I heard a great lecture in August by Dr James Cates on his pioneering clinical work with the Amish in northern Indiana, and I was instantly fascinated by his experience, and even more so by his two main books on the topic. In 2014, Johns Hopkins University Press published his Serving the Amish.
And then Serpent in the Garden: Amish Sexuality in a Changing World was published just a few weeks ago (JHU Press, 2020), 224pp. I reached out to him by e-mail to interview him about the book, which I read on a lovely weekend in mid-September sitting outside in near-perfect weather. It is an elegantly written and deeply interesting study, making all sorts of unexpected connections, and I sent him some questions about it. Here are his thoughts:
AD: Tell us about your background
JC: That question almost always prompts me to say, “I’m a clinical psychologist,” and start with my history in the mental health field. That background contributes to this work, but my love of writing predates my interest in psychology. I was the editor for my high school newspaper, and started college determined to be a journalist. I decided life was too short to wear a paper hat and say “Would you like fries with that?” one more time between semesters, and applied as a summer counselor at a residential treatment center for severely disturbed children. I fell in love with the work and the kids, and the center kept me on as part-time staff that fall. A little over four years and a master’s in psychology later, I moved from student and part-time houseparent to full-time therapist at another residential treatment center. Five years later, I realized how much I loved psychological testing, but to pursue it as a career the doctorate in psychology would be required. I obtained my Ph.D., and all these years later, still love counseling, testing, and consulting.
And amidst the focus on residents and clients, the passion to write never left. Working as a houseparent, I realized a very different type of child was our “frequent flyer” in seclusion rooms (used to isolate and calm a disruptive resident), and wanted to research the problem. I ended up in contact with a professor at my school who had worked with the CIA and was an expert in sensory deprivation. Scary stuff, but a great mentor. Together, we churned out my first publication, and from there I began writing professional articles, book chapters, and the occasional freelance publication.
My late wife was the first one in the family connected with the Amish, and primed my interest. We wrote two articles together, and even after her death, my involvement with the Amish deepened. Still, my work would have remained local and limited to the occasional article if not for an incredible group of Amish women (see the answer to the next question).
AD: What led to the writing of Serpent in the Garden: Amish Sexuality in a Changing World?
JCL Let me insert a shameless plug for my first book, Serving the Amish: A Cultural Guide for Professionals, published in 2014, also by Johns Hopkins University Press. Without that title, Serpent in the Garden would never have been written. Here is the backstory.
In the early 21st century, Amish women in the Elkhart-LaGrange settlement of Indiana, the third largest, were beginning to confront the issue of domestic violence in a different way than had ever been done before. Amish women had left their husbands, and even their communities in the past, but at that time the women’s shelter in LaGrange, Indiana was run by a director who made Parris Island drill sergeants look like mama’s boys. She was also genuine, and could connect with the Amish women in her care. Feminism had come to the Amish of Elkhart-LaGrange. From the outside looking in, it might not seem militant. These were, after all, Amish women, whose lives were predicated on humility, pacifism, and obedience to men. But from the inside looking out? They were the Amish version of armed protesters.
And I happened to be a friend to one of the movers and shakers among these women. She decided that the group should do a presentation on domestic violence among Plain people (i.e., the Amish, and those with values similar to theirs) at an international conference to be held in the Lancaster, Pennsylvania area. And she anticipated that I would make that happen.
Of course I would. I had no idea how, but of course I would. Let me digress again. I discuss this in Serpent in the Garden, but just because men are given the primary authority, and are head of the household? Don’t ever believe that Amish women do not have power and control. Amish women can be downright scary. Of course I would.
So, I called Donald B. Kraybill, Ph.D., at Elizabethtown College in Pennsylvania, who was responsible for the conference. The recognized scholar on the Amish. The recognized scholar. Had never met him. Had never talked to him. And said I had a group of Amish women who wanted to present on domestic violence, and would they be able to do so? And Don, being no stranger to Amish women either, said of course they could.
And from that initial presentation developed a friendship with Don, who became the driving force behind my first book, Serving the Amish. But almost before that book was in print, Don suggested that I expand the chapter on sexuality.
It seemed simple at first. The Amish views on sexuality are straightforward. Procreation: good. Sex for procreation: good. Sex for pleasure: bad. But of course, that is an incredible oversimplification, as my years of dialogue with the Amish indicated. The tightrope walk became writing a book that was forthright about their views on sex, sexuality, and gender roles while maintaining the dignity of the people I was describing.
And at the end of the day, I wrote it because there are excellent works that explain the sociology, history, and even the anthropology of the Amish. Former Amish turn back and write about the culture they left behind. Those who are still a part of the Amish church write about the culture in which they engage. But with the exception of the “tell-all” autobiography, very few sources discuss the experience of sex and sexuality. My hope is not to write the definitive work on the subject. My hope is to model a discussion about the topic that opens it within the field of academia.
AD: One of the writers and clinicians I have been most influenced by is the British psychoanalyst Adam Phillips who has written that "When it comes to sexuality, we don't get it....We may have inklings about it....We can know the facts of life, but nothing else. We may, as we say, have sex, but we won't get it." This seems to accord very much with your preface that "for no group is sexuality ever a simple proposition" (p. viii). Does that not fly in the face of the common perception that for these "Plain people" everything in their life is simple--from clothing to buildings, farming to family life? What were the biggest surprises for you as you began to discover their sexually complicated lives?
JC: I expand my disclaimer later in the book, much in line with Phillips’ assertion:
…social scientists have come late to the party to explain romantic love, an effort the literati have more eloquently embraced for thousands of years. For those who live out the fairytale, falling madly in love and forsaking all other considerations in pursuit of their quest, this book does not attempt to add to the myriad explanations linking head and heart…Suffice to say, the model suggested is insufficient, as are they all, to explain the vagaries where ‘there are strings in the human heart that had better not be vibrated.’ (p. 96)
It is easy to correlate “Plain” and “simple,” but as you observe, such is not the case. In Serving the Amish, I make the statement that “…despite their best intentions to live apart from the world, they cannot live apart from their sexual desires” (p. 72). And I freely confess, I was naïve for some time, learning incidentally that to be human is to engage in the full range of behaviors. For example, I realized that genital piercings were relatively common among Amish males of Rumspringa age (16 years old until the decision is made to join church) only because of a passing comment by an emergency services physician who had himself been surprised by the number of such piercings he had observed with Amish patients.
That said, I have found that trust with an Amish friend or confidante is more difficult to attain than with a non-Amish person, but once it is a part of the relationship? There are very few topics that are off-limits. It seems to be part of the collective and high-context culture, in which there are fewer deeply personal secrets.
It isn’t the sexual behavior that surprises me. After all, there may be unusual, creative, or even exotic ways of engaging other persons or objects sexually, but the end goal stays the same. It is more the guilt, shame, and remorse that attaches to behaviors that have largely become innocuous for the broader heteronormative (culture). For example, from time to time, I find a non-Amish adolescent client in my practice who is conflicted about masturbating, but this is usually a mild guilt or shame. I have talked with numerous Amish adolescents who experience a deep-seated guilt, shame, and remorse for having yielded to this temptation. And in fairness, some carry on with lustful abandon. The same is true of premarital sexual activity of all types. Attitudes run the gamut, but shame and despair over “making out” is more common than giddy excitement over multiple sexual conquests.
And as I make the world-weary statement, “I’ve seen it all when it comes to sex and the Amish…nothing can faze me,” there will doubtless be something, shortly after this blog is published, that makes me say, “Whoa! Didn’t see that one coming!”
AD: You bring what you recognize may be an unexpected interlocutor into your book, viz., Michel Foucault and the "queer theory" in whose development he played such a role. Tell us how and why a figure and a theory from such a different cultural, intellectual, and theological background is helpful to understanding the sexuality of the "Plain people."
JC: Personal experience comes to bear as much as scientific inquiry. Several years ago, I spoke about the Amish at a conference in Utah for professionals working with plural marriage Mormons. I brought a young man who was Amish to the conference as a speaker as well. The experience was enlightening in terms of the overlap of vastly divergent cultures.
At that time (this was prior to the same-sex marriage decision by SCOTUS), plural marriage Mormons and sexual minority activists in Utah had pooled their resources to argue for changes in the law with the legislature. Politics had indeed made strange bedfellows, since the sexual minorities had little interest in the plight of plural marriage Mormons, and the plural marriage Mormons viewed same-sex behavior as a sin. Nevertheless, the predominant culture had pushed them into an alliance to argue for a loosening of the laws.
It was interesting to watch my Amish counterpart interact with the plural marriage Mormons as well. Although they were vastly different in beliefs and theology, so much of their experience was similar. Separation from the world, a unique view of themselves in the face of that world, misunderstanding and intolerance on the part of their neighbors, and a religious and spiritual culture that defies the majority of Christian beliefs were all central points on which they could empathize and share.
And for myself? I identify as a sexual minority as well. I use the term “gay” and join the crowd in that particular tent, although the circus is pretty jumbled these days, and a single noun/adjective hardly does justice to the complexity of sexuality. But this is a blog, not a book, so I leave it there, including it simply to note that the journey has been one of moving from being diagnosed with a mental illness and assured a place in hell to living comfortably with the complexity of a healthy sexuality and knowing that God and I are doing okay.
And with that diversity of experience behind me, professional and personal, when it came time to try to find a framework or model to tie together the experience of Amish sexuality, I realized that queer theory was a great fit. It described my experience as I had lived the metamorphosis of my sexuality, and it would have fit, quite neatly, with the plural marriage Mormons who were struggling for recognition lo those several years ago. It fit because at its simplest and most elegant, it describes a predominant culture that sets the rules for what sexuality should be, and a subculture that defies these rules. Although the Amish fit the predominant culture rules once upon a time, they now were out of step with that culture, and were the subculture. Enter, Michel Foucault and queer theory!
AD: Queer theory, as you note a little later on (p.21), is especially useful in warning us off essentialism and in reminding us how culturally constructed sexuality and gender roles really are in what you call the Amish "heteronormative." Tell us a bit more what you mean by that term.
JC: Once upon a time, when dinosaurs roamed the earth…okay, maybe not that long ago, but prior to the heady days of the sexual revolution, the “Amish” heteronormative was “the” heteronormative in the United States. (An excellent book on this subject is Front Porch to Back Seat: Courtship in Twentieth Century America, by Beth Bailey, published in 1989 by Johns Hopkins University Press.) Sexual mores loosened in the broader culture, and the heteronormative, or the parameters for sexual behavior and expression of sexuality became more tolerant. The heterosexual majority is assumed to establish these norms, by dint of the fact that they are the majority, and therefore have the largest voting bloc when decisions are made about what is acceptable.
As the heteronormative in the broader culture yielded to greater freedom, the Amish clung to the traditional heteronormative that imposed far stricter expectations. Same-sex relationships are the most recent divisive cultural standard, but they have long stood in opposition to loosened views on cohabitation and divorce, to name but two. As they separate themselves from the world, making a distinct and diligent effort to maintain a social structure founded on principles that are untainted by non-Christian beliefs, their values system has become increasingly separate as well. Queer theory posits that a sexual minority rebels against the heteronormative. While the clash of competing heteronormatives is not a proposition the theory was designed to entertain, the model is sufficiently robust to accommodate this paradox. Foucault’s vision has survived long enough to see its application morph, from the emerging view of sexuality that it first addressed, to the transitions that now occur as that sexuality has become the norm, and past norms run for cover.
AD: You stress many times in the book the patriarchal nature of Amish society and authority especially, but also note repeatedly that "gender roles among the Amish are likewise much more complicated than they first appear" (p.35). Later on (p.84) you note that "neither the Ordnung nor some churches stop women from pursuing vocations and avocations." Tell us a bit more about these complicated roles and give us an example of some female vocations you have in mind here.
At one point in my professional career, I owned a house in Topeka, Indiana that I used as a satellite office, and also rented space to other businesses. (By the by, if you are looking for Topeka, Indiana on a map, it’s that tiny dot south of Shipshewana, just east of Rt. 5.) One of these businesses was a magazine owned and published by an Amish woman in the community. Our agreement included my possession of the online services that she required, while another, non-Amish friend leased a desktop publishing arrangement to her that rivaled NASA in its complexity. These arrangements kept her from violating her church’s Ordnung and owning computers, or renting online services herself. The house had a kitchen, and I gave her free rein there as well. That meant that in addition to running a magazine that was distributed throughout the Amish settlements in the United States and Canada, she did cooking, including canning and making jams and jellies during her workday.
In one sense, she was not your typical Amish woman. An independent soul, she had a sense of self and entrepreneurial spirit that was at odds with the typical Amish female. She also had an expansive sense of what was rightfully hers. After a season or two in the rental, she announced that the front looked too bare, and she would be planting flowers. Following that decision, she announced to me that the Amish man who did the lawn work there (and who was also her neighbor) was not taking proper precautions around her flowers, and I needed to remind him to do better. It has been several years since she was a tenant, and I still miss her.
All this to say, most Amish women find satisfaction as homemakers, or at most branch out into home-based crafts and produce sales. They may find employment as schoolteachers prior to marriage, or in some of the larger settlements, serve customers in stores or restaurants. Once married, and particularly once they have children, they are expected to return to the home. But within that home, it seems likely that there is a bell curve of submission.
At the peak of the curve, representing the plurality of Amish women, are those who find satisfaction with some level of submissive respect for the patriarchy. There is a give and take in terms of gender-defined chores, so that males may assume responsibility for female chores, and vice-versa, but the roles remain clearly delineated, even with the willingness to cross boundaries. At one extreme of the curve are the women such as my tenant, who still do not cross into what is traditionally masculine territory, but take an androgynous role (e.g., writing) and move into fuller responsibilities (e.g., publisher). At the other extreme are women who are forced into subjection, rather than submission, and treated with lack of respect that relegates them to a servile role (e.g., domestic violence).
AD: You note several times (including p.94) that the Amish "advocate humility." Having recently written a book on sex abuse in the Catholic Church, I'm keenly aware of the uses and abuses of "humility" in that context. Is there something similar in the Amish community? Do you see a connection between the emphasis on humility and the sex abuse you describe in your seventh chapter?
JC: Your question reminds me of the quote by Hazrat Khan: “Our virtues are made by love, and our sins caused by the lack of it.” The short answer is yes, absolutely. The willingness of those who prey on the humility that is a cornerstone of Amish beliefs encourage sexual abuse. They do so by failing to embrace the humility they exploit.
The more complicated answer addresses a patriarchal, hierarchical social system. As much as the Amish attempt to lead Christ-based lives, we are told that the Savior himself said, “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s (Matthew 22:21). I tend toward the belief that complex social orders are more human than divine, a “rendering unto Caesar.” The parsing of power inevitably leads to the opportunity for abuse, as those who hold power and control are tempted to misuse it. Add the core spiritual beliefs of the need to sacrifice in this life, to remain humble in the face of persecution, and to forgive our enemies, and the potential for unreported abuse rises accordingly.
AD: You're an admirably restrained writer, placidly describing Amish beliefs with great care and balance, but there is one place where your own difficulty intrudes explicitly on p. 119 in working with an Amish teacher in a case of the sexual abuse of a girl. Here you note--of their view that the victim needed to acknowledge some role in the abuse--that "it was not a belief I could accept but it was a belief I needed to respect." In Trump's America in 2020, that seems a precious, rare, and increasingly lost skill! How, as a clinician, did you come to be able to make that distinction and to live it? For young clinicians starting out, do you have any recommendations on how to increase one's capacity for respecting what one cannot accept?
JC: I have shared this story elsewhere, so I will include it in condensed form here. My dad was a Baptist minister, with all the fundamental beliefs that entails. None of that stopped him from encouraging me to believe, fully and profoundly, that my relationship with God was mine, and mine alone, and he respected whatever choices I made.
I knew his position on sexual minorities. To act on our desires was to commit a sin. Whether we were eventually accepted by God was not his decision, but we were sinning in the here and now. Years after the fact, I learned of an incident in the mid-70’s at the church, when I was away at college.
A group of women decided to hold an exercise class, and opened it to the community. What we would now consider a male-to-female transgender began attending, much to the dismay of the women. She did not look like a she, being at the stage of dressing as a female, but having taken no other steps toward sex reassignment. “She” was a “he” in a women’s exercise class.
So, the women graced by birth as such trooped into my dad’s office and demanded the removal of the impersonator. My dad heard them out, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Does she consider herself a woman?” The women grudgingly admitted she did. “Then,” he said, “as long as I am pastor of this church, she stays.”
It was not a decision that was taken well. But it was the kind of man he was. The church was open to anyone who wanted to attend. He could talk a firm theological stance, but when it came to people? They were God’s children, and if God loved them, he loved them.
And in my practice, I’ve dealt with white supremacists, those who abhor sexual minorities, with atheists, and with countless others who see the world far differently from me. There are clients and situations that leave me struggling to respect what they believe. And I have mellowed over the years, too. But when I weigh the potential to heal the pain of a person sitting across from me, by respecting beliefs that do not align with mine, or add to that pain by assuring them that I believe they are wrong? All too often, there is no purpose in adding to their distress, and much more to be gained by helping them heal.
AD: Forgiveness of course plays a huge role in Amish culture. You recognize (p.121) that it can be "meritorious" to forgive but then seem to hint that perhaps such forgiveness might be a bit facile or prone to abuse in the absence of "an embedded system to address behaviors that are symptomatic of pervasive clinical syndromes." In your own clinical experience working with the Amish over these past years, have you seen changes here? Is there an awareness of the need for such a system, and progress towards building one?
As I note in the book, the term “the” Amish is a misnomer. Because they answer to no single authority, the Ordnung, or rules that govern the church, are common in the unifying principles that create a Plain people (maintaining a collective and high context culture), but allow for at least some flexibility in areas of technology and self-expression. So, the answer to your question would be a qualified yes.
As you note, forgiveness is a fundamental principle of Amish culture. Forgiving addictive and compulsive behaviors becomes the problem. The community is forced to overlook the repetition of repeated behaviors that have been forgiven and forgotten in the belief that they will not recur, or acknowledge that repentance is not sustaining change. In Serving the Amish, I share the story of a woman whose husband engaged in serial infidelity. The ministry chose to handle the situation by telling her if she were a better wife, he would not stray. After the book was published, I learned more of their situation, and came to believe that he engaged in sexually compulsive behavior. While that in no way excuses the patronizing and patriarchal response of the ministry, it does provide a framework for his inability to stop his behavior.
The incident I described in Serving the Amish happened almost 15 years ago now. I have no reason to believe that her ministry would respond differently today. They are an Amish church in an Amish settlement that aligns closely with the patriarchal system. Ironically, they are also a settlement that has embraced the 12-step program of Alcoholics Anonymous to address the problem of alcohol abuse. They recognize the physiological and psychological addictive properties of alcohol, the limitations of confession in front of the church and the spiritual attitude of “forgive and forget” to overcome that addiction, and the need for ongoing support and encouragement to address this sin.
The same type of paradox can exist in responding to child physical and sexual abuse, and domestic violence. The difficulty in acknowledging these sins as requiring treatment is twofold. First, to acknowledge them outside the Amish church is to risk exposure and punishment, a diminution of the patriarchy. Progressive churches weigh the need to protect their more vulnerable adherents against the risk of weakening the patriarchy, and choose to strengthen the patriarchy by aligning with civil authorities. More conservative churches weigh the need to retain the power of the hierarchy, embodied in the patriarchy, and resist involving civil authorities. Often, the logic used is the necessity of suffering on earth for the glory of an (hoped for – to assume salvation is prideful) eternity in heaven.
Second, there is often a genuine struggle with the belief that the Amish church is separate from the world. I have never witnessed a confession, but I have heard many descriptions. The power of sitting, standing, or kneeling before the assembled church members (depending on the severity of the sin to be confessed), acknowledging one’s failing, and humbly asking forgiveness is at once a shaming and cleansing experience. Its purpose is to bring sin to light, to ask the forgiveness of God and the assembled church. It is then forgiven by the blood of Christ, who died on the cross for this and all sins, and the sinner walks away, free from that burden. To offer this cleansing ritual, only to be followed by further condemnation by civil authorities, makes a travesty of a powerful spiritual experience, at least in the minds of some spiritually minded ministers.
The power of this rite, and its tradition in the Amish church does not mean that they are blind to addictions and compulsions. But in fairness, how well do we manage the same types of addictions? The same compulsions? We recognize the scourge of driving while under the influence, and do little to curb the sale of liquor. Compulsive gambling destroys families, and opportunities to gamble continue to expand. Research suggests that the explosion in online pornography is fueling sexual addiction. We can point a finger at the Amish and ask, “How blind can they be?” but in reality, all cultures struggle with how to limit addictive or compulsive access to choices many persons can make responsibly.
AD: Far and away it seems to me that your average North American outsider looking at the Amish is going to be the most incredulous at not so much Amish gender roles or heteronormative standards as at the profoundly "collective" and "high context" culture in which any notion of individual privacy seems to disappear. North Americans might flee such a thing, but as you note (p.57), the Amish manage to hang on to 85% of their children, who decide to join the church after Rumspringa. Tell us a bit more about this collective culture and how it manages to subsume same-sex desire and the paraphilias and behaviors you speak of in your later chapters.
The extent to which privacy does not exist among the Amish is often difficult for us to understand, much less accept. One story I debated including in Serpent in the Garden involved an interaction with an Amish bishop. I had recently been outed in the Elkhart-LaGrange settlement, and this was a bishop I had long known. We had a close and supportive relationship, and there was a strong, mutual caring on both sides. He had taken the risky step of defending me when my name was sullied at a meeting of senior bishops, so I owed him much. As we sat in his living room, he asked with a calm voice and the straightforward manner of one asking a question which deserved an answer, “Jim, when is the last time you had sex with a man?”
I was stunned, but realized that as an Amish bishop he felt within his rights, particularly since he had supported me. I chose not to answer, and gently parried the question. Had I been Amish? There would have been no choice but to respond, and I would have been expected to be honest.
If one is raised in a culture in which such questions are as natural as breathing, finding them posed offers no dilemma. They may be uncomfortable at times, but they are answered. Amish youth often keep diaries. I have lost track of the number of times someone has shared information about a brother or sister that they obtained reading their sibling’s diary. Collective and high context imposes a different set of rules in terms of what can be considered confidential.
The difficulty, if almost everything is known, is what to acknowledge, and what to ignore. The Amish are, unfortunately, no different from the larger culture in minimizing the sins of the powerful. And the sins of those who are in Rumspringa, or who have just joined church may merit a lack of scrutiny as well. Sins that repeatedly violate the Ordnung, sins that cross a powerful church member or minister, sins that reflect a severe violation, or sins by a member who has already fallen under the watchful eye of the church as a potential miscreant are more likely to attract attention.
There is also the matter of individual conscience. To share in a collective culture, and so strongly value membership in the group is to also value that camaraderie comes from the intimacy of trust. Hiding an indiscretion becomes an act of disloyalty. Better to confess and become one with God and with the group once again than create a separate sense of self by the partitioning of a portion of one’s life. Be it a same-sex desire or a paraphilia, sharing through confession offers absolution, and a return to the collective “we.”
AD: Sum up your hopes for the book, and who especially should read it or would benefit from doing so?
Serpent in the Garden is written for students of the Amish. There are so many excellent books on the Amish available, but none give more than passing reference to Amish sexuality. I should mention that it is published at the same time as a wonderful book, The Lives of Amish Women, by Karen Johnson-Weiner, also available through the Johns Hopkins University Press. Dr. Johnson-Weiner is an anthropologist with a long history of research and experience with the Amish, and a book specifically devoted to Amish women has been another glaring omission in the lexicon.
Serpent in the Garden also has an intrinsic interest for those who study queer theory. This is an unusual use of the theory, and promises to expand its utility, particularly amidst the pushback among subcultural groups to the tolerance of the predominant heteronormative.
My greatest hope is that it serves to move the conversation about the Amish into areas that have been less discussed. Both The Lives of Amish Women and Serpent in the Garden break new ground in the exploration of this Plain people. They are a fascinating people, who deserve our attention. They are too often considered an anachronism. Instead, they offer a mirror into the culture that we espouse as our own.
AD: Having finished Serpent in the Garden, what are you at work on now? Have you other writings projects in the pipeline?
Always, always, articles and projects tumbling around in my mind. But your question brings to mind the famous quote from Dorothy Parker: “If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do for them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.”
With that caveat in mind, I do have a third book on the Amish in process. Don Kraybill has for years used the model of Negotiating with Modernity to describe their process of approaching technology. Based on this model, the Amish consider any new technology, and either accept, reject, or compromise with its incorporation, based on the risk it presents to their culture. I expand Kraybill’s model to include social and psychological percepts, and explore the Amish response to several of these innovations, using his model as a framework. This includes, for example, their negotiations with the telephone, culminating with their current dilemma of how to incorporate the smartphone into their culture, the 12-step programs mentioned earlier, and the specific programs to address domestic violence and emotional and psychological disturbance.
Thanks so much for asking me to do this blog. I had a great time answering your questions, and hope they were useful for your readers! All the best.
