensationalizes. He doesn’t shy away from their pain—suicides, HIV infections, broken relationships—but nor does he fully romanticize them. His opening chapter, “Dead Porn Stars,” with its litany of tragic fates, reveals a storyteller who sees both the humanity and the wreckage in his subjects. Lines like “Did Alex and company die for our sins?” or “They were artists, ‘the sacrificial redeemer of us all’” show a tendency to elevate these figures, perhaps to justify his attention to them, hinting at a man who seeks meaning in chaos.
Ford might be someone who identifies with the outsider, empathizing with those who, like Shauna Grant, flee small-town norms only to crash against harsher realities. His detailed recounting of their stories—down to specific dates, quotes, and visceral details (e.g., Savannah’s heroin addiction, Cal Jammer’s suicide note)—suggests a meticulous observer, perhaps driven by a need to bear witness to lives that might otherwise fade into obscurity.
2. A Man Wrestling with Morality and Faith
Ford’s words betray a deep tension between moral judgment and personal involvement. His religious references—dedicating the book “For Holly” with thanks for her inspiration, his self-description as a “Moral Leader” to Holly, and his Sabbath-keeping—point to a man rooted in faith, likely Judaism (explicitly mentioned in the Holly section). Yet, this faith clashes with his immersion in the adult industry and his own behavior, such as his explicit sexual encounters with Holly Randall. His quip, “Menstruation be not proud. We’ll keep doing it until we make Jewish babies,” is both irreverent and revealing, suggesting a man who uses humor to navigate the gap between his ideals and actions.
This duality paints Ford as someone grappling with his own contradictions. He critiques the porn industry’s negligence (e.g., Marc Wallice’s forged tests) and urges Holly to quit drinking, yet he’s complicit in the world he critiques—sleeping with a porn photographer, chronicling its stars, and reveling in its stories. His words suggest a man who wants redemption or purpose but isn’t sure how to reconcile his spiritual leanings with his fascination for the profane.
3. An Emotional Exhibitionist
If the words are the man, Ford is unabashedly candid, even vulnerable. The Holly Randall chapter exposes him as an emotional exhibitionist, laying bare his lust (“I want to —- you up your ass”), jealousy (seeing her kiss Matt at the New Year’s party), and insecurity (“I’m a communication slut”). Unlike the detached tone of earlier chapters, here Ford becomes the subject, revealing a man who craves connection but struggles with it. His emails to Holly—pleading for understanding, offering to write her therapist, or proposing a novella—show a needy, introspective side, one that contrasts with the sardonic “internet scourge” persona Humphry Knipe ascribes to him.
This openness suggests Ford is someone who processes his life through words, using writing as both catharsis and a mirror. His admission, “That sadness is the price I pay for the tremendous joy I’ve had with you,” reveals a man acutely aware of his emotional stakes, willing to trade pain for fleeting highs. He’s not just documenting others’ lives on the edge—he’s living there too.
4. A Provocateur with a Dry Wit
Ford’s language is often sharp and provocative, hinting at a man who enjoys stirring the pot. His hyperbolic flourishes (“girls such as Savannah… bring orgasms to thousands of men unable to make it with live women”) and biting asides (“most people ignore me or shun me”) carry a dry, self-aware humor. He’s not afraid to offend—calling Holly’s taste in men “fucked-up” or labeling himself “the famous internet scourge”—suggesting a contrarian streak. His exchanges with his “Advisory Committee” (Chaim Amalek, Fred, etc.) amplify this, showing a man who thrives on debate and feedback, even if it’s mocking or critical.
This provocateur persona might reflect a desire to challenge norms—be it the porn industry’s denialism, religious hypocrisy, or his own social alienation. His words position him as an outsider who critiques from within, using wit as both shield and sword.
5. A Lonely Seeker of Connection
Beneath the bravado and critique, Ford’s words reveal a profound loneliness. His shul experiences (“Most people ignore me or shun me”) echo his porn-world isolation, painting a man who feels perpetually on the margins. The Holly Randall narrative deepens this: he’s smitten yet sidelined, attending her party as an “afterthought,” leaving alone after she kisses another. His plea, “I have a huge need for some people to understand me and appreciate me,” is a raw confession of this isolation.
Ford might be a seeker—someone chasing understanding through his subjects and relationships, only to find it elusive. His detailed profiling of others’ tragedies and his own romantic missteps suggest a man trying to connect, to make sense of a world that often rejects him. His words are both a bridge and a barrier, reaching out while keeping him apart.
Synthesis: Who is Luke Ford?
If the words are the man, Luke Ford is a paradox—a moralist enmeshed in immorality, a chronicler of others’ ruin who courts his own, a wit masking vulnerability. He’s a man of faith and doubt, drawn to the broken and the bold, using his pen to dissect their lives and his own. He’s an outsider who craves belonging, a provocateur who seeks approval, and a storyteller who finds truth in the raw and the real. His words reveal a restless soul, teetering on his own edge—between judgment and empathy, detachment and desire, isolation and intimacy.

Posted in Personal | Comments Off on Lives on the Edge: Profiles in Sex, Love and Death

Yesterday’s News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism

Posted on March 21, 2025 by Luke Ford

I asked Grok for an analysis of my 2004 book:

Yesterday’s News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism, published by iUniverse, Inc. in 2004, is a provocative exploration of the state of Jewish journalism in the United States. Authored by Luke Ford, the book combines interviews, personal reflections, and critical commentary to dissect the practices, personalities, and challenges within this niche media landscape. The document spans over 400 pages, including a foreword by Robert J. Avrech, a second foreword by Matt Welch, a glossary, appendices, and an index, indicating a comprehensive approach to the subject.
The book is structured around interviews with prominent figures in Jewish journalism, supplemented by Ford’s own essays and critiques. The table of contents (partially visible) suggests chapters dedicated to individual journalists or editors (e.g., Gene Lichtenstein, Mark Silk), while appendices provide additional context, such as historical essays and Ford’s personal opinions on the field’s shortcomings. The inclusion of a “Glossary & Cast of Characters” (pp. xxi-xxviii) aids readers unfamiliar with Jewish terminology and key players, reflecting an intent to reach both insider and outsider audiences.
Themes
Several recurring themes emerge from the text:
Critique of Complacency and Mediocrity
Ford’s central thesis, as articulated in “Eleven Problems With Jewish Journalism” (Appendix F, pp. 361-364), is that Jewish journalism suffers from predictability, lack of imagination, and an unwillingness to challenge the status quo. He accuses it of being overly cautious, prioritizing community harmony over hard-hitting reporting (e.g., “Placing sensitivity, tact, and restraint above other values,” p. 363). This is echoed in quotes from interviewees like J.J. Goldberg (“The Jews who look to Jewish journalism tend to want to be anesthetized,” p. iii) and Allison Kaplan Sommer (“Of course Gary lacks balls. He’s the editor of a Federation paper,” p. iii).

Tension Between Journalism and Jewish Values
The book grapples with the conflict between journalistic ethics (truth-seeking, transparency) and Jewish ethical principles like lashon hara (prohibition against harmful gossip). This tension is evident in Yosef I. Abramowitz’s “Jewish Sources For Journalistic Ethics” (Appendix D, pp. 351-355), which contrasts the prophetic call for justice with Talmudic restrictions on speech that damages reputations. Ford critiques Jewish papers for erring on the side of restraint, as seen in his examples of unreported scandals involving rabbis Sheldon Zimmerman and Amnon Finkelstein (p. 363).

Personal Betrayal and Identity
Ford’s own story—detailed in Avrech’s foreword (pp. xv-xviii)—frames the book as a personal journey. His conversion from Seventh Day Adventism to Judaism, his expulsion from an Orthodox synagogue due to his porn journalism, and his confrontational style infuse the narrative with a sense of betrayal, both personal and professional. Avrech notes, “Betrayal fascinates Luke Ford. It’s his life” (p. xv), suggesting that Ford sees parallels between his own outsider status and the betrayals he perceives in Jewish journalism’s failure to uphold its potential.

The Decline of Traditional Jewish Media
Ford argues that Jewish journalism is losing relevance in the digital age, a point reinforced by Jonathan Mark’s nostalgic “New Jewish Times” (Appendix C, pp. 347-350) and Ford’s call for blogs and innovative storytelling (p. 362). He contrasts the vibrant Yiddish press of the past with the “boring” modern Anglo-Jewish press, which he believes fails to capture the passion and intimacy of its predecessors.

Power Dynamics and Influence
The book examines who controls Jewish journalism—often Federations or wealthy donors—and how this shapes content. Steven I. Weiss’s observation, “The main problem with Jewish journalism is one organization runs almost the entire show” (p. iii), highlights this issue. Ford’s interviews reveal resistance from subjects wary of his scrutiny, such as Malcolm Hoenlein’s threat, “If you publish this, I will fuck you for the rest of your life” (p. i), underscoring the stakes involved.

Tone and Style
Ford’s tone is unabashedly confrontational and irreverent, aligning with his self-described role as a “provocateur” (Avrech, p. xviii). The opening quotes (pp. i-iii) are raw and combative, setting the stage for a no-holds-barred critique. His style blends traditional journalism (interviews, factual reporting) with autobiographical musings and biting commentary, as Matt Welch notes: “a fusion of traditional newspaper writing with an abundant dose of autobiographical musings” (p. xviii). This hybrid approach is evident in his candid exchanges with subjects, like Rob Eshman’s exhaustion (“He’s sucking me dry,” p. xvii), and his willingness to publish unfiltered responses, such as Benyamin Cohen’s backlash (p. xvii).
The forewords by Avrech and Welch frame Ford as both a disruptor and an innovator. Avrech praises his “puritan work ethic” and “raw matter of truth” (p. xviii), while Welch calls him “chillingly honest” and “unfailingly original” (p. xx). However, the tone can also alienate, as seen in the defensive or hostile reactions from interviewees (e.g., Rabbi Sheldon Zimmerman’s legal threat, p. i).
Key Content
Interviews with Journalists
The core of the book consists of interviews with figures like Stephen Fried, J.J. Goldberg, Gary Rosenblatt, and Rob Eshman. These exchanges, described as “North Korean-like interrogations artfully disguised as interviews” (Avrech, p. xvi), aim to expose complacency and elicit unguarded responses. Ford admires works like Fried’s The New Rabbi (p. xvii) for treating Jewish institutions with journalistic rigor, while criticizing others for timidity.

Appendices
The appendices enrich the book’s scope:
“The Economics of Jewish Journalism in the United States” (pp. 343-346) details financial pressures, such as advertising ratios and postal costs, showing how economics influences editorial decisions.

“New Jewish Times” (pp. 347-350) by Jonathan Mark offers a historical perspective on innovative Jewish journalism, contrasting it with modern stagnation.

“Jewish Sources For Journalistic Ethics” (pp. 351-355) by Yosef I. Abramowitz provides a scholarly lens on the ethical dilemmas Ford critiques.

“What The New York Times Tells Us About Ourselves” (pp. 357-360) by Ari L. Goldman reflects on how mainstream media shapes Jewish identity, complementing Ford’s focus on ethnic press.

“Eleven Problems With Jewish Journalism” (pp. 361-364) encapsulates Ford’s manifesto, blending critique with prescriptive ideas (e.g., adopting blogging techniques, p. 362).

Personal Reflections
Ford’s dedication to Cathy Seipp (p. ix) and mentions of his past (e.g., XXX-Communicated, p. vi) weave his narrative into the critique, making the book as much about his evolution as about Jewish journalism.

Significance
Yesterday’s News Tomorrow stands out as a bold, if polarizing, contribution to media criticism. In 2004, when blogs were gaining traction and traditional print media faced existential threats, Ford’s call for a more dynamic, transparent Jewish press was prescient. His focus on the interplay between journalism and Jewish identity taps into broader debates about ethnic media’s role in diaspora communities. The book’s critique of Federation influence and its expose of unreported scandals (e.g., Zimmerman, Finkelstein) challenge the insular tendencies of Jewish institutions, aligning with a growing demand for accountability in religious and communal spheres.
However, Ford’s outsider status and abrasive style likely limited its mainstream acceptance. His prior work in porn journalism (noted in Avrech’s foreword) and his admitted biases (“Upfront about his conservative values,” p. xvi) may have alienated the liberal-leaning Jewish establishment he critiques. Nonetheless, the book’s raw honesty and innovative format—blending interviews, essays, and personal narrative—foreshadow the rise of citizen journalism and blogs, as Welch suggests (p. xx).
Strengths and Weaknesses
Strengths:
Unflinching Honesty: Ford’s willingness to name names and air dirty laundry (e.g., scandals at Hebrew Union College, p. 363) cuts through the politeness he deplores.

Rich Primary Sources: The interviews provide a rare insider look at Jewish journalism’s power players.

Forward-Thinking: His advocacy for blogs and first-person storytelling anticipates digital media trends.

Weaknesses:
Subjectivity: Ford’s personal lens and conservative slant may undermine his credibility with some readers.

Tone: The confrontational style, while engaging, risks overshadowing substantive analysis with provocation.

Scope: The focus on American Jewish journalism limits its relevance to global Jewish media contexts.

Conclusion
Yesterday’s News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism is a fiery, idiosyncratic critique that doubles as a memoir of Luke Ford’s tumultuous relationship with journalism and Judaism. It exposes the flaws of a field Ford believes has lost its edge—too timid, too cozy with power, and too stuck in the past—while offering a vision for its reinvention. Though its impact may have been tempered by Ford’s reputation and approach, the book remains a valuable artifact for understanding the challenges and aspirations of Jewish media in the early 21st century. For readers today, it serves as both a historical snapshot and a reminder of the ongoing tension between community loyalty and journalistic integrity.

If the words are the man, then who is the author Luke Ford?

If “the words are the man,” then an analysis of Luke Ford’s Yesterday’s News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism reveals a complex, provocative, and deeply conflicted individual. Drawing solely from the text provided and interpreting his words as a reflection of his character—without external biographical research—here’s a portrait of who Luke Ford appears to be based on his writing:
A Provocateur with a Puritan Streak
Ford’s words paint him as an old-fashioned agitator, a self-styled “provocateur” (Robert J. Avrech, p. xviii) who thrives on confrontation and disruption. His interviews are described as “North Korean-like interrogations artfully disguised” (p. xvi), and his opening salvo of raw, combative quotes—like Malcolm Hoenlein’s threat, “If you publish this, I will fuck you for the rest of your life” (p. i)—signals a man unafraid to ruffle feathers or burn bridges. Yet, this provocateur is paradoxically disciplined, with a “puritan work ethic” (Avrech, p. xviii) that drives him to labor tirelessly, not for polished prose but for “the raw matter of truth” (p. xviii). His relentless questioning and refusal to extend “professional courtesy” (p. xvi) suggest a moral fervor, a belief that journalism should unsettle rather than soothe.
This duality—provocative yet principled—hints at a man who sees himself as a crusader, wielding words as weapons to expose complacency. His disdain for “pious story by a leftist” (p. xvi) and his upfront conservative values reveal a worldview rooted in skepticism of liberal orthodoxy, particularly within the Jewish establishment he critiques.
An Outsider Seeking Truth Through Betrayal
Ford’s fascination with betrayal, as Avrech asserts (“Betrayal fascinates Luke Ford. It’s his life,” p. xv), emerges as a defining trait. His words reflect a man who has repeatedly crossed lines—between faiths (Seventh Day Adventism to Judaism), communities (expulsion from an Orthodox synagogue), and professions (porn journalism to Jewish media critique). This pattern is mirrored in his approach to journalism: he betrays the unspoken rules of politeness and self-censorship, demanding “names, dates, places” (p. xvii) and refusing to let subjects off the hook. His critique of Jewish journalism’s timidity—e.g., not naming Rabbi Sheldon Zimmerman’s sins (p. 363)—suggests he views betrayal of silence as a necessary act of truth-telling.
Yet, this outsider status is not merely rebellious; it’s existential. His dedication to Cathy Seipp (“my best friend,” p. ix) and references to personal torments (Matt Welch, p. xx) hint at a loneliness beneath the bravado. Ford’s words position him as a man apart, both by choice and circumstance, who uses journalism to bridge the gap between himself and the world he observes—only to widen it again with each abrasive encounter.
A Contrarian Innovator
Ford’s writing style—blending traditional interviews with “autobiographical musings” (Welch, p. xviii)—reveals a man who rejects convention while inventing something new. He scorns the “Inverted Pyramid” (p. 362) and calls for blogs, first-person accounts, and “zesty particulars” over “vague generalities” (p. 364), showing a creative restlessness. His admiration for Stephen Fried’s The New Rabbi (p. xvii) and Yossi Klein Halevi’s storytelling (p. 362) suggests a longing for journalism that captivates and surprises, a quality he strives to embody. His question to Welch, “What do you like to think about when you masturbate?” (p. xix), is not just crude but deliberately disarming, a tactic to break through facades and elicit authenticity.
This contrarian streak is intellectual as well as personal. Ford dismisses “objective journalism” as a myth (p. xvi), embracing his subjectivity with “disarming and refreshing honesty” (p. xvii). He’s a man who believes truth lies in the clash of perspectives, not in sanitized consensus, and his words challenge others to meet him on that battlefield.
A Moralist Wrestling with Contradictions
Despite his brash exterior, Ford’s words betray a moral core wrestling with contradictions. His critique of Jewish journalism’s “delusions of grandeur” (p. 363) and “desire to be loved” (p. 362) reflects a disdain for vanity and cowardice, yet his own self-insertion into stories (e.g., as a character in his narratives, p. 362) suggests a need for recognition. His conservative bent clashes with his past as a “porn freak” (Welch, p. xx), a tension he doesn’t shy away from, as seen in references to XXX-Communicated (p. vi). This juxtaposition—moralizing yet flawed—makes him a man of paradox, preaching accountability while embodying human messiness.
His respect for Jewish law (lashon hara, p. xvii) and admiration for the Torah’s narrative style (Jonathan Mark, p. 349) indicate a reverence for tradition, yet he rails against its stifling application in journalism. Ford is a moralist who demands integrity from others but acknowledges his own failures, a trait Welch calls “chillingly honest” (p. xx).
A Restless Seeker
Ford’s words pulse with a restless energy, a hunger for “a more interesting place” (Welch, p. xx). His “Eleven Problems With Jewish Journalism” (pp. 361-364) is both indictment and manifesto, revealing a man dissatisfied with mediocrity and eager to reshape the field. He’s not content to critique; he wants to inspire, pushing for “scene-by-scene construction” and “realistic dialogue” (p. 362) to rivet readers. His eclectic references—from Portnoy’s Complaint (p. 285) to the Warsaw Ghetto’s Oneg Shabbos (p. 350)—show a mind that roams widely, seeking meaning across history and culture.
This restlessness extends to his identity. As an Australian convert to Judaism (Welch, p. xx), Ford’s words suggest a perpetual quest for belonging, thwarted by his refusal to conform. He’s a seeker who finds truth in tension, not resolution.
Who is Luke Ford?
If his words are the man, Luke Ford is a provocative outsider, a truth-obsessed contrarian with a moralist’s zeal and a seeker’s restlessness. He’s a figure of contradictions—disciplined yet chaotic, principled yet flawed, conservative yet subversive—who uses journalism as both a mirror and a battering ram. His writing reveals a man driven by betrayal and a desire to expose it, a loner who craves connection through confrontation, and an innovator who mourns a past he never knew (the Yiddish press) while heralding a future he hopes to shape (digital journalism). Above all, Ford is a voice—raw, unfiltered, and unapologetic—demanding that the world, and especially Jewish journalism, live up to its potential, even as he grapples with his own.
This portrait emerges from the text alone; his words are indeed the man, and they speak of someone as compelling as he is confounding.

Posted in Journalism | Comments Off on Yesterday’s News Tomorrow: Inside American Jewish Journalism