Never Say Never

May 112016
 
because I said so

max mead

We humans are so contrary.

We know what we know. We feel what we feel. We express ourselves with aggressive assurance. We’re not simply secure in our certitude. We are empowered by it. We say so, mostly by letting the world know what we will not do or say or accept.

We’re becoming a nation of never-sayers.

I get that we’re all compelled to comment. Why not, when social media makes sharing opinions easy? I’m doing just that with this essay. I’ve even made some money editorializing.  Sometimes we just want to contribute or share in a communal sense of belonging. Far more often, though, it seems we’re prodded by our visceral reactions to register our objections.

Some of this is born out of our penchant for indignation. As I’ve noted elsewhere, we become so incensed so often by so many things that we lose any sense of proportion. Not all things require moral outrage.

“I never” is an absolute statement. The problem with such statements is they’re absolute. There’s no wiggle room, no possible change. Sure there are things we don’t or won’t do, actions that are morally reprehensible or profoundly uncomfortable. There are lines we don’t want to cross. And sometimes we need to take a stand.

On the other hand, flexibility doesn’t automatically indicate a lack of ethical fiber. Sometimes it simply demonstrates an understanding of life’s realities. Sometimes positions evolve and thoughts are redirected by experience. Not everyone who has a change of heart is calculating. Not everyone who refuses to change is noble.

never animationThe unconditional declaration carries about it the whiff of moral superiority, especially when it’s inappropriately deployed. “I never eat meat” isn’t an offensive stance but why bring it up, as one commenter did, in a forum about the best way to cook hamburger? And if you “never watch television,” we lovers of “Game of Thrones” don’t need to hear from you.

Those are exaggerated examples. It’s obvious that one can stick to one’s preferences without inadvertently (or purposefully) shaming someone whose tastes are different.

finger-in-earsBut in these fraught times, the never-sayers are invading discussions about more serious issues.  There is no dialogue, only my (right) way and your (wrong) way. Our political leaders have set the tone. The U.S. Congress has, for eight years, said “no” and “never” to nearly everything. Now this new “never” land we walk through threatens discussion, not to mention any chance of cooperation or consensus.

The situation isn’t unique to one country, of course. Digging in one’s heels seems to be a global problem.

I’m not a fan of “never.” I know there are people who believe it represents strength, resilience, even courage. To me it’s a dead-end, a closed door, a steel trap, less principled than petulant.
 
never

Public Mourning, Private Grief

Apr 282016
 

Prince memorialThe recent death of pop icon Prince was greeted with the usual outpouring of shock and grief, along with a fair amount of snark. The negative commentary was directed not at the dead musician, but at the people who expressed profound sadness. The naysayers criticized both the misdirection of the emotion (why aren’t you crying over the deaths of innocent refugee children?) and the shallowness of the feelings expressed. “Crying over Prince’s death?” one person wrote. “Really? You people care more about the death of a pampered rock star or an old dog than you do about a starving family in Africa.”

Harsh—and not necessarily true.

statue of griefThe thing is, on my social media and news feeds there are plenty of laments about social conditions around the world, along with a few—too few—suggestions for action that might help those who are suffering. The history of human cruelty is long and ugly. My sorrow about this is systemic; I feel it in my bones. Even on my most hopeful days, I fear manmade brutality may be a permanent condition.

That’s separate from the jolt inspired by the death of a public figure. Which is to say, you can grieve deeply for someone you didn’t know. It even makes sense.

I’m old enough to remember the death of John F. Kennedy. I hurt for weeks. My sorrow linked to my fear. I worried about everything from nuclear annihilation to the idea that someone my father’s age could die so suddenly and senselessly.

Nearly forty years later, my husband died on 9/11. I was so wrapped up in the immediacy of my pain that I couldn’t understand or welcome others who wanted to participate in my bereavement. Some of my anger involved the public spectacle that accompanied the deaths: the endless displays, the incongruity of Teddy bears, the presumption of some of the would-be mourners, the relentless pursuit of “human interest” stories by members of the media.

Now every tragedy, from mass shootings to traffic deaths, seems to call for temporary memorials. It can get wearying.

NOLA funeralBehind the pageantry, though, is a ritual as old as humankind. We mourn publicly and collectively because death is a lonely process. It terrifies us, especially when it’s unanticipated or takes someone young. We reach out for emotional support.  We commiserate to connect. We shake our fist at Death from the safety of a group.

Westerners may watch state funerals for Middle East dignitaries and react with horror to the public hysteria. Diana’s death unleashed a spectacle of communal lamentation that caught many by surprise and continues to this day. It can also come across as senseless. All of us have stories of friends or relatives who couldn’t cry at the funerals of their husbands or fathers—then when a certain movie star died, they couldn’t stop crying.

public mourningTry as we might, we can’t compel others to grieve as we would. My personal preference is to grieve hard but in private. Some people may throw themselves in the dirt at graveside. Some spend years draped in sadness. Some jump back into the business of living more quickly or more slowly than others believe is warranted.

Grieve in peace, or as loudly as you must. There is no single way to mourn.

Anger Management

Feb 022016
 

Insdie Out Anger

I have a temper. I suspect it’s inherited; I offer a tip of the hat to dear old dad.

Being uncomfortable with confrontation, I try to control the impulse to explode. This isn’t always helpful as it produces a surly muttering version of me. So when I need to yell, I yell—in my room or in the car. In private.

As someone whose temper sometimes flares, I work very hard not to employ anger as a weapon. Mine is more about frustration anyway. Common irritants include lousy customer service, my aching back, challenging bureaucracy, bouts of loneliness and the rise of dis- and misinformation. Hard to blame any one person for all those feelings.

I’ve been reading about American anger, especially as it applies to the electorate. You know the mantra: We feel insecure. We live in unpredictable, scary times. Oh, and don’t try telling anyone it’s always been this way. People have short memories as well as short fuses.

What bothers me is so much voter anger is fueled by massive quantities of misinformation and significant misdirection. Too many people are led to believe “X” is both important and true or, maybe worse, they don’t care if it’s true because it feels significant. They are willing to direct their fury at identified bogeymen because it’s both easier and emotionally satisfying.

Look: Politics in America have always been nasty and voters have often fallen for dirty tricks. Nothing new. During the 1828 Presidential campaign, the accusations about John Quincy Adams and Andrew Jackson (mostly Jackson) included murder, adultery, corruption and sex for hire. Adams was horrified at the tenor of the stories and avoided the dirt. Jackson, angered by charges against him, eagerly participated. Jackson won.

Anger in politics? Also not new. Hitler’s rise to power was built on his ability to foment anger by identifying the supposed villains who had robbed the German people of greatness. Mideast politics seem to be a cycle of repression, anger, change and repression.

Not new but still depressing in America in 2016. Those of us who believe in evolution keep hoping human beings have progressed. Imagine a world where people demonstrate a willingness to come together to create practical solutions to difficult problems. Now imagine a world where the worst of humankind keeps triumphing over the best. Which world do you want?

Anger can unite. It can encourage action. It can bring about change. It can also incite violence or bring people under the sway of a charismatic demagogue. Public anger can turn on a dime, which is why we must take care to manage it carefully.

angry bird

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