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Is Fear Your God?

AP680826625536 (1)This opinion essay first appeared on Sunday, June 4, 2016, in the Durham Herald-Sun. Please consider subscribing to your local paper.  Local journalism needs our support. 

My daughter said something recently that made me stop, wipe my dish-watery hands off, and ask her permission to quote her. She said that CNN Student News, which she is told to watch every morning at school, is “all about war, and disease; and people are scared.”  She is a brave kid, not naturally prone to anxiety, but this barrage of “current events” has had her wondering whether the world is a mostly dangerous place.  She is noting how this ritual of sitting down to watch, over and over again, about death—destruction—plague, is shaping the imaginations of her peers.

I was a teenager during the Reagan era, and teens who were aware during that time were clear the adults in charge of the world were insane. We did not expect to live past thirty.  A wily political scientist may even today explain “Mutually Assured Destruction” sufficient to convince people around her of MAD’s wisdom, but teenagers who lived through it, and who were not susceptible to rhetorical manipulation, were clear this was a ludicrous way for human beings to exist.  We envisioned our lives under an umbrella of doom, one buffoon away from apocalypse.  I remember watching a videotape of the 1964 movie “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb” and thinking, “um, this is not helping.”  I did not laugh.  It was too real.

During this time, the horrors of Apartheid South Africa were finally making news in mainstream media, and so aware kids were supposed to find hope sufficient to fight for divestment, remaining aware that our own government was funding death squads in Central America and threatening our entire earth with death by nuclear apocalypse. I was fourteen when Prince’s “1999” came out, and he summed up perfectly the mood of many young people at that time.  We would be lucky to live seventeen more years to see thirty.  By high-school graduation, we had a whole new reason to be afraid, as HIV/AIDS made headlines daily, usually scapegoating our gay friends or making all of us afraid to kiss anyone.

So, I can sympathize with my daughter when she wonders whether the best way to be informed about the world is to be told over and over that people are being drowned, beheaded, poisoned and infected. And, by the way, all the polar bears are going to die and your grandchildren will know a world without frogs.  Apocalyptic thinking can effectively debilitate people.  It can lead to a kind of fear-induced despondency.  As Zack de la Rocha and Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine named in their 1997 song “Vietnow,” “Shock around the clock, from noon ’til noon” can lead you to a place where “FEAR is your only god.”  The songwriters graciously suggest it may be better to turn off your radio (or CNN), rather than walking around in the world with a zombifying sense of terror.

Novelist and poet Margaret Atwood has written a riveting triptych of what she terms “speculative fiction,” describing life in and around an apocalypse. One of her heroines describes a feeling that I recognize in myself and others around me:

We’re using up the Earth. It’s almost gone. You can’t live with such fears and keep on whistling.  The waiting builds up in you like a tide.  You start wanting it to be done with.  You find yourself saying to the sky, Just do it. Do your worst. Get it over with.  She could feel the coming tremor of it running through her spine, asleep or awake.

Stop reading my words now, please, if you have not read Atwood’s novels and you do not want to know a central theme. The first of the three books ends asking whether human beings are more worth saving than killing.  The second of the three books ends with an annual feast of “Saint Julian and All Souls,” drawing on the visions of fourteenth-century writer Julian of Norwich, and Atwood there repeats the question.  I cannot spoil the final picture in Atwood’s triptych, because I have not finished it.  I am already missing the characters too much to turn pages quickly.

Atwood’s use of Mother Julian has me trying to stop implicitly weighing the evidence of hope against the data of despair. Forget neuroscience or phrenology or whatever else someone is telling you authoritatively about humanity.  There is no evidence people are more or less prone to incinerate ourselves in a climate apocalypse or a race war.  As Atwood writes, “What is our Cosmos but a snowflake? What is it but a piece of lace?”  To find that beauty, I must release my hold on what I usually think of as truth, and see the world askew.

* According to the AP Images site, from which I pulled this image, “In this Jan. 12, 1963 file photo, demonstrator Michael Kirby, 25, of Milton, Mass., carrying a peace sign, is taken into custody by police in Groton, Conn., outside the launching site of the Polaris nuclear missile submarine USS Nathan Hale. Kirby, a former nuclear weapons specialist in the Navy, was one of two pacifists arrested at the site.  Under the shadow of the Cold War’s threat of ‘mutually assured destruction,’ 1963 was the year of dawning arms control between the U.S. and the Soviet Union; they signed a Nuclear Test Ban Treaty.”

 

How Not to Argue Against HB2

This post originally appeared in the May 1, 2016 edition of the Durham Herald-Sun.

From the grocery store here in Durham to the elegant sewing shop in Carrboro, people are discussing what they think is the matter at hand with House Bill 2.  People are talking about bathrooms.  This piece of legislation was not a slapped-together debacle.  It represents a well-crafted strategy.  As Nina Martin wrote in her April 5 essay for ProPublica, “Tucked inside is language that strips North Carolina workers of the ability to sue under a state anti-discrimination law, a right that has been upheld in court since 1985.”  Martin quotes Erika K. Wilson, a law professor at the University of North Carolina who specializes in civil law, as saying “The LGBT issues were a Trojan horse.”  Martin further notes that this legislation is part of a “burgeoning trend in which conservatives are exploiting a backlash against gay marriage and transgender rights to push legislation with broad ramifications.” Martin quotes Katherine Franke, director of Columbia Law School’s Center for Gender and Sexuality Law, as noting these lawmakers “seek to unravel protections against race discrimination in public accommodations and other contexts.” Read more

Regarding Prince

One of my favorite Durham memories is of the 2011 Prince vs. Michael Jackson dance party on 9th Street.  People who had danced to their music as adults in the 1980s were dancing with strangers who were born in the 1980s.  It was a spectacle of sheer, shared joy.  We “went crazy,” forgetting for an evening ways that Durhamites are divided from and taught to fear one another.

I was 16 when Purple Rain came to the theater in San Angelo, Texas.  I am pretty sure I went to see it with a close friend from church and her sister.  It was cheesy in just the right way, and Prince was the most beautiful person I had ever seen on the big screen.  I had a crush on Han Solo when I was little, and I loved David Lee Roth’s devil-may-care ways on MTV.  But Prince was a different universe of sexy.  He conveyed in his music an unselfconscious joy-in-common that suggested to my 16-year-old virgin self an inkling of what sexual intimacy should optimally be.   Read more

True Populism

The essay will appear in the April 3, 2016 edition of the Durham Herald-Sun. ‘Where to Invade Next’ is showing at the Carolina Theatre this weekend. Check here for showtimes.

The drill team at my high school in West Texas made some unorthodox song choices for routines. One of them was “Crazy Train” by former Black Sabbath vocalist Ozzy Osbourne. This song has been going through my head during election season. Songwriters Robert Daisley and Randall Rhoads penned: “Crazy, but that’s how it goes, millions of people living as foes. Maybe, it’s not too late, to learn how to love, and forget how to hate.” They go on to name that “heirs of the cold war” are vulnerable to media messaging that keeps people living as foes: “The media sells it, and you live the role.”

I was recently back in Texas for a wedding. A recurring loop was “No Politics!” One patriarch advised, only half-jokingly, if a conversation starts drifting that direction, interject “How about them Cowboys?” A cousin told my daughter, “Whatever you do, don’t name the one who shall not be named.” Waiting to disembark on the flight home, one hapless neighbor said something about Sarah Palin, and people visibly winced, anticipating an old fight was on. This instant-argument, divide and conquer mess now has a name. The term is “dog-whistle politics.” Keep people living as foes by crafting a figure so divisive we cannot discuss politics with the people we are supposed to love. “The media sells it, and you live the role.” When we cannot discuss our shared future with relatives, something is wrong. Afraid to seem uncivil, or erudite, or backward, or radical, or misinformed, or snooty, we stick to talking about recipes or sports. Some might sweep this into an indictment of “political correctness,” but it is a form of political manipulation. We shout at one another on social media but stay silent when together. This is a crazy train.

True populism requires that people who need to work for a living (meaning, like, all of us) actually talk to one another about what we are experiencing as we work or look for work. For starters, try this: “Name a time when you stood up for yourself at work,” or “Name a time when you stood up for a co-worker.” “Populism” is a phrase political pundits are now using to sort you and me – that is, the populace – and their words are worse than a poor substitute for actual, political conversation with neighbors. Their words are an insulting distraction. The talking heads amplified on media and social media further divide and silence people who need one another to reverse this second great depression.

Here are two examples of insulting distraction. Assessing support for the one who shall not be named, an ostensibly “conservative” media outlet called “National Review” ran these words: “Even the economic changes of the past few decades do very little to explain the dysfunction and negligence – and the incomprehensible malice – of poor white America.” The writer continues “The truth about these dysfunctional, downscale communities is that they deserve to die.” The writer recommends people leave the towns where they grew up and get a U-Haul (with what extra income, I am not sure) to go somewhere else. This is a hateful, unapologetic form of social-Darwinism. If you cannot afford to leave home, you deserve to die. Another widely-circulated assessment of “populism” from a supposedly “liberal” source was Gloria Steinem’s suggestion that young women prefer a labor advocate from Vermont over a hawkish, free-trade opponent because “When you’re young, you’re thinking: ‘Where are the boys?’” Steinem actually said that. In both cases, ways that working people are genuinely struggling to find traction are dismissed as besotted. Either you’re clinging to a past best thrown in the trash or you’re hoping to date a hipster. What if people privy to these dog-whistles talk to each other? What if we get off the crazy train and remember, if not how to love, then at least how to work together?

This essay will appear on Sunday, April 3. I recommend we each bring a neighbor to see “Where to Invade Next” at the Carolina Theatre in Durham. A reviewer named Jon Schwarz writes about the main message of this movie: “You and I aren’t bad. All the people around us aren’t bad . . . If regular people get control over their own lives, they’ll use it wisely rather than burning the country down in a festival of mindless debauchery . . . [the movie] is all the more powerful because it doesn’t tell you this, it simply shows you. It’s not speculation about how human nature will be transformed after the revolution so we’ll all be happy to share our ration of grass soup with The People. It’s all happening right now, with imperfect human beings just like us.” As Ozzy sings, “it’s not too late.”

Why I Am Christian and Pro-Gay

This op-ed originally appeared in the March 6, 2016 edition of the Durham Herald-Sun.

A North Carolina middle-school has started a support group for gay students and friends.  I celebrate this.  Adolescence is a fine time to receive attentive friendship and mentoring about sexuality.  My mother was a middle-school teacher.  She says it’s a time when kids begin to get their “stuff” together.  (She uses saltier wording around adults.)  We begin to sort out how to define our own style of fashion, practice our signature, and discover our gifts for arts or sports at the very time we are trying to accommodate to bodies that shift weekly.  It is tricky, finding your own “voice” when your voice cracks while trying to impress a peer.  Add to this what can be an isolating realization that your lack of conformity to the predictable Adam and Eve pairing was not just a periodic quirk of elementary school, but a solidifying desire to kiss someone of the same sex.   Read more

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