What I failed to take into account is this idea I struggled with earlier this year - and one that could use a bit more working through - that a big issue with being a Christian in a democracy is the assumption of responsibility. We feel, somewhere deep down, that we can't really pass judgement on the value or morality of a law, policy, or government action without also proposing an alternative. Because it's nominally a government of, by, and for the people, democracy requires something of us beyond support or opposition.
This is really where our citizenship in a nation comes into conflict with our citizenship in the Kingdom of God. The Kingdom doesn't have a government, other than the benevolent grace of God; and it doesn't have a law, other than the law of love, exemplified in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
In many ways, nations give us an out. We're less inclined to sacrifice or suffer with or change our lifestyles very much to help others, address needs, or express radical, Christ-like love, because we've got this government over our heads with nominal responsibility to take care of people. Maybe we get off the hook by saying, "if everyone just acted like me, things would be ok," and hopefully we're making choices and living lives that bear this out, but that's far from certain.
Getting back to the question at hand: I think Kingdom ethics speak just as strongly to the dangers of wealth as they do to the dangers of poverty. They might be different physical situations (deprivation vs indulgence), but both are harmful and both lead to pain. So, in one sense, it's very easy to say Christians could support a maximum wage, in which the earnings of folks are simply limited.
I'm not so sure, though, you could make that claim and also be in line with the US Constitution. In other words, for the government to institute a maximum wage, they might have to appeal to a morality the first amendment specifically prohibits them from enacting. This gets into all sorts of grey areas and arguments about the relationship of the US to Christianity and the Kingdom to the nations of the Earth, but those are really discussions beyond the immediate.
I believe Christians need to be able to make ethical and moral judgments about the laws, policies, and actions of the government without feeling obligated to propose a government solution. It is not the duty of Kingdom citizens to ensure the survival or orderly operation of the nation in which they happen to live. We certainly have responsibility to our neighbors, but that relationship does not need (and probably should not be) mediated by the government.
Do I think people would be better off with less? As a general rule, I do. Is a maximum wage one way to help the richest among us live with less? Sure. Does that make it good policy? That's not really a question Kingdom ethics can or should answer. I mean, you can have a similar Kingdom conversation about whether a maximum wage really helps anyone else beyond the few very rich folks it effects. Does increasing the coffers of the government do anything to further the Kingdom? Probably not. Would additional funds for health care or education be beneficial to people? Absolutely. Will the consequences of this potential action be as we envision? Almost certainly not.
Of course, that's the rub with everything.
I believe Kingdom ethics dictate a communal responsibility to provide people with a love, a family in which they are nurtured and valued.
I think this manifests itself in things like meeting basic human needs: nutritious food, shelter, medical care, education, and work. Of course, Kingdom ethics say you shouldn't need money or taxes to do any of those things.
In the end, maybe that's the solution: to just continue to preach the Kingdom - sharing, sacrifice, hospitality, love - and let the distinction between those ideals and the realities of the world be a judgment in and of themselves. Compare the Kingdom that's lived out among God's people to life in the nations of the world. I'm not sure either party will come out looking so rosy on that one.
I wrote a note that said, "If we're out to help people live into the Kingdom we'll act and approach life and ministry in radically different ways than if we're out to prevent mistakes (sinful acts)."
I've done a ton of thinking about the moralism of my holiness experience in recent years. I'm convinced, despite the good intentions of our parents, that my generation received a pretty crappy, harmful version of the gospel that's largely contributed to the extreme die-off in participation in the Church from people 35 or so and younger. In fact, part of the reason I haven't written and posted here as regularly is that I'm trying to spend my writing time writing something more substantial to address both those problems and their victims.
I don't use the words "trauma" and "victim" lightly, especially because I know how much it hurts those responsible. Our pastors and parents really did have the best of intentions, but, as my note indicates, they were perhaps more concerned with keeping us from making mistakes than actually teaching us how to live into the Kingdom of God.
A big part of holiness theology is the absence of intentional sin. It's often explained in the negative, though, with language about avoiding sin or being free from sin - which is elucidated in ways that neither the speaker of the hearer can fully comprehend. I prefer the more positive explanation of holiness: that we are partnering with God's Holy Spirit to grow into an ever-increasing Christ-likeness. We avoid and find freedom from sin only in that we're closer to the people God created us to be today than we were yesterday. This avoids the dangerous territory of "perfection" language that's been so troublesome in the past.
That notion of perfection has led us to pursue a mistake-free life. As a result, us grown-up evangelical kids were handed a faith that was primarily fear-based. Activity X, Y, and Z bring you perilously close to sin, so we'll avoid them altogether as way of safeguarding your purity.
Practically, that's not a terrible approach. I believe there are lots of problems I avoided because I just never had the opportunity to be exposed to them. The issue, though, is that, try as one might, you can't avoid everything and the avoidance itself creates problems later in life, especially when it comes to things that have a proper context for engagement.
This shows up most clearly when it comes to sex. Linda Kay Klein's book, Pure, does a bang up job of illustrating the real problems caused by the evangelical purity culture that largely demonized sex. You can replace "sex" with anything considered sinful (although, frankly, it was mostly sex) and you'll get a good picture of the kind of faith we were given.
Beyond any of the practical realities, though, this desire to avoid mistakes really stems from a terrible theology of salvation. We can say something different with our words all we want, but both us and our parents had (and may still have) the notion that if you let one cuss word slip out and get hit by a car before you apologize to Jesus, you're destined for an eternity in torturous hell.
This is the root of that obsession with purity (and not just the sexual kind). Our parents were so afraid we'd lose our salvation if we made mistakes they didn't help us navigate and make decisions about how we'd engage the world. We just got taught, with a heavy dose of fear, to avoid anything that might remotely be sinful.
Shoot, the word "shit" isn't sinful. It's crude, for sure, and it might make someone uncomfortable or offended in certain situations, which certainly wouldn't be considered virtuous. I don't fault any parent for trying to keep those words out of their child's regular vocabulary.
For many of us, though, that meant also avoided slightly less crude words like "crap" or, in some cases even "poop." You'd never really know what substitute words were acceptable in a given household; you might get scolded for saying "shoot" instead of "shit" because "we all know which word you were thinking," despite the fact that we'd been so scared out of saying something like "shit" we'd never, in a million years, even think it.
You get the overkill. If you're reading this blog, you've probably lived it.
All that to say, perhaps our job as pastors and parents isn't to keep our kids from mistakes, but to help them learn what it means to live into the Kingdom of God. Boundaries with no context teach nothing. If your kid doesn't know why they were sent to their room, all you've done is damage your kid.
I cringe even writing these things, because I was so formed in the "avoid mistake" culture that it feels almost sinful just to argue for a different approach. That's the residual effect that doesn't do any of us any good.
You know what, I'd rather my daughter not have sex before she's married. I think that's a healthier, more productive, less risky path in life, but I'm also not so naive to think that path will leave her with less sexual dysfunction than the alternative. It's really not about action at all, but the intentionality and control we have over the actions we take. Do you know why you use the words you use? Do you know how they affect you and the people around you? Do you have control over the words that come out of your mouth? How do you feel about the answers to those questions? What kind of person do you want to be with regards to language or sexuality or politics or violence?
I didn't really confront those questions until well into college, when I was secure enough in my independence to even realize I had choices.
When I did, I had very few tools by which to even approach issues I could've been dealing with earlier.
I get that our parents didn't want to reveal our independence to us at an age when we might abuse it; it's a natural protective instinct. We want to spare our kids the mistakes of our own lives. What we often fail to realize, though, is that there is no age when we won't abuse our freedom.
The process of navigating ethical and moral waters is necessary for maturity. Some of us simply matured much later because of the sheltered environment we inhabited. Others never matured, because they lack the tools to even make choices, resorting either to indulgence or repression.
The truly tragic result of this misbegotten perspective is that faith became a hindrance to understanding freedom and ethics, rather than a foundation. God, Christianity, and the Bible serve as a barrier to engaging the practical issues of life rather than a guide. So many people feel they lack purpose and direction in life, that they're missing the moral tether faith is supposed to provide - and I suspect more of those people grew up in Church than not.
The defining revelation of my life is: if God is love and a perfect love drives out all fear (both direct Biblical statements), then things which make us afraid are not from God. We cannot be afraid, even of sin, even for the salvation of our children, because that fear itself prevents the grace and love and power of God's good news from transforming both our lives and theirs. We must instill in our children not a fear of sin or an avoidance of mistakes, but a profound trust in the grace of God to redeem the sin in our lives and make us - more and more each day - into the people God created us to be.
The freedom to sin empowers us to reject it; the fear of sin empowers it to control our lives. I think, by and large, we received the latter when we needed the former and it's incredibly difficult to pass on something different to the next generation. They don't need help knowing who not to be, but it's really hard knowing who we should be and even harder to become that person. That should be the focus of our life and ministry.
Of course, that changes when something bad happen. Tuesday night Fitchubrg State hosted Nichols college in an otherwise ordinary early season non-conference matchup. Nichols is pretty good; Fitchburg isn't so much. The game was pretty uneventful, except that Fitchburg was making a late run, led by the truly excellent play of transfer Kewan Platt. Platt will now forever be google connected to the elbow he delivered, seemingly unprovoked, to the face of Nichols freshman Nate Tenaglia. If you follow sports even remotely, you've probably seen the video somewhere.
It was pretty vicious and ugly. Platt checked to see if the ref closest to him was looking before he delivered it, but failed to notice another ref nearby (or the webstream cameras that caught the whole thing). Tenaglia was in pain, obviously, but did and does (so far) seem physically unaffected. He passed a concussion test and hit both his free throws, following the foul. The Nichols team should get immense credit for responding so coolly and appropriately in this matter. Platt got ejected from the game and has since been removed from the team and banned from campus until official processes can be executed.
It got out on Twitter first, with all the various ugliness that comes with just about anything on Twitter. From there, the general consensus was that Platt should never be allowed to play basketball again and should probably be arrested. It likely was assault, although courts have to make that distinction, which they might do - another D3 player was arrested and received a one year suspended jail sentence for punching and stomping on another player and helping to incite a riot at a game last year. Hockey has had some similar issues with violence on the ice, as well as other sports from time to time.
I am a bit baffled by the severity of the reactions, though, even after you discount the Twitter factor. There's been time for discussion, both in person and in more civil, relational online forums, to talk about Platt's elbow, and people still seem pretty set on this moment ruining the kid's life.
First, I should say, I'm all for consequences, although I've written before on this blog about how easily we confuse consequences with punishment in this society. I don't think shame should be a consequence, though, especially an outward, national shame. Being ashamed of one's actions - maybe disappointing family, friends, and coaches, yes - but having national public shame heaped upon you doesn't feel like an appropriate consequence for an action that was extremely localized.
Fitchburg State will do what they do and the school's athletic conference will probably have a say. I hope those are fair and gracious processes not unduly influenced by the attention this has received. Schools are about shaping people and it's really hard to do that if they people aren't there. Every coach talks about shaping women and men of integrity and responsibility, but at the Division III level there's almost nothing else to do. Yeah, win basketball games, but those don't get you much on their own.
I don't know the context, obviously. Platt could have a long history of violence and this is a final straw. Schools can't have violent, angry people roaming around campus; that's not good for the formation of people either. Of course, I don't know if this is indicative of something deeper or just a one-off terrible decision. It's not really my place to even find out.
I do think we should recognize though, even if this isn't a pattern, that kind of violence is indicative of some kind of impulse control problem. That usually stems from some kind of mental trauma or illness, in which case shame is about the worst thing to help someone improve. Platt needs more people on his side than ever - not excusing actions, but offering help and support. I can't see how any of the internet traffic really helps that.
Yes, my site reported on it. We got video (hopefully with more context than the six second that went around Twitter) and we did background work to understand as much as possible. It's news; it happened. We can't shy away from admitting difficult truth, just because it hurts somebody. That's the balance. Recognizing there are consequences to our actions, but also refusing to dehumanize a person or define them by their actions.
We are not what we do. What we think, what we believe, what shapes and forms our understanding, those things are evident only in our actions. But we, as people, are more than just what we do. To define a person by their actions is to dehumanize. Kewan Platt is the kind of person who can elbow a guy in the face and walk away; he'll have to live with that and deal with that and it'll be hard - but we can't say any of us is inherently different. We can't say, given the same set of circumstances - from childhood to relationships to genetics to whatever - that we wouldn't do the same thing. That's humanity.
Now, providing a reason is very different from providing an excuse; we often get those two things confused in society as well. It's always wrong to hit someone. I'm a firm believer in non-violence. I don't think anything justifies what Platt did, ever. There is no excuse for that kind of thing. There are always reasons, causes. We have to be careful not to equate causes with excuses.
Immediately after the video started circulating, a lot of the comments were, "what did the white kid do to deserve that." We justify violence as a response to violence. We do it all the time. I get that it makes sense to some people in some contexts and I've certainly written about violence in other posts; there's not time for that discussion here. What those comments do, though, is recognize that actions depend on context.
We see less fighting in basketball than we used to see. We're less tolerant, so that may have something to do with it. We've also got this global social media platform that amplifies the violence that exists. My freshman year of college, a friend and I drove ten minutes down the road to watch our basketball team play a local rival. During the game, an on-court altercation ensued that really exploded. Eventually people were coming out of the stands to fight players and each other; it was a pretty terrifying experience. We told the story. We moved on. I don't think the local paper even covered it. Times change.
If both players had gotten shots in, we'd be having a very different conversation. It wouldn't have gone viral at all. People get mad playing sports. Adrenaline is running and emotions are high. Earlier this year there were NBA suspensions from punches thrown. It's rare, but not uncommon, even in basketball. It was a defenseless, unprovoked elbow to the face; that's worse.
Is it this much worse, though?
We tend to justify those things we could see ourselves doing and vilify those which seem foreign to us. The gap between the two, though, isn't as wide as we make it. In fact, it's razor thin. A hard foul during a basketball play is a response many might deem appropriate for a perceived slight. If Platt had been tripped or terribly insulted, more people would've come to his defense. It's all about perspective... and context.
I've never been in a frat, but I did go to college in Boston. I've seen some violence from drunk frat boys on a Friday night, maybe even an out-of-the-blue sucker punch or two. You hit a guy in a bar, is it even a 50/50 chance you get arrested? That's assault, but it's not always handled that way.
This wasn't a racial incident, but when you're talking about violence, crime, and punishment in our society, race does matter. I don't want to see another young black kid get his life derailed because of a really terrible decision like this. It's just harder to "learn" from this experience and move on if you're black, especially if Platt ends up with a rap sheet because of it. Anger management is a skill you learn in your teens and 20s. Some kids learn it more easily or more thoroughly than others. The patience we have with people as they learn this skill doesn't have to be dependent on race, but sometimes it is. That's just the truth.
I don't think this kind of behavior should ever be excused or justified or forgotten or swept under the rug. I'm just not sure what the end game is here for all the shame? Do we feel good about someone being "worse" than us? That says more about our own guilt and inadequacy than it does about Kewan Platt. It does feel good. I'm sure if you went all the way back in my Twitter feed you'd see some shaming I'm not proud of, but I'd like to think I've learned over time. I'd like to think we all can. I want to believe we can be better, more caring, more compassionate and understanding people than we were yesterday. I'd like to think that of Kewan Platt, too.
Violence creates two victims. Always. It shapes the life of the victim in ways they don't deserve or ask for. It also shapes the life of the offender, regardless of the consequences. In both cases, the only healthy response to violence is knowing, believing that we are more than what we experience, more than what the violence tells us we are.
If we're willing to call Kewan Platt "trash" or "worthless" we might as well just wish him dead, because we're writing off his future. For so many people, the future is determined by the mistakes they make. It doesn't have to be that way for any of us. We don't hear it enough, but we can be something different than what we've been. We have to be, or there's no point to life.
Nate Tenaglia is really the only one with standing to address Kewan Platt. Yeah, his coach and school and family and friends have a responsibility to address what he did; those actions come with consequences. But they, like us, really have one choice: to do what's going to help him be more than he was Tuesday night. Shame doesn't do that, no matter how much it feels like the right way. We've all had enough experience with shame to know that life itself is just a succession of second chances.
Lately, it's been two things exclusively: the stupid liberals are talking about mailbombs nonstop and the evil conservatives can't stop covering the migrant caravan (although, I notice, they never actually show pictures of it - easier to be afraid of the unknown, I guess). Literally, hours on end with no interruption, like these are the two biggest issues in the world.
I hope you recognize that neither is significant. They're manufactured either by the networks themselves, because they drive ratings, or by the politicians who think they can score easy point. It's not that security or immigration isn't important, but that these specific things - the "bomb" in the mail and this particular group of migrants - are way down on the list of things that have an impact on daily life. What's not getting covered on these channels? Elections and the issues that matter to the people represented by the Congress getting elected right now.
Those things are left to the other channel, during commercial breaks, where politicians are lobbing toxic lie-bombs at one another non-stop, because the only people who can actually be influenced in an election have no time for FauxNews or CNN. Those networks only cover things that get their audience the angriest, because driving voter turnout is what matters.
It's all a game and no one wins. Voters aren't even capable of winning. It's just a system where a few power brokers fight over the ability to keep power. They've self-selected two teams and throw out shibboleths so people can tell on which side they belong. It's a zero-sum, go-team-go kind of thing, where it doesn't matter so much if we win, so long as other guy loses.
I mentioned on Facebook the other day that I don't vote for anyone who knocks on my door or leaves a flier on my porch. The response I got was, "don't you want candidates to talk to you about issues?" Maybe, but I've never seen that happen. When people come to my door, they don't ask what I care about, they try to convince me to vote for them, usually by appealing to one of the aforementioned, self-selected, focus-group approved issues.
No one is looking for or working towards solutions; if they do that, they're not in office very long. Politicians want to be re-elected. To do that, they have to distract you from what really matters with things that make you angry or scared or both.
This is why, when we, once in a while, get someone so proficient at making you feel heard, someone capable of being both charismatic and articulate, someone good at masking how truly power-hungry they are, we elect them in a landslide. That's what we call Presidential. And just to combat the bias here, Barack Obama is the worst offender at this. Yes, I preferred his Presidency to the alternatives, but that's not exactly high praise.
The guy is probably a decent person. He loves his wife and is kind to his children; that tells you a lot about people. He's still a power-hungry, arrogant, manipulative dude. I'm not saying he can't be that and also be important, mature, sensitive, and compassionate. You can be both; in fact, most Presidents are. When you like their policies, that second part is all you see in them. Ronald Reagan, Bill Clinton, George W Bush, Obama - people love them more with each year, and with good reason. When you're not playing politics, you don't need to play politics.
That doesn't change the game any.
It's not about truth and justice and freedom and equality. Those things are lip service, but they're not anything a government can or particularly cares to provide. That doesn't mean they aren't important or that they're impossible. It just means the system we have - a system that specifically claims to be the only avenue to achieve those dreams - isn't capable of delivering.
I've said it a lot and I'll say it again. Whatever it is you do everyday is far, far more important than who you vote for or even if you vote at all. I will go to my polling place this year, but I may cast a blank ballot for the first time. I can't find a single candidate worth supporting in any of my races. That's ok. It's a little disappointing, but it really just makes things easier.
It's a reminder that real politics is the way I treat my neighbors, the involvement I have with the people in my town, the way I spend my time and money interacting with those around me. That's politics. Not this voting crap.
Elections are all about numbers these days - the right amount of money in advertising can move the needle in predictable ways. The side that's better at figuring out and executing those moves tends to win. A good message helps; the right manipulative issue - but in the end, it's just the using and abusing of people who put their trust in a game they can't win.
Maybe the giant lottery jackpots this week are a good analogy for how the whole thing goes. You invest time, money, and hope in a system where someone else is guaranteed to get rich. Winning is not about a better strategy, but about finding a better game altogether.
Politics has nothing to do with governments or elections. Stop believing the lie.
I think about being the Samaritan today, as the plight of thousands of refugees and immigrants is systematically weaponized and ignored in our media. The left, apparently, doesn't think immigration polls well and the right sees the thousands of desperate people trying to reach the unwelcoming, relative comfort of the US as something to be feared. I don't watch cable news, but CNN and Faux are next to HGTV and ESPN at the gym, so I can't help but catch the headlines for an hour or so 3-4 times a week.
I've struggled with how to address the issues beyond simply the religious approach. As a follower of Jesus Christ, I can't see the world through the eyes of an American citizen, but only as a citizen of the Kingdom of God. Thus, borders and documentation don't mean much to me. People are people and we all deserve the same treatment no matter where we are or how we got there. Immigration isn't really a "debate."
Not everyone begins from the same perspective, though. US civil religion has infiltrated our culture enough that many people see themselves as US citizens first (or, worse, no difference between being a Christian and being an American - maranatha). Is there a way to approach this situation that goes beyond legalities and borders and fear - fear is the key element, as always, that we fight. We're challenged to be afraid of the other, of the sacrifice that loving someone else might mean for us.
When we see desperate people fleeing for their lives - whether it be in Guatemala or Syria or those dark-skinned neighbors moving in from the city for a safer neighborhood and a better school district - our reaction cannot be "there might be a few bad apples mixed in, so I better avoid the whole lot." That's what our culture is doing right now. Better safe than sorry is an extreme reaction to fear. It might keep us physically safer, but it's killing our souls, diminishing our humanity, and literally costing thousands of vulnerable people their physical lives.
We must be moved with compassion - not just the heart-wrenching pain of seeing suffering. I suspect the left-leaning channels avoid the story because real relief for refugees in the US just isn't an immediate reality (not to mention it's a losing issue most places in the upcoming election). We don't like to feel sorry for people when there's not much we can do to alleviate the pain.
Compassion is something deeper - not just feeling another's pain, but identifying with the other in their pain. Until the plight of those refugees is our plight, until their future is inextricably tied up with our future, we are not truly seeing them, valuing them as humans of equal importance. I am guilty of this sin, of omission, or lack. I'm no better than CNN - "poor them; if only there was something we could do."
I don't think it's enough - not by far - but it's better than what we've been doing. Let's, all of us, people of faith or none at all, Democrats of Republican or those fed up with anything red and blue, let's pray or focus or meditate or whatever practice we employ to help form and shape ourselves into people different than we were this morning. Can we beg to be broken? Can we ask or strive to or be transformed into the kind of people who not just notice the plight of others, but internalize it?
We must see ourselves in the suffering, not on some superficial level, but deep down, intrinsically. They are us, not metaphorically, but quite literally. They are us; we are them. That is the hope for a bright and beautiful tomorrow. It seems impossible, but it is not.
May it be so.
Amen.
They're both pulpy, for sure. Succession probably has a more complete cast, but Yellowstone, for me, was just as good - with the visuals making it more fun to watch. Both are soap operas, but with the freedom of modern television, they can really raise the stakes. Instead of alien babies and endless kidnappings, you've got corporate espionage and actual murder.
Yellowstone certainly starts off dialed to eleven and stays there throughout. Costner plays a rich rancher who basically runs Montana and battles with everyone - from developers to politicians to local native tribes to his own children - to maintain and expand the empire his family has built over 132 years. There's a real tradition vs progress vibe that does a good job of not sinking wholesale into us vs them, but recognizes the tension of changing times.
I'm certainly giving it too much credit at this point, but it was created by Taylor Sheridan, who wrote Sicario and Hell or High Water and wrote and directed Wind River (my favorite movie of 2017). His fingerprints are all over Yellowstone and you should check it out.
What intrigued me about the whole thing (having binged about ten hours of tv in two days), is how allegorical it is for the Trump perspective on the world. I find it interesting that so many people try to read Trump critiques into Succession, which aren't really there, but miss the Trump show on TV because it's dressed up in cowboy hats and lost in the woods of Montana.
The first real example is the "branded men," criminals that Costner's character hires, essentially as indentured servants, to work his ranch. They're a separate crew from the regular ranch hands and they each take the cattle brand of the ranch on their chests. This is reminiscent of an ancient Hebrew practice, detailed in the Bible, where servants who had earned or been given freedom could pierce their ear as a sign of commitment to their masters, essentially committing themselves to service beyond what is owed.
One of the branded men on the show, newly out of prison, begins to understand how the ranch operates on it's own terms and tells the foreman he won't break the law. The foreman replies that the brand signifies trust, specifically, "That we trust you to do what we tell you." The man replies, "That's not what that word means."
I couldn't help but think of Jim Comey's memoir and his awkward retelling of the dinner he had with Trump in which the President asked for his loyalty. Comey replied that he'd be loyal to the country and it wasn't quite what Trump was looking for. Loyalty has been a big thing for DT throughout his life and campaign. We've come to see that loyalty and trust mean something different to him than they do to most people.
In another episode, Costner is trying to convince his daughter in law to give up her job teaching on a local native reservation to take a more lucrative position that would help secure her family's future. He says, "To consider other families before my own is to fail them as a father." This is another pretty clear allusion to how Trump operates. Regardless of how the Presidency turns out, his family will be much better off because of it.
I can't believe these exchanges are accidental on the show. They really put into focus the self preservation and single-minded, survive at all costs mentality Costner's character brings to life. He's willing to use politics, fear, intimidation, and violence to further the empire he's found himself responsible for. In some ways, it humanizes a Trump who's so easily vilified, but it also lends credence to the pioneer mentality that's so prevalent in the West.
This isn't a take down, but a study - and it's about more than just Trump. On a larger scale, it's a human reality. We survived as a species only because of our selfishness. Babies live because they're demanding and self-serving. Humans beat out other competing species because of how well we adapted to tribal life - not only seeing our group as an extension of ourselves, but recognizing the threats that other groups pose to us and our safety.
We just watched the documentary Jane, about Jane Goodall's early work with Chimpanzees in the Gombe. Years after her research facility had been established, the tribe of chimps she was studying split into two groups, essentially sharing the range they'd occupied together. This triggered an all out war, in which one faction literally attacked and eradicated the other. Even though there was plenty of space for both to exist, the disloyalty created a threat that had to be dealt with.
There's something primal in us that recognizes the self and the tribe as essential to life. We are not chimps, but those overt, primitive actions reflect on the some of the things we humans do to each other and the way we view our relationships. Pressure tends to push us towards our baser instincts - those parts of us buried the deepest tend to come out in times of stress. A lot of "successful" people use pressure - both real and manufactured - to create the kind of pressure necessary for them to act in ways that further their aims.
I think of the coverage of Luis Suarez, the top soccer player known mostly for biting opponents on multiple occasions. He talks openly about growing up in poverty and the things he had to do to survive. Even though he's now rich and in no real danger of anything anymore, he convinces himself that the guy across the pitch is literally trying to take food from his children's mouths, which enables him to summon the passion needed to excel at a high level.
Obviously, there are issues with this kind of approach, but it's certainly present in the world and it's probably far more present in our own lives than we'd like to admit. It's easy to see the success of Suarez and Trump (or Costner in the show), and think "isn't there a limit? Don't you have enough?" Some chalk it up to greed, but I tend to think it's fear. We're afraid of want or suffering. We're all just one bad break away from poverty. That might be less true for some than others, but it is a reality of the world in which we live.
Psychologists have done a number on people like Trump - saying he's striving to fill the void a lack of love left in his life, or that Suarez is simply not over the trauma of his childhood - and there are plenty of valid explorations there. I think more, though, this conversation is important for what it says about all of us. Fear is the dominant narrative of modern times, especially in the US.
Despite being relatively comfortable, we're constantly afraid, because we're constantly asking each other "what if? what if? what if?" We dwell on all the possible threats to the point where we can see nothing else. Yes, it might be elevated in someone like Trump, but the guy wouldn't be popular if that narrative didn't strike home for so many.
Guess what? The genius (to me) of Yellowstone and the Trump allegory it portrays, is that it also exposes the fear inherent in the opposition. Trump resistance uses fear as motivation in the same way. Yes, I get that the actual things - actions, policies, laws, etc - being proposed by each side have real and important differences, but the atmosphere and means by which those things are sought is the same. It's always about someone else taking something you deserve.
When it comes to Yellowstone, and to Trump, I think there's plenty to critique, but there's also a lot to consider.
How does fear impact our lives? How often do we respond, act, speak, or live in reaction to fear, as opposed to some positive force, like love, rationality, or logic? It's easy to critique those more extreme than us, but those extreme reactions begin somewhere - and that somewhere is typically the kind of decision we make everyday. Our fears are not unfounded - we live in a world where bad things happen - but they're almost always out of proportion, which means they occupy a larger place in society than they deserve.
Fear breeds fear. Things escalate. The cycle not only continues, but builds and grows. This is the lesson of Yellowstone; it's also the lesson of the Trump era. By all means, stick up for what you believe, but don't do it in ways that feed the fear. Fear is the real monster; what you're afraid of a mere symptom.
I sang a song with a similar line this weekend. It wasn't the old hymn, but it spoke of God not having "failed me yet," or something along those lines. With the space of decades, a theological education, and some real-life experience, it seemed a lot more profound. The 'yet' seemed incredibly important.
I'd still claim God does not and will not fail us. I don't have an theological or intellectual doubts about the direction in which my life is pointed precisely because I believe in the steadfastness of God. I do, however, like how the 'yet' speaks to the immediacy of the moment. More and more I like the AA analogy for faith and Christian life - with the gatherings of the Church being the place where we can say, "I'm Ryan and I'm a sinner." Some people are in permanent recovery and they earn their chips every year; others have to make the same confession each meeting. It's a much better model than the congregations where you can only say it once, and anything more is met with shame and disappointment.
I don't know if it's practical or healthy or "correct," I've found it quite helpful to meet temptations with delay tactics. I'll indulge that vice tomorrow, but for today, I'm going to stick to my principles. Most of the time it works for that extra bowl of ice cream and sometimes even for anger or laziness. It's the same model AA uses - one day at a time - it's why they tell you to go to as many meetings as possible, because the more often you get up in front of a room of people and admit your weakness, the less time you have to indulge it in between.
I sat listening to the song, after the first time through the line with "yet" at the end, just enjoying the moment. I thought of our childhood jokes and how much more I appreciated that "yet" today. There are plenty of reasons to doubt the love, good will, and grace of God - the world is pretty awful much of the time - but we can save that doubting for tomorrow. God's good enough and close enough and trustworthy enough for today -let tomorrow worry about itself, because today, today is all we really need.
NOTE: In the days since this was written, a third witness has come forward and Kavanaugh has had lots of opportunity to speak publicly - if only to betray and illuminate the wealthy, elite, white culture in which he was raised, one with few consequences and lots of entitlement. I believe the conclusions of this piece stand even more starkly now, and the judge deserves even less benefit of the doubt.
Right, so here's the deal. There's a lot of partisan stuff going on with Brett Kavanaugh, as with any Supreme Court nominee. People on both "sides" of the aisle want to get someone on the Court most likely to side with them. It's always partisan in ways that mock the very tradition of our Judiciary. We can get that out of the way early.
Also, we can dispense with my personal objections: 1) that anyone would get confirmed before Merrick Garland gets a vote. The guy was nominated and is extremely qualified (not to mention moderate, but hey). He deserves a vote. 2) Trump nominated Kavanugh because he's got a robust philosophy of Presidential exception; the guy is about the least likely judge in the entire country to let a subpoena or an indictment of a sitting President go forward. He might be a conservative darling, but Kavanaugh was picked to personally benefit Donald Trump. That's troubling to say the least.
However, none of those things are my topics for the day. Instead I want to talk about the difficult journey of the sexual ethics debates roiling our nation. I read somewhere recently that the only real consent is an "enthusiastic 'yes.'" That sounds great. I affirm and endorse and support this idea, no questions asked. It has always been this way in fact, but, of course, it's not always been this way in culture or common practice. We've also yet to find a path through the thorny world of punishment and consequences, when it comes to sexual offenders.
Brett Kavanaugh now stands accused by two different women of making drunken sexual advances towards them, a couple years apart, roughly 35 years ago. He's making it hard on himself by denying these things so vociferously. Neither of the claims involves actual sex, so his protestations that he didn't have sex until college aren't really pertinent. Also, once you've admitted to occasionally over-imbibing, it's tough to categorically deny anything, right? I mean, you might say you don't remember assaulting these women (and maybe offer drinking as an excuse), but you can't say you didn't do it - at least not under oath, right? You just don't know.
On top of that, we've got the tricky situation of how to address youth. Let's face it, we learn things the hard way. We do. Especially in a time when "no means yes" was common parlance, teenagers working out how to deal with each other sexually is rough ground. That's not to excuse assault - please don't read that. If he did these things, it's wrong and he should've known better, even if it were more accepted then than now. Context doesn't change the right/wrong dynamic. People are still people, even if we've not yet learned to stop objectifying them.
It does, however, have some effect on how we might judge the guy today. I don't know Brett Kavanaugh. People seem to think he's a pretty moral, responsible, upstanding guy - a family man with a long history of integrity. It's just possible he could be all those things, and also a guy who did some terrible things to women when he was a teenager. Those exist together - or at least, it's possible they do. And, people can actually learn from the sins of their past and genuinely change. I'm not saying Kavanaugh has (that's what these hearings and investigations are supposed to help the Senate do), but it's certainly possible. Although, again, he's not helping himself with his response to this.
As much as I disagree with the judicial philosophy and constitutional interpretation Kavanaugh practices, and as much as I think he should be opposed because he's a self-serving pick on the part of DT, I don't think the guy (or any nominee) should be rejected simply because of the positions they hold on the law. Conservative Presidents nominate conservatives; liberal Presidents nominate liberals. I don't like it, but I've come to accept it.
To the extent that Democrats are using sexual assault as a means of blocking a nomination on partisan grounds, it's wrong. I don't know how genuine they are in actually caring about the women involved, but the skeptic in me feels like the answer is "not as much as they should be." That part of this thing feels really icky. Doing the right thing for the wrong reasons is just as bad as doing the wrong thing for the right reasons - which is the other part that makes me feel icky: to the extent that Republicans are overlooking a history of sexual assault on partisan grounds, it's wrong. I don't know how committed they are to forgiveness and second chances, but I feel like the answer is "not as much as they should be."
In the midst of this, we've got an entire argument in society about powerful men using their position and privilege to abuse, assault, and intimidate women. There have been, for the first time, widespread consequences to these actions. I'm not entirely sure, though, that we have figured out where consequences stop and punishment starts. Retribution isn't healthy for anyone. Les Moonves and Harvey Weinstein have made enough money to survive just fine if they are never able to work another day in their lives; that's not true for everyone else who's been called to account. How much is enough to atone for the crimes of the past? Collectively, as a society, we're still not entirely sure. There is no real justice for victims of rape and sexual assault, but destroying a life to atone for a life destroyed is also problematic.
Now this argument is being played out on a national stage. Should the guy lose a chance at the Supreme Court because of assaults committed decades ago? You can argue 'yes' and you can argue 'no,' but it's certainly not as cut and dry as the armies of antagonism would have us believe. There's always the competing realities of what is and what should be. There's also context.
This was amazingly illustrated in a quick interview Texas Senate candidate, Beto O'Rourke, did with Ellen the other day. She asked about a DUI conviction from his past. The guy gave one of the most politically astute answers I've ever heard. He said, essentially, "White men like me get second chances and I want to use mine to make sure everyone gets a second chance."
It's a great answer and an admirable one, if sincere. You could essentially put the same words in Kavanaugh's mouth and make a decent claim for his nomination (barring, you know, all the other arguments against it that we're not addressing here). Of course, the only reason he can even make the argument is that he's a privileged white dude.
You could say Beto's statement argues for his withdrawal from the race, recognizing that sometimes the way to combat privilege is to give it up. Our system may enable a good and righteous white man to win elections more easily and make a clearer path to equality for women and people of color, but equality is not really equality if it comes on the oppressor's terms.
I think most of us would like to believe second chances exist for people who've really changed. There's a part of us who wouldn't want to deny Kavanaugh the pinnacle of his career because of crimes in his past (if there were real change evidenced and not an increasingly callous defensiveness). The question is whether this could ever become a reality for people who aren't rich, white men. Can Kavanaugh really be an example of second chances, when he's precisely the kind of person who's always fallen ass-backwards into them?
Might it be time for the people who embody "how everyone should be treated" to sit back and endure "how most people actually are treated?"
White men make up an incredibly small percentage of the human race, but we've had an out-sized hand in how history unfolds. That history has often seen us at our most righteous, calling for universally just and equal treatment, exactly when one of our own most stands to benefit. That history has left us conspicuously silent when justice and equality for others might cost us some of our privilege, or the spoils that privilege has won us.
Why should Brett Kavanugh have to pay the price for the problems of white, male privilege? Well, for starters, maybe because we never ask that question when he benefits from it.
9/11 is only going to become more important as the distance from it to the present increases. The kids I see in schools everyday weren't even alive when it happened and so many young people have no living memory. As much as telling our stories can feel old, at times, it's important to help our collective memory.
The world is different now than it was, which is always true, but rarely do we have such definitive, recognizable transition moments as 9/11. The militant nationalism so prevalent in our society can be traced to that day and the ones following. Our obsession with safety and security are collective travails that extend from the emotional trauma of watching a nation that had never previously been attacked succumb to the kind of violence that's commonplace in so many countries around the world.
It's a real thing and we must, absolutely, with all our might, prevent it from becoming legend.
Legends lack complexity and context. When we were in Hawaii a few years back, we got to tour the Pearl Harbor memorial. What struck me most about the museum was the dearth of historical context. The US was competing with Japan for influence and control in the Pacific, and part of that meant limiting Japan's supply of oil. War was inevitable, because that particular US policy was an existential threat to their country. We can talk about tragedy - a surprise attack that cost a lot of lives - without negating the issues surrounding it's place in history. We don't tend to do that, though, we paint ourselves the innocent victims and the "other guy" as the bloodthirsty evil.
The speed with which we did that in 2001 is why 9/11 has much a troubled connection in my mind. We set out for revenge real quick. It didn't even seem to matter who was on the other end of our national fist. It got us into a lot of trouble and it shaped our society in really negative ways (beyond the governmental and economic consequences, which were nothing to sneeze at).
9/11 was a violent attack; all violence should be denounced. I don't like the distinction between civilian and military targets, because, as I said, all violence should be denounced - but 9/11 was certainly beyond even the commonly accepted rules of war: terror at it's very definition. The purpose of terror, of course, is to create a fear that grows, panic and overreaction that feeds itself in a cycle of expansion that ultimately gnaws at the roots of a society.
In that sense, the terrorists won.
That's why context is so important. We need to tell the stories of our experiences and emotions on that day. We need to communicate just how traumatic it was for people entirely disconnected from the lives lost, because violence has real consequences - when we do it and when we're the victims of it. We need to tell the stories to learn the lessons of how to respond to terror, how to control our very real and right fear and not allow it to eat us up and dictate our actions.
We need to keep 9/11 within the larger narrative of international politics, recognizing the out-sized influence the US has played in middle eastern politics and how quickly a religious narrative can be used to manipulate people and power. We need to keep perspective on the "good vs evil" dynamics and tell the story of 9/11 honestly - not filtered through the lenses we'd like it to fit.
Things have been sanitized that don't deserve cleaning. The impact of the clean-up on the fire and police officers, the rescue workers, both paid and volunteer - they're lionized in the stories we tell as they lie forgotten, suffering and dying as a result of their work. Hundreds of thousands of ordinary people in Iraq and Afghanistan died because of decisions our government made. Casualties of war are not just numbers on a page or phrases in a history book; they're real people - and there's many more of "them" who died than there ever were of "us." Such small numbers of "us" were ever asked to serve or sacrifice and we continually cut corners and pinch pennies to care for the hearts and heads of people who gave life and limb and family to fight angry, vengeful wars. We can't even be bothered to sacrifice the next marginally better drone or fighter jet to provide the medical care veterans across the country need.
Yes, I'm opposed to war and violence, precisely because they dehumanize and devalue life. It's all the more reason to support and care for those who've been victims of such war (and there are always many victims on every side of a fight).
I feel very different about 9/11 today than I did seventeen years ago, but that should also be part of the story. Reliving the vivid memories and emotional legacy of the moment as well as the changes it's wrought in us since that day, both individually and collectively. We need to recognize that while this is a singularly remarkable event, it is but one of many singularly remarkable events in our history and each come from somewhere and lead to somewhere. They fit in a larger narrative with both causes and consequences. While we may not be able to internalize all the complexities of experiencing such an event, we can understand why it happens and how we need to respond.
We can only do that, though, if we're honest - not just about the story we want to tell, but about the story that must be told. The worst possible way to memorialize 9/11 is to make it legend. The best thing to do is to keep it real.
May we all keep it real. On this day and on every one to come.
Regardless, I am who I am - at least for the moment. I'm over-protective. My main aim in life, since the moment my daughter was born, was to let go. I have distinct memories of those being the first thoughts in my mind when I held her. "Your Dad is precisely the kind of person to wrap you in air bags and never let you leave the house." It was my fear - and my determination - not to be the guy I'm most prone to be.
I'm pretty proud of how I've done so far, although I do still want to shelter her; it's my natural state, after all. She sometimes revels in this. As a, thus-far, only child, there's a part of my daughter that enjoys having things done for her. As much as we challenge (read: force) her to do things for herself, we're still often in too much of a hurry to make her buckle her own seatbelt (and she's six, I know, it's embarrassing).
While I have always marveled at just how quickly she's grown up, I've still be unprepared for just how quickly she's grown up recently. It's not linear, but exponential. Last year, in Kindergarten, she'd make the occasional pun and her inferences blew me away. Now, as a first-grader, she's her own person entirely - smart, aware, and thinking with depth and breadth way beyond what's fair for a six year old. I've realized that the influences and ideas from which I might naturally want to shield her or be the one to present are already very present in her mind and in her life and she's dealt with them in ways I can only define as impressive.
I've spent a fair bit of time working with young people; the number one thing I've learned in that time (as I'm sure I've said here before) is that they always know, experience, and understand more than their parents would ever believe. What I'm learning as a parent is that my previous work with young people does not exempt me from that axiom. No matter what my expectations for my daughter's engagement with the world might be, they're going to fall short.
This is both terrifying and incredibly comforting.
I've never been a big fan of the emphasis our society places on safety and security. I think it's usually overkill and often exacerbates an atmosphere of fear over any kind of relief. As part of that, I've struggled with the vast array of "drills" they do in schools these days, to prepare for all kids of trauma. Last year, in Kindergarten, I thought I was told the school didn't do lockdowns, so I put off my worry. As first grade approached - and entry to the "big" elementary school - I mused, out loud, about how I might approach my daughter's school to perhaps surreptitiously take her for ice cream, or something, when those drills occurred.
She overheard the conversation and while I don't remember her words exactly, they went something like, "we did those last year, Dad, where we all sat quietly in the corner so people couldn't see us from the door - nothing will ever happen in school, but we have to make the teachers happy."
I don't know if that's how it was presented to them, but I'd like to think my daughter has both learned a thing or two about Christian social critique from her old man and maybe inherited both sound logical reasoning and a compassionate heart.
In the end, the whole experience has helped relieve some pressure. I don't have to work extra hard to make sure my daughter is her own person, because there's nothing else she can become. I'll have an influence on her - for good or ill - but from the moment she was laying there in my arms, screaming her giant, grossly-misshapen head off, whatever control I thought I might have was simply an illusion.
I suspect the sooner we learn that lesson, the better.
I was listening to a bunch of self-satisfied, out-of-touch blowhards (otherwise known as the US Senate, in this case, specifically the Judiciary committee) talk about the Supreme Court (and nominally Brett Kavanaugh) today. I didn't intend to listen, but NPR has decided to interrupt regular news coverage for the day and broadcast it live. Some of them were going on and on about how nominees keep saying they're not going to rock the boat and then get into office and try to swamp it. Some of them were talking about how credentials and experience should trump the kind of hearing they're wasting our money and their time on today. Most of them, though, are throwing around the term "rule of law" as if it were a room full of lawyers.
That's what gets my goat.
You may say that my one semester of Intro to Law as an undergraduate makes me unqualified to speak on such a matter, but I'd argue the fact I've covered the basics of law and government without all the extraneous nuance makes me exceptionally qualified to opine on a very broad, unspecific point: We have got to stop letting lawyers run things - especially the Supreme Court!
Were you aware that you don't have to be a judge to be on the Supreme Court? Would it surprise you to learn you don't even have to be a lawyer?
It's true. In fact the only real qualification is that one be appointed by the President with the advice and consent of the Senate. That's it.
I've said for years that the first name on my Supreme Court list were I to ever find myself President and faced with a Court vacancy would be Jim Cameron - the guy who taught my American Political Institutions class in college. He's a constitutional law scholar, but more importantly a practical and caring individual, full of wisdom. Now, he's gotten up in a age a bit and retired from teaching, so perhaps I'll need to formulate a new list (you know, in the event we adopt my new election plan of picking a name out of a hat for every position and taking turns), but the point stands.
You don't need to be a great legal scholar to be a great Supreme Court justice, you just need a little intelligence, a lot of common sense, and a heart full of compassion.
Why do we insist on having "the greatest legal minds of her generation" sitting in those robes? Well, they tell us it's because the minute arguments and facts of law argued over in these immense cases are so extraordinarily difficult to parse and understand, let alone decide, that people need to be extremely well trained and versed in the process. Of course, who is it that tells us that? Lawyers. Who gets to decide who those people might be? Presidents (often lawyers) and Senators (I believe still over 50% lawyers). It's sort of the same gilded wall people in my profession have built - that only theologians can really do theology. Well, you don't have to be a lawyer to be a good Supreme Court justice.
You just don't.
Why not? Well, because there are layers and layers of lawyers and judges working on the lower levels of justice who do know all that stuff and make really good decisions. The Supreme Court was never meant to be the ultimate arbiter of minute legal matters - the Supreme Court was designed to save the nation from the lawyers, to step in when the law clearly violates fairness or justice or the common good. We've got plenty of lawyers making and defending and parsing our laws. We don't need another layer of them in fancy robes with no expiration date.
What we do need are wise people who can find the few cases where the law failed us and make heartfelt changes for the common good. Sure, we're never actually going to agree on what the common good might be and these grandstanding confirmation hearings will continue ad nauseum, but at least, perhaps, they might be talking about things that really matter in a candidate for the highest office in the land: wisdom.
You might be surprised to know I'm generally progressive, especially on social issues. When it comes to individual freedom over corporate or government control, I tend to be willing to risk a little chaos to side with the little guy. It puts me more in the RBG camp than the other one.
Still, I think perhaps the most wise decision any Supreme Court justice has made in my lifetime was Chief Justice John Roberts letting the ACA stand. We all know his legal arguments were bunk - virtually indecipherable when it comes to logic, but clear as day when it comes to social awareness. He said "this law is a mess, but I don't want to be the guy whose Court invalidated the notion that people should have healthcare.
Congress and the voters will have to fix this mess, but it's a mess that we deserve (for any number of different reasons).
The guy did precisely what the Supreme Court is supposed to do. He knew that because, at least according to everything I've read, he was one of the greatest Supreme Court fanboys of all time. He knows what the institution is supposed to be and he knows his role as the head of it. We might not have the same inclinations when it comes to decisions, but I trust the guy understands his role. I wouldn't say that for some of the other justices (both conservative and otherwise) and I certainly wouldn't say that for most of the US Senate.
I don't want this to be a dig at lawyers. Not to be cliche, but literally, some of my best friends are lawyers. I get the importance of what they do and would never want to minimize it. I do think the Supreme Court is something different, though - it's a part of that "government by the people" thing. It's not about who can tie themselves up in the best legal knots - the kind of logic and wordplay I truly admire from lawyers - it's about how the decisions of that legal system effect the country as a whole. It's different.
I don't want judges to be elected or any old person in those positions. I'd just like for us to change our perspective on the Supreme Court a little bit. Just because it's the highest court in the land, doesn't mean it has to look like all the others - in fact, it really shouldn't.
In the end, we're not a nation of laws, as the lawyers so often like to claim, we're a nation of people. People and laws are different. I don't mind having lawyers on the Supreme Court - a great legal mind is a good thing almost anywhere - I just hope they (and the people who choose them) will be mindful that a great legal mind is not the most important thing for that particular position.
After having been home for a week, I still wish it were.
I love driving and traveling. Now, the 97 straight hours or driving or riding or sleeping in a car would (and did) definitely get old, but doing 400-500 miles in a day, then taking a day off, then doing it again, became a comfortable rhythm on the drive back. We saw Craters of the Moon, Yellowstone, the Bighorn National Forrest, the South Dakota Black Hills (including Wind Cave, Crazyhorse Memorial, and Mt. Rushmore), along with the Badlands and some friends and family.
**Pro tip: The Crazyhorse mountain sculpture is several magnitudes bigger than Mt. Rushmore - see the Presidents first, so you're not underwhelmed.**
We drove 1700 miles in two different (back to back) 24-hour periods (and then followed those up with two more 1550+ mile 24 hour periods) in an attempt to set a World Record for driving all 48 contiguous US states. We fell short, partly from a little too much navigation gambling, partly from driver error, and largely because of a flat tire. It was still a tremendous experience and one we're already talking about doing again.
The subsequent two weeks were spent with my family (my wife and daughter flew to Boise to meet me) - where we put an additional 3,000+ miles on the rental, experiencing some small parts of the West!
My favorite day was the drive out of Yellowstone - we went up to the Mammoth Hot Springs, which were as cool as anything in the Park, then headed out the Northeast Entrance along the Lamar Valley, which was packed with Bison (and a coyote!) (not to mention incredible views). When we left Yellowstone, we took the Chief Joseph Scenic Byway down to Cody, WY. This was what I believe must be quintessential Wyoming. The views were indescribable. Huge mountains. Big sky.
We drove down the mountain directly ahead, stopped to check out a bridge over an 800' ravine, then up the switchbacks you see in the foreground. The top was only about 8,000' - nothing like the 10,000' summit of the Beartooth highway you can sort of see off to the right (the one where they take those photos in the winter of a road with 25 foot snow walls on either side) that I greatly wanted to try, but will have to save for another day.
I've written before that I like hiking and driving, because the expanse of the universe comforts me. The feeling of small-ness and insignificance gives me great peace, when most of my life my brain is telling me I need to be better and do more. There's nothing like giant wildlife or expansive mountain views to help one understand the world does not revolve around them.
Even crazier, on a scale I'm still struggling to understand - even after barely scratching the surface of a National Park that's almost twice the size of our home state, we drove hundreds of miles through brilliant, amazing Wyoming wilderness (because there's almost nothing but wilderness in Wyoming) only to realize we never even left the top third of the state.
I have driven through large parts of Wyoming on other trips and a lot of the state is nothing like the majesty of the mountains (although I'm one of those people who finds a real, rugged beauty in the high plains), but it's still amazing to think that such a huge expanse of majesty exists - not only that, but there are two large states south of it, with similar mountain vistas, and another north, not to mention thousands of miles on either side of the border, as well. And that doesn't include the deserts of Utah and Arizona and New Mexico. Or California. Or the rest of the world.
It's a big country - and even though we saw more of it faster than all but a handful of people, there's so much we missed. Getting to go slower on the way home was helpful. We stopped wherever we wanted to stop and it was glorious. It definitely firmed up in my mind that once our cats have died, we should definitely spend our summers traversing the country like this. We'd probably have to stay in fewer hotels and more campsites, but it's an experience that just doesn't get old... even with a six year old.
I like accomplishing tasks, but it's also good for me to have some tasks that are basically impossible. I can't see the world. I can get to the highest point in a lot of states, but 50 is pretty doubtful - and after that there's a whole world full of high places. I can see all 50 states, but not all of them and for not enough time. The world is a beautiful mystery to be explored, but you've also got to balance that with the people around you; your own community is also an endless, beautiful mystery, and there's not enough time to explore that deeply either.
Perhaps, in the end, this trip has given me even more reason to believe in eternity. There simply isn't an end to everything good in the world and I have great hope there is also no end to the time we have to explore it. The paradox of eternity, though, is that while it seems, on the surface, to be reason for patience, it's actually a drive to urgency. We've got all the time in the world, why waste any of it?
I mean, we have the ability, but not in one word - not anymore. Perhaps Trump had trouble calling terrorism terrorism because he understood the humanity of the people behind the heinous acts. Well, not Trump, but perhaps a normal person, one capable of empathy and emotion, could understand the humanity and balk at labeling them terrorists.
We should be at a "people-first" place of description these days anyway, right? We should be beyond defining someone by their actions - a person who commits terrorism separates the action from the individual, at least a little bit. It helps us to value humans as humans before we judge their actions.
No doubt those blokes in Charlottesville were doing terrorism. Driving a car into a crowd is almost terrorism cliche these days. It's evil and intended to instill fear the same way a car bomb or a plane hijacking or a random shooting is. It shouldn't matter if it's Virginia or Paris or Baghdad or Manila.
Then I started thinking about the various people who resort of terrorism, be they white supremacists in the US or Muslim fundamentalists in the middle east. Generally these are desperate people, folks who feel left out. They lack options, often economically. They lack opportunity for education, work, access, and exposure to the larger world. It creates a myopic world view that, When pressed against the wall or backed into a corner (especially when those feelings of fear and desperation are cultivated and exploited through media, religion, or tribal connection), violence is often a natural result.
People who are used to being powerless attempt to gain power by scaring those who seem to have more options. It's not hard to recruit people into these armies when you provide an outlet for anger and frustration. We can all find ourselves in situations we'd never choose if we give in to our emotions to thoroughly.
That word "terrorist" gives us emotional license to condemn not just ideas or actions, but the very people behind them - it encourages the kind of emotional commitment that produces people willing to commit terrorism in the first place. When we dehumanize others, we dehumanize ourselves. That is the way of the world.
I don't mean to condone or excuse violence and evil. It's inexcusable and awful and damnable and wrong. That doesn't mean, though, we have to call it unbelievable or indecipherable. We ask, after every terroristic tragedy, "how could anyone do this," but the truth is, we should be able to understand, even if we don't agree or approve. If we really can't imagine how or why people would resort to such violence, we're either far too sheltered or we're lying to ourselves.
This is the real problem. We're always quick to justify violence when its in defense of our priorities. Anger clouds things, to be sure. We do things in anger or fear that we might not otherwise do. That's always going to be the fly in the ointment, so to speak. But when we justify violence - any violence - we're giving someone else license to justify any violence.
We have "rules" for our violence as some balm for our conscience, but "rules" don't exist in war - ask any person who's been in one. Violence is not something we can handle in moderation. We, as a human society, are (sometimes) functional addicts of violence. We demonize the terrorists who take things "too far" so we can justify our relationship to violence. "I'm not like those folks."
Guess what? "Those folks" don't think they're like you (or me).
We can point out the differences between the world "they" want and the world we're trying to make, but they can do the same thing. I'm not saying those visions are necessarily equal or that one side isn't preferable to another - just that so long as we back up "our" notions of right and wrong with violence, we're never going to find what we're looking for (and neither are "they").
If you export or enforce your ideas with violence, your only idea is violence - at least it's the only idea anyone's going to hear.
I got to thinking what would happen if we provided education and meaningful work opportunities for the people who committed terrorism in Charlottesville. Set aside whether these guys were really oppressed or forgotten or even if they were really representative of the rural white-working class that's fueled our current political climate. Let's avoid that argument for a bit and just imagine we could provide free college or job training and a place to work for all the southern, western, rust belt, and appalachian folks who got Trump elected.
There would still be angry, entitled, and racist folks out there, for sure. You'll never get rid of them. You'll probably have less, though.
The one (probably unintended) consequence of fixing this one societal issue that we don't think too much about is that you'll have real trouble recruiting soldiers for the military. The biggest draw for young men to sign up and fight is a lack of options. Military service provides the very things a stereotypical US terrorist lacks. We can have all the moral arguments we want about "us" and "them," "good" guys and bad, but at the end of the day we recruit the same group of people (poor, uneducated young men with a lack of options), in the same way (appeals to religious or patriotic duty, economic opportunity, or plain fear), for the same thing (a violent imposition of general societal norms).
It makes even me uncomfortable saying it, but I also can't get around it.
Do we really have "better" morals or more humane rules? We denounce torture and violence against civilians, but our track record on those things isn't the greatest. We fear nuclear war, but we're the only country who's ever used a nuclear weapon on anyone.
I'm not saying the US is the same as terrorists, not at all. I'm against war, but I'd rather live in the US than under Nazi Germany or ISIS Syria. It's not so much the moral arguments than the ways in which we're prepared to make them. I'm just not sure where we got the idea that if we believe strongly enough in an idea we should be willing to kill for it.
It seems to me if we believe strong enough in something, killing should be the last thing we need to do to defend it. Dying, maybe, but not killing. If our beliefs are really true, they will win out. If truth can be killed off or destroyed or defeated, perhaps this isn't a world worth living in to begin with, no?
In the end, I guess, it comes back to human nature. We try to demonize the practitioners of the most extreme actions because we want to pretend that we're not capable of doing what they do, when we are. We're all capable of tremendous acts of evil, given the right circumstances. It's part of being human.
As much as we want to say we're all one big happy family, there will continue to be disagreements, maybe even big enough that we can't live together - we just have to avoid getting to a place where we believe those horribly, dangerously wrong people over there, don't deserve to live at all.
That's when we're really in trouble. That's when we become terrorists.
There had been a wave of immigration following the Civil War, which only increased at the end of the century. Most immigrants at least began their lives in the US in the cities, a fact that continues to be true today. There are just better support networks for immigrants in largely populated places. Part of the reaction to this fact in 1910 was a retrenchment from the cities. There was an intellectual rejection of science, education, and global engagement. The suburbs didn't explode until after WWII, but the movement out of the cities (largely by white folks) began earlier.
This is the same period that produced radical, protectionist, conservative politics and the fundamentalist movement in Christianity. New ideas, in general, were rejected because they challenged a largely homogeneous culture that develops when people spend a lot of time with each other. Rural places were familiar and predictable and it brought comfort.
In reading that development, I couldn't help but think about today's US culture. Immigration and "the other" have once again become bogeymen, scapegoats for the plight of white, working-class, largely rural citizens who've been left behind by economic and political changes in the last decade. I've been saying that's it's not really the fault of immigrants, but I've struggled to really articulate an underlying problem.
I don't know the data for our current situation, but I suspect that with the rise of technology and communications, it's becoming easier and easier for immigrants to survive in more rural and suburban areas. Cities are still a big draw, but no longer are a required jumping off point for a new life in the US. Perhaps the encroachment of new ideas, customs, and cultures into previously homogeneous and isolated areas is creating the same kind of fear-based backlash we saw a century ago?
Obviously, it's not really about immigrants, but the new and unpredicatability they present to largely settled communities with accepted ways of life. It's not an issue of "good" and "bad" or "right" and "wrong" so much as it's a necessary struggle to deal with "different." Fear is a natural reaction to different, especially when we're used to accepted and predictable habits - like when our house guests don't put silverware in the dishwasher in the right direction.* There's a real tension that needs to be resolved. It can only be ignored or endured for so long before a conversation needs to be had and an arrangement worked out.
It's the same kind of issues every community goes through, but for rural areas, where population hasn't changed much (in number of composition) those conversations are relics of the past with no immediate memory in the present. We need to get passed the surface fears of change and otherness and see the infusion of new people, ideas, and customs as not a "problem" at all, but a challenge that requires attention. Religious fundamentalists discovered you can only put off dealing with modern science and thought for so long. Yes, the communities and ideas persist, but they bleed off population with each generation, as some adherents fail to escape the necessity of navigating the larger world.
I've never, ever met or experienced anyone who genuinely and openly encountered an "other" with an open mind and ears, who didn't soften their stance on the person or their ideas, even if they continued firmly in their own beliefs. Different people might not (and need not) change our minds to truly change our hearts.
I hate change as much as anyone. I like to have a long runway and lots of time for preparation to do or think anything different, but even I know you can't give in to your fear of change. Other people might have to patient, but we also have to be willing. Change is scary and difficult, but it can't be avoided. If others are willing to give us time, we have to be willing to consider the possibility. All it takes is a little trust and a little grace.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that if I can change, and you can change, everybody can change!
*Knives and small spoons facing down, forks and large spoons facing up, obviously.
