For most of my life, I have been one to question everything I was told. From what my parents and teachers said to what was in the books I read, my first instinct was to question things. Long before I became a know-it-all teenager, I was a know-it-all elementary school kid. Those were the best times. Back when being wrong about something, anything, had no real consequences. It was a simple matter of pride to present a bold argument, embellish the details to strengthen it, and emerge victorious. All the while thinking "I had no idea what I was talking about" or "I wonder if he/she (my rival in the argument) knew I made that last part up". Fast forward 30 or 35 years, to find a 45 year old man with a wife and two sons, and things take on a much different tone.
While I still like to sound certain, when discussing decisions I have made, the days of guilt-free living are long gone. Decisions now have consequences and try, as I may, to avoid those consequences, I cannot. Recently, I have re-learned, it is better to live with a little uncertainty, than to pay a high cost to pretend to be sure. These days, getting second and third opinions must be a standard practice. I think I have discovered that uncertainty is better discovered near the beginning than near the end of the decision making process.
As we, Americans, continue to hollow out our political middle, in favor of more certain "sounding" characters found at the fringe, I wonder what the long-term cost will be. Yes, I am now free to wonder, because my previous certainty has shown itself to be a dillusion. What certainty, one might ask? I was certain that lower and lower income taxes was the best and only recipe for a sustainable economic boom. I was certain that Phil Gramm's supply-side economics was the best long-term hope America had for prosperity at all socio-economic levels. I was certain that the "war on drugs" was a legitimate attempt to protect the future generations of Americans. I was certain that the deficits skyrocketing in the 1980's were a short-term problem and would soon be a thing of the past and moreover, the long-term gain would far exceed the short-term cost. My previous certainty on these issues, and many more just like them, has now been replaced by uncertainty, sketicism, doubt, and even fear.
Rather than rehash each individual argument to detail how and why my previous certainty now feels like a betrayal, I am more concerned with insuring that middle ground exist and that those who occupy that middle ground are not villified. After all, the only thing worse than finding out we have taken the wrong path would be managing to destroy the path as we travelled along it, making it almost impossible to get back to where we started (or some mid-point along the way).
Example: In the late 1970's the top marginal tax rates were above 70 percent (sometimes well above). This meant for some people, at the very top of our economy, they paid more than 70 cents on each dollar they earned (I use the word "earned" loosely, not as an invitation to debate what the word "earned" means). Very few people would argue the tax rate was not too high and so America started on a path to flatter tax rates, with fewer deductions. First, the top rates dipped into the upper 40's, and then into the lower 40's, and finally into the 30's.
Along the way, a savior emerged, Grover Norquist began accepting pledges from new congressional members to never raise taxes, on anyone or anything for any reason. For the first time in our history, we had discovered the ultimate answer to all our problems: lower taxes. Huge problems, that had once seemed difficult, were now simple. Better still, someone suggested that allowing the money at the very top to remain there (in large part), was a way to assure that capital was always available to fund American job creation, growth, and future prosperity. Who could argue with that? So, under the auspices of providing capital to grow the economy, we began lowering the capital gains rate. Today, with lower tax rates than ever, both income and capital gains, we still hear complaints about what should be a near perfect economy.
We re-structured the easiest target (welfare) in our social programs, but seem unable to touch Social Security, due to the large numbers of voting recipients. So we are now in search of new and easier targets. Yes, we are moving on to unions. They (teachers, fire-fighters, government employees, and laborers) have become the new cause of our ever growing debt. Well, I for one, am not so certain. What's more, I am not afraid to say, out loud (or at least in writing) that I am not certain. Ahhhh! That feels good. I AM NOT CERTAIN! No, my days of 100% certainty are behind me now.
As my side has taken over state houses throughout the country, I am starting to see that certainty is not always a good thing. As the right and left are peeled away, so the middle can be eaten, like some strange banana metaphor; I am beginning to see that we have no time to acknowledge the problems with our past theories, because we are in fervent search for the next scapegoat. In fact, I would like to renounce my status as an ultra-conservative Republican and form a new party called "We don't know what the hell is going on to our right". I know that name is too long to catch on, but I think it describes how many conservative Americans must feel, behind the facade of 100% certainty. I know it describes how at least one American feels, ME!
There is a reason why the numbers of independents are growing. There is a reason why the country seems to be lurching, back and forth, from one election cycle to the next. Maybe, just maybe, the guys (and gals) who are 100% sure about the answers to every political issue of our day are full of crap. Maybe, just maybe, knowing with 100% omniscient clarity exactly the right answer to every thing that occurs (and having it fit conveniently into your political dogmatism) is not a good thing. Maybe, just maybe, stiffly holding to the outskirts of every policitical discussion and refusing to come in off the ledge is not something to which I should aspire. While the espousal of certainty might engender nostalgia, surely it can only suffice for a short time before the masses demand some level of acumen and, God forbid, results.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
Programmable
As consumers of television, we are all influenced daily by the things we consume via our televisions. Fully aware of this process, many groups have arisen, over the years, to chastize "Hollywood" for the lack of options. While it was much easier to focus on and try to influence the television industry, when there were only 3 major networks, those days are long gone. Today, when I choose between Direct TV, AT&T U-verse, Cox cable, and more; I am essentially choosing a different order of the same 200 to 400 television channels. My options now are more numerous than ever.
With so many options, televison has become more fragmented than ever. Viewers today find that the same television that once brought us together , via a handful of shows running at any given time, still brings us together. These days Americans are living in each others stereotypes, from The Basketball Wives to Jersey Shore. It all makes me long for the good ole days, when as a child, I could discuss my favorite shows with classmates and friends. Shows like Bonanza, Little House on The Prairie, and Gunsmoke, bring back great memories. For family shows, I can recall: Leave It to Beaver, The Brady Bunch, My Three Sons, and I Dream of Jeanie. When I think of excitement, I remember shows like: The Dukes of Hazzard, Starsky & Hutch, Hawaii Five-0, and Cojac. Finally, when it came to comedy, there were shows like: Sanford & Son, All in The Family, Good TImes, The Jeffersons, Happy Days (and spinsoffs Laverne & Shirley, Mork & Mindy). This group is a fair representation of my childhood in television.
I loved all of these shows. For me, it was not until college (in courses like sociology and psychology), that it ever dawned on me that the television shows I had spent too much time watching, as a child, had an impact not only on my world view, but my self image. I could not have cared less. Less, that is, until I had children. Then, all of a sudden, it hit me. More goes into the confidence, character, integrity, and the morals of a child than their parents, alone, can control.
Just like withholding love, affection, and positive reinforcement from a child has a negative impact. Children, even the smallest of children, can be negatively impacted by the information they consume via their television. As that television consumption has steadily grown, so has the impact on the minds of the consumers. All of us!
While we, as a society, know more now than we have ever known about brain function, we tend to focus our research more on how it impacts former football players than average Americans. However, denying or not understanding the fact that we are all "programmed" by the things we hear and see each day, does not change that fact. Said another way, how we visualize ourselves and others in this world is not something we create from "whole cloth". It is impacted daily by the outside information we consume. Everything from a school teacher's smile to start the morning or the lack thereof, to casual eye contact from a neighbor or coach, helps define how each of us finds our place mentally and socially. We all see and process that information, whether we acknowlege it or not.
Today, with one thousand times more options on the big and small screen, entertainment has become one of the clearest reflections of where we are, as Americans. There are some ideas so objectionable and outside our shared norm, that they are difficult to accept, even as we live them, like what in means to have a "Brown" President. The fact that our entertainment and our reality, often share the same space in our minds is not always a good thing, but it begins in our earliest thoughts.
The long-term results of our experiment in entertainment are hard to deny: http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/05/19/doll.study.reactions/index.html and in a separate study http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=7213714&page=1.
The bottom line is that we are all "programmable" and the battle over school curriculum or textbooks might be missing the point. Is it possible that by the time our children reach school, their perceptions will already be fully formed? After all, our children get more everyday on the television, which impacts how they see themselves and the world, than all the other messages they recieve each week combined. Parents, school, and church cannot keep pace with the thousands of images shown on television. As parents have been forced to work more, the schools have been asked to cover more problems with less resources, and the churches have simply fallen in line with one, or the other, prominent political positions. I wonder if the story is the same in the "blue" states?
The result is all of us, as American entertainment consumers, have gotten better at looking right past each other, to identify with the stereo-type we have ingrained in our hearts and minds. We continue to miss the opportunity to show the next generation the good in all God's creatures. Not just the sharks and pit bulls and pit vipers, but human beings of other ethnic backgrounds, religions, and cultures. One side of our paradigm is content to stand as "pro gun" and "tough on crime", and the other side is so busy getting the "Hollywood" money that both refuse to insist on more positive messaging. And we all suffer the consequences!
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Living History (How Martin's Dream looks and feels today).
Somehow I got it into my big head, at a very early age, that my skin color could be a trap. A trap that would confine me to question only certain ideas, listen only to certain music, read only certain books, aspire to be like only certain people (in certain positions), and acknowledge only certain connections with people I encountered along my journey. A trap like that would overwhelm every aspect of my life and leave me always doing what I thought was expected of me versus what I actually wanted to do. It seemed to me, that when I found myself in a box (stereotypically speaking), the safest way out was to follow my heart. Besides, I reasoned, faith was the foundation of Martin's dream. Before I can question another person's heart, maybe I should take the first step. I should be the one to reach out, even if that meant leaving the safety and comfort of my group and going alone. Those words look simple on paper. In reality, they involve the constant swaying back and forth between belief and doubt, with which I am all to familiar.
As far back as I can remember, I was looking forward to how awesome my America would be once we got over this "race" thing. That was a comforting way to look at the many situations where my reality did not match up to the promises laid out in my first, favorite book: The Bible. I had the large print version, complete with illustrations and captions, and I knew my way around in it. The stories were captivating to a young mind and seemed to be saying that the future was bright, regardless of any current obstacles. Well, not exactly in those words, but I could read between the lines. Adam and Eve, Cain and Able, Noah, Abraham and Isaac, and Jesus himself had managed some pretty long odds and come out okay. Moreover, they did not have the shining example I did. It was in the songs from Sunday school: Jesus loves the little children, This little light of mine, and Jesus loves me; just to name a few. The overall message I received was good things were on the horizon. How could a kid go wrong with all this love from a higher power?
There were a few things that seemed out of place in my world. A few things made very little sense. I knew that most of my school friends went to church and prayed just like I did, so why was it such a stretch for us to attend the same church. When I extended an invitation, guess what happened? They came. Even though they were much lighter than everyone else at our church, they were not stopped at the door. We had a great time! When they returned the favor, I was slightly darker than most, but we had just as much fun. Apparently, the world just needed a few brave people to start down a new path. We were not the first and surely would not be the last, but we were there. In 2012, there are two groups still answering the same question: Those that think things are moving too fast and those that think things are not moving fast enough. I think they are both right!
The next issue was a little more troubling (but probably only in my mind). Around 4th and 5th grade, I went to these meetings of a group called The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). In the late 1970's (a tumultuous time), a group from our church attended a series of meetings for both the Urban League and the NAACP. In my head, I was already attending school with children of differing ethnic backgrounds and many of them were my friends, so to attend a meeting which seemed to limit itself to a single group was a step backward. The meetings, as I remember them today, involved mostly singing and praying. Since some of the songs were the same songs we sang in church, this seemed redundant.
From what I could make out, there seemed to be some doubts about whether we (the children) would be able to continue to go to the schools we were already attending. There was talk of meetings that had taken place and more meetings to come. They sounded like important meetings, but I was glad I would not be attending.
For me, this was the very trap I had set out to avoid. None of my cub scout buddies were attending any such meetings (that I was aware of). My teammates from sports were not. What would they think, if I told them I was at a meeting of the NAACP? It seemed that my life was divided into school, where this dreamworld existed, and after school, where we all returned to our separate reality.
On MLK Day 2012, I am reminded that many of the changes the NAACP was concerned about, actually occurred. It just happened so slowly that we didn't take notice. It was not until years later, that I realized the main organizer of the meetings I had attended (a school teacher named Mrs. Clara Luper), was a very important part of my being able to attend the same schools as my fellow cub scouts and sports teammates. I now know how history looks, when you are in it: blurry and confusing. The same events that I was ashamed to say that I had ever attended, I look back on today with a sense of pride (even though I didn't really understand or appreciate them at the time).
I was in such a hurry to enjoy the promises of the future and so pained by any discussion of the past, that I failed to fully appreciate the work that made my reality possible. But I was not the only one missing the moment. In fact, as I look back now, it was always the times when I was least certain about my future and most uncomfortable about my past, that I failed to take full advantage of my present. Sound familiar! That was (and is) the American story we are re-living today!
Fifteen years ago, I had a job that allowed me to travel all over the United States. I think about 250 days a year were spent in this exercise. In my daily routine, I would drive to the houses of people I had never met before, meet them for the very first time, and help them work through the claim process. For the most part, this went off without a hitch. From small towns like Andalusia, AL and Hattiesburg, MS, where history told me that a "brown man" might have a difficult time, my experience was the exact opposite. It was often the small town farmer, who insisted that I have coffee and invited me stay for breakfast. In Moline, IL and Seattle,WA, I scheduled appointments and met with clients in their homes, like there was a basic level of trust that we both acknowledged. In Wichita, KS and Scottsbluff, NE., the only animosity I found was when the conversation drifted to sports. Apparently, my Sooners are not as popular in Jayhawk country, Wildcat alley, or Huskerville. The few times that my thoughts turned to "race", when I was out on the road, I ended my days thinking I am living Martin's dream.
Not all was well on the western front, of course. There was a time when a car came barreling down the street behind my car, in a residential neighborhood. The driver whipped his car around mine and blocked my path at the intersection. He jumped out, pointing and yelling, " I saw you taking pictures of my home and I called the police". Of course, I greeted him with the biggest smile. Part of me thinking, I could probably take this guy and the other part thinking, I am sure this misunderstanding will be resolved quickly. While I was impressed by the take charge spirit with which Mr. Oblivious had accosted me. My level of respect went downhill from there. Since Mr. Oblivious was not deterred by the presence of a company shirt and badge (not to mention the car magnets), we waited on the police to arrive. I explained that I was an insurance adjuster working a claim, at the home next door, and that was the end of that. I was off to my next appointment, feeling certain that Mr. Oblivious was not a customer of my company.
There was another time, a man removed my ladder, while I was inspecting and measuring his neighbor's roof. When I finally noticed him on the ground, he explained that "I should not be at his neighbor's home when they are out". From my new lofty perch, I could soon see the police cruiser coming down the street. It seems this safety conscience neighbor was convinced that I had chosen to break into his neighbors home, Santa Claus style (by going down the chimney, I assume). The presence of my clipboard, tape measure, and graph paper notwithstanding; it was an error anyone could have made. Again, I greeted him with a big smile. Inside I was thinking, "Really! I am breaking into a home, from the roof, in broad daylight, in a clearly identifiable company car. Really!"
Incidents like those were few and far between, which is why they were more funny than intimidating. Having worked literally thousands of claims, all over the U.S., I can report that the America I experienced is one that I am proud to know (and one that Martin would have loved). While television may paint a different picture of life in 2012, year after year my friends (of all stripes) prove that Martin's Dream is at least a partial reality. On this MLK Day 2012, I know that Martin Luther King Jr. would have been tickled, if he were riding shotgun on my travels. In the times when things were less than ideal, it was as likely to be my lack of faith in people, as the other way around. Time and again, when I have believed people were what and who they professed to be, my faith was rewarded. Friendships that have refused to acknowledge or accept some arbitrary color line and more importantly, friends who bought the beer sometimes. I realize that is not every person's story, but I also know that sometimes our perception becomes the reality. I am looking forward, with great anticipation, to a day when my story is so common that it does not warrant writing. Who knows, having read this diatribe, you may be thinking that day is today!
As far back as I can remember, I was looking forward to how awesome my America would be once we got over this "race" thing. That was a comforting way to look at the many situations where my reality did not match up to the promises laid out in my first, favorite book: The Bible. I had the large print version, complete with illustrations and captions, and I knew my way around in it. The stories were captivating to a young mind and seemed to be saying that the future was bright, regardless of any current obstacles. Well, not exactly in those words, but I could read between the lines. Adam and Eve, Cain and Able, Noah, Abraham and Isaac, and Jesus himself had managed some pretty long odds and come out okay. Moreover, they did not have the shining example I did. It was in the songs from Sunday school: Jesus loves the little children, This little light of mine, and Jesus loves me; just to name a few. The overall message I received was good things were on the horizon. How could a kid go wrong with all this love from a higher power?
There were a few things that seemed out of place in my world. A few things made very little sense. I knew that most of my school friends went to church and prayed just like I did, so why was it such a stretch for us to attend the same church. When I extended an invitation, guess what happened? They came. Even though they were much lighter than everyone else at our church, they were not stopped at the door. We had a great time! When they returned the favor, I was slightly darker than most, but we had just as much fun. Apparently, the world just needed a few brave people to start down a new path. We were not the first and surely would not be the last, but we were there. In 2012, there are two groups still answering the same question: Those that think things are moving too fast and those that think things are not moving fast enough. I think they are both right!
The next issue was a little more troubling (but probably only in my mind). Around 4th and 5th grade, I went to these meetings of a group called The National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP). In the late 1970's (a tumultuous time), a group from our church attended a series of meetings for both the Urban League and the NAACP. In my head, I was already attending school with children of differing ethnic backgrounds and many of them were my friends, so to attend a meeting which seemed to limit itself to a single group was a step backward. The meetings, as I remember them today, involved mostly singing and praying. Since some of the songs were the same songs we sang in church, this seemed redundant.
From what I could make out, there seemed to be some doubts about whether we (the children) would be able to continue to go to the schools we were already attending. There was talk of meetings that had taken place and more meetings to come. They sounded like important meetings, but I was glad I would not be attending.
For me, this was the very trap I had set out to avoid. None of my cub scout buddies were attending any such meetings (that I was aware of). My teammates from sports were not. What would they think, if I told them I was at a meeting of the NAACP? It seemed that my life was divided into school, where this dreamworld existed, and after school, where we all returned to our separate reality.
On MLK Day 2012, I am reminded that many of the changes the NAACP was concerned about, actually occurred. It just happened so slowly that we didn't take notice. It was not until years later, that I realized the main organizer of the meetings I had attended (a school teacher named Mrs. Clara Luper), was a very important part of my being able to attend the same schools as my fellow cub scouts and sports teammates. I now know how history looks, when you are in it: blurry and confusing. The same events that I was ashamed to say that I had ever attended, I look back on today with a sense of pride (even though I didn't really understand or appreciate them at the time).
I was in such a hurry to enjoy the promises of the future and so pained by any discussion of the past, that I failed to fully appreciate the work that made my reality possible. But I was not the only one missing the moment. In fact, as I look back now, it was always the times when I was least certain about my future and most uncomfortable about my past, that I failed to take full advantage of my present. Sound familiar! That was (and is) the American story we are re-living today!
Fifteen years ago, I had a job that allowed me to travel all over the United States. I think about 250 days a year were spent in this exercise. In my daily routine, I would drive to the houses of people I had never met before, meet them for the very first time, and help them work through the claim process. For the most part, this went off without a hitch. From small towns like Andalusia, AL and Hattiesburg, MS, where history told me that a "brown man" might have a difficult time, my experience was the exact opposite. It was often the small town farmer, who insisted that I have coffee and invited me stay for breakfast. In Moline, IL and Seattle,WA, I scheduled appointments and met with clients in their homes, like there was a basic level of trust that we both acknowledged. In Wichita, KS and Scottsbluff, NE., the only animosity I found was when the conversation drifted to sports. Apparently, my Sooners are not as popular in Jayhawk country, Wildcat alley, or Huskerville. The few times that my thoughts turned to "race", when I was out on the road, I ended my days thinking I am living Martin's dream.
Not all was well on the western front, of course. There was a time when a car came barreling down the street behind my car, in a residential neighborhood. The driver whipped his car around mine and blocked my path at the intersection. He jumped out, pointing and yelling, " I saw you taking pictures of my home and I called the police". Of course, I greeted him with the biggest smile. Part of me thinking, I could probably take this guy and the other part thinking, I am sure this misunderstanding will be resolved quickly. While I was impressed by the take charge spirit with which Mr. Oblivious had accosted me. My level of respect went downhill from there. Since Mr. Oblivious was not deterred by the presence of a company shirt and badge (not to mention the car magnets), we waited on the police to arrive. I explained that I was an insurance adjuster working a claim, at the home next door, and that was the end of that. I was off to my next appointment, feeling certain that Mr. Oblivious was not a customer of my company.
There was another time, a man removed my ladder, while I was inspecting and measuring his neighbor's roof. When I finally noticed him on the ground, he explained that "I should not be at his neighbor's home when they are out". From my new lofty perch, I could soon see the police cruiser coming down the street. It seems this safety conscience neighbor was convinced that I had chosen to break into his neighbors home, Santa Claus style (by going down the chimney, I assume). The presence of my clipboard, tape measure, and graph paper notwithstanding; it was an error anyone could have made. Again, I greeted him with a big smile. Inside I was thinking, "Really! I am breaking into a home, from the roof, in broad daylight, in a clearly identifiable company car. Really!"
Incidents like those were few and far between, which is why they were more funny than intimidating. Having worked literally thousands of claims, all over the U.S., I can report that the America I experienced is one that I am proud to know (and one that Martin would have loved). While television may paint a different picture of life in 2012, year after year my friends (of all stripes) prove that Martin's Dream is at least a partial reality. On this MLK Day 2012, I know that Martin Luther King Jr. would have been tickled, if he were riding shotgun on my travels. In the times when things were less than ideal, it was as likely to be my lack of faith in people, as the other way around. Time and again, when I have believed people were what and who they professed to be, my faith was rewarded. Friendships that have refused to acknowledge or accept some arbitrary color line and more importantly, friends who bought the beer sometimes. I realize that is not every person's story, but I also know that sometimes our perception becomes the reality. I am looking forward, with great anticipation, to a day when my story is so common that it does not warrant writing. Who knows, having read this diatribe, you may be thinking that day is today!
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