I saw on the news the other night that northeasterners and upper midwesterners were reaching out to Texans and giving them advice on how to deal with extreme cold and giving them hacks on how to survive power outages in the winter. This was really heartwarming.
My parents live in rural Maine, where each winter, they get over 6-12 feet of snow. Their tiny town is always the first to lose power, and the last to get it back on. When I lived with them, sometimes, we’d lose power for 3-4 days. And this would happen a couple times EVERY winter. Once, we lost it for a week. During the Ice Storm of ’97, they actually had to take an axe and chop their friend and her elderly mother out of their trailer because they were frozen inside – like an ice box.
If you’ve ever been to Maine, you know that Mainers are hardy, resourceful, and resilient folk. They know that when you lose power, you transfer all your food in the refrigerator to the snowbanks. They know how to melt ice for water to flush the toilets. They know how to melt snow for drinking water. And dozens of other lifesaving hacks.
I hated growing up in the deep woods of landlocked central Maine. When I turned 18, the first thing I did was get the hell out of that damn place. But now, I think of it differently. Bangor was a great place to grow up. And later, after we moved to the country, it was lovely too. Sure, we were surrounded by Trumpers, but the people always treated me kindly and they were God-fearing lovely people to get to know personally. And they taught me a lot. Like how to survive a brutal Maine winter. That’s something they could teach the good people of Texas right about now.
As much as I hate America sometimes, I also love it dearly. In times of crisis, Americans come together and look out for one another. Remember the good will that W squandered after 9/11? Those months after that national tragedy, Americans were grieving together and tighter than ever. And Giuliani was the most popular politician in America. “America’s Mayor.”
What happened the last four years? Giuliani became a carnival barker for a narcissistic sideshow snake oil salesman, and the country became fractured, even more divisive, and American racism reared its ugly head again.
Of course, Black Lives Matter would remind us that Racism never went away, and that Black folx have been experiencing it continuously for over 400 years. Police Brutality is not a new phenomenon. It’s the natural successor to lynching, and its been around for over a century. It’s just now, we have these handy-dandy video cameras in our phones, and suddenly White America is finally seeing horrific videos of brutality as if waking up from a pleasant dream, but that’s been an ongoing nightmare for Black folx since they came over in chains.
On the day before he was assassinated, Martin Luther King said these words: “I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything.” One of my best friends and I often talk about this speech, and that we both think that sometimes people KNOW when they are about to die. MLK was not long for this world, but he knew that he had made an imprint on it. We are still continuing his work. But oh my friends, we still have a long way to go to reach that “mountaintop.”
I watch a LOT of news on television, and read the New York Times and The Atlantic every day. You could say that I’m pretty well informed.
But I can understand the impulse to withdraw from the world and avoid news altogether. I have a friend who I just learned has never heard of the musical ‘Hamilton.’ I could not believe it. She was also unaware Trump was being impeached or that he had ever been impeached a first time. Honestly, I’m surprised she even knew that Donald Trump was ever our President. She doesn’t vote.
“What have you been living under a rock?” is an expression perfectly suited to this woman.
She’s a friend, and we actually do have a lot of other things in common. I genuinely enjoy spending time with her. So yeah, I like her a lot.
Having said that, her lack of engagement with the world and a society she inhabits actually exasperates me. She has severe ADD and an anxiety disorder. I understand her not wanting to let the troubling news of the world make her overly anxious and depressed. That’s just good self-care and a fragile person protecting themselves. I get it.
But at some point, people like her are actually just as dangerous as these QAnon nuts. An uninformed, apathetic, and disengaged citizen is almost as bad for our democracy and country as a Confederate Flag-waving white supremacist. Both can do great harm to our nation.
My friend is a sensitive and compassionate lefty artist who teaches young children art every day. Which is awesome. She is a passionate dreamer and innovative and creative thinker. We need more people like her in the world. But at some point, that child she’s teaching may make some racist remark or say some sexist thing, because they heard their last President say it, and this young woman might not even know what that kid is talking about. Of course, she would redirect the child and turn it into a teachable moment because that’s what all good teachers do. And she is a good teacher.
Personally, I strongly believe that we also have to engage with the world around us. We must be in the world, not just of it. The only way racism is going to be solved is by entering into dialogue with others – those who share our opinions, and yes, even those who don’t. How will they ever learn?
Several of my radical leftist friends refuse to ever talk to a Trump supporter again and are now saying “FUCK them! They can all die.” I’m sorry, but that’s not helpful. Are they suggesting 74 million Americans die? Because that’s nearly a third of our country and the last time I checked, they were still our neighbors, teachers, acquaintances, coworkers, family, and friends, to name a few. Good for you. You’ll never speak to another person who voted for Donald Trump. Haha. Don’t make me laugh. As if you ever did before. These people live in a liberal echo chamber on Facebook where all their progressive liberal friends “like” all of their thoughtfully indignant posts about keeping immigrant children in cages and separating families at the border.
Great. I think that’s bad too.
I’m a liberal too. Or at least, I used to think I was. These days, I get in more fights with my radical liberal friends than my Republican friends who voted for Trump. I guess I’m more of a center Democrat, because some of these radicals come off as Maoists to me. I thought I was liberal, but I’m getting “OK, Boomer” vibes from half the people I know under 35. I want all the same things that AOC, Bernie, and Warren want, but I guess I’m not angry enough about it. Or I don’t talk about identity politics like I should. It’s not enough to support gay marriage these days. Now, I have to marry a man in order to be an ally.
Bur seriously, I hate the hypocrisy on BOTH SIDES. Our country is so divided, and both camps are so entrenched in their own ideologies that NO ONE is talking anymore. There’s no middle left in this country. And if there’s no middle, where the hell are we all supposed to meet?
The point is, I feel like the only way we’re ever gonna make this a “more perfect Union” is for all of us to actually talk to one another. And above all, to LISTEN. There is no greater gift you can give another person than your undivided attention. To actually listen to what they have to say. That is truly what it means to LOVE.
I have friends who I love who would vote for AOC or Warren for President in a heartbeat. I also have friends who would change the Constitution so that we could elect Donald Trump President for life. Seriously. No exaggeration. And people of all stripes and everything in between.
Because I LOVE people. Not political parties. People.
I wish my friend would engage with the world more, and maybe talk to a Trump supporter sometime. But she clearly suffers from mental illness, and needs to protect herself. As she should.
Last night, I decided to finally succumb to the buzz, and watched the new Netflix show, Bridgerton. All that I knew about the show was that it is set during the Regency period and that it was quite steamy…i.e. lots of nudity and sex scenes. I have always somewhat reluctantly enjoyed Jane Austen, and the novels she set during that era, so I figured I might enjoy this new show as well. And it is well-crafted. And easily addictive. I found it begrudgingly satisfying in the way all guilty pleasures are. To some, that’s watching trashy reality television. For me, it’s apparently binging on Regency soft-core porn. 😉
Like Austen, writer Julia Quinn invents a protagonist who is a headstrong and stifled young woman whose sense of fierce self-determination is seemingly at odds with her predestined station in life and the established mores of the age. As you might expect, she wants to find love and true companionship, but being a young landed woman of a certain age, must also find a husband as soon as possible. In Bridgerton, the young protagonist’s name is Daphne, and her older brother (Anthony), is bound and determined to find her a suitable match. In this case, the eldest brother is overly picky and cannot bring himself to approve of any of her would-be suitors.
Enter the newly-minted Duke of Hastings. He is an old college friend of Anthony’s and dutifully mannered, classically handsome, exquisitely dressed, and obviously, London’s most eligible bachelor.
If this film were being made in the late ’60s, it would be called Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? That classic movie stars Sydney Poitier as Dr. John Prentice, the Black fiancé to a young (headstrong and free-thinking) white woman named Joanna, who brings him home to progressive San Francisco to meet her otherwise liberal parents – played by Spencer Tracey and Katherine Hepburn. In that film, the lefty white couple’s attitudes are challenged when their daughter introduces them to her African-American fiancé – a doctor, no less – and their true veneer and liberal hypocrisy and is exposed for all that it is. The movie was of its age, and at the same time, also timeless and far-sighted. You might even say, ahead of its time. How are we still having these conversations nearly 55 years later?
In 2017, visionary actor, writer, director, and producer Jordan Peele completely turned Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? on its head, and injected horror and menace into the premise, mixed genres and allusions in a lovely postmodern pastiche, and produced Get Out. In doing so, he effectively created his own genre of film – social justice horror. Or Racial Thriller. Or whatever film historians will ultimately call it. Essentially, it is a movie about relationships between white America and Black America, and the horror that can arise out of the collision of those two forces…particularly to African Americans, who have been historically abused, maligned, oppressed, and traumatized by systemic racism in this country for over 400 years. This racism is systemic because it underlies EVERY institution in America, from our criminal justice system to housing market to education system to…well…EVERYTHING. But in these films, that racism translates to real people, whose relationships are not merely transactional, but rooted in a deep-seated racism that permeates our very words, thoughts, and actions. The true horror is that we (WHITE AMERICA) are finally seeing what Black Americans have lived in this country since they were first brought over in chains. Peele’s film arrived just three years before the George Floyd murder and subsequent Black Lives Matter summer of protests, but it wasn’t necessarily prescient. Because as a Black man, Peele had already lived this reality his entire life, as every African American has for centuries. It was merely that white America was finally seeing the cell phone videos for the first time. Those images have undoubtedly been imprinted on Black peoples’ minds for generations. OUR eyes have opened, not THEIRS. And yet, if you look at the number of people who reject BLM or deny the existence of racially-motivated police brutality, it seems that only a half of white America have opened their eyes. There is still a LOT of work to do. And that is why there is nothing more urgent or timely than the work Jordan Peele is producing right now.
But what does any of this have to do with Bridgerton and my enjoyment of this light-hearted romp through Regency England?
“The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”
~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
I believe this to be true. Really. I do. I truly do. Change is incremental, and we are slowly but surely moving towards being a more liberal and egalitarian nation. And world. Not fast enough for us progressives, but ultimately, we are still moving.
That’s why the GOP and old white men are flailing about wildly, as their influence and power are waning. These are the last gasps and breaths of this kind of oppressive conservatism. By 2040, they will be vastly outnumbered and have a hard time electing anyone like Donald Trump ever again.
I know that they are on the wrong side of history, and our ancestors will look at this day and shamefully admonish the sins of their forebearers and try and reconcile their present with their past – our present. Just as we view slavery today, and condemn those who defended and propped it up for hundreds of years.
WE ARE ON THE RIGHT SIDE OF HISTORY. I know this to be true.
It’s just sad that I may not live to see that day. We are in the midst of a reckoning, that will last at least a generation. Or two. Or three. I am confident that as a society – and world – we will ultimately stamp our racism, sexism, homophobia, white supremacy, etc. One day. Probably not in my lifetime. But one day.
So for now…in the meantime…I can only continue to learn about the lives, needs, and wellbeing of the people I share this world with, and work as an advocate and ally for the poor, disenfranchised, marginalized, and voiceless. And fight like hell for our dying planet. That’s all we can do.
Abraham Lincoln didn’t solve racism. Neither did Martin Luther King. Nor will I. We are vessels – as they were – who pour ourselves into the next generation of vessels, who in turn, pour themselves into those who come after them. And on, and on… And with each vessel, and with each pour, we cleanse our world, and get just a little closer towards love. Towards peace. Towards justice. FOR ALL.
Not in my lifetime. Not in yours. But we keep pouring. We keep planting seeds. We may not ever live in the shade of that tree, but without us, no one ever would.
I find it funny that I sometimes ask, “Who gave these people a camera?” I actually seem to ask that of nearly everyone on the planet today, and especially those on Facebook and Instagram. I remember a time when pictures meant something and people invested time in setting up shots. I’m not advocating we go back to the old flash pot explosions and the hour long exposure time of yesteryear.We don’t need to bring back the daguerreotypes to appreciate pictures again. (Although, I have no doubt hipsters would love that! Ha!
Nowadays, every idiot has a camera phone, and somewhere along the way, that person was led to believe that 104 of the same selfie was a good idea – replete with sucked in cheeks, duck lips, reflection in the bathroom mirror, and from above with gratuitous cleavage. That’s 104 to add to the 4238 on Facebook already. All of the same thing. Or the filters of dog’s tongues and whiskers that Snapchat allows you to do to your photos. There’s no such thing as scenery anymore. Landscapes have been usurped by the far more interesting…US. You can’t properly tag a mountain after all. And thanks to Instagram, we’re all graphic designers, carefully trained in blurring the edges or adding a sepia tone to that shot from last night’s club. We have become a nation of self-professed photographers and self-pomoters, while we somehow devalue the serious artists who have been trained and spent years working in the field. I’m not saying that in order to own a camera, everyone should have to go through formal photography training. Camera phones have democratized the pastime, and if anything, it’s encouraged a whole new generation to pursue a career in the field or become more serious about their art.
And what’s wrong with everyone being an amateur photographer? That’s like discouraging people from doing community theater, even though they may be bad actors and the shows are likely terrible. Even if it doesn’t cultivate a love of the theater that leads to a career, those people are having fun and doing something they love and enjoy. What’s wrong with that? We need to allow people to have their pleasures and actively pursue whatever interests them. Life is cruel and unpredictable in so many ways, so why should anyone deprive themselves of a pastime, however poorly I may think they are at it? And why am I – or anyone else – the arbiter of taste?
In truth, my frustration and blame does lie with the ubiquity of cameras and the staggering explosion of amateur photography, but with the deeper and more insidious effect those realities may be having on our collective psyches. The information age has irreversibly imprinted itself on every aspect of our lives. Unfettered access to high speed internet has changed the way we interact with the world around us. Since everything’s faster online, we were forced to speed up the pace of our lives. Since the internet allowed us to access unprecedented amounts of raw data, seemingly everything was at our fingertips. And certainly at the snap of them. Such instantaneous data retrieval undoubtedly made our lives easier, but it also bred unflattering new behaviors in us. We were now spoiled by access and ease, and we demanded our computers get faster, our connections got speedier, and websites be designed for maximum efficiency.
Our prayers were ultimately answered, but at what expense? We now anthropomorphize the internet, and see ourselves in its functions and maneuvers. Conversely, we began to assign computer traits to those we loved, the people we worked with, and the people that served us in some way. We were not only driving ourselves even faster, but we held those around us to unrealistic standards of success. Our bartenders had to be skilled in small talk, tend bar quickly and efficiently, possess encyclopedic knowledge of mixing drinks, and flawlessly craft the perfect martini. Why? Because the internet can do all those things in a fraction of the time. Metaphorically, if nothing else. Our colleagues at work must draft blueprints with expert precision. The Priest must deliver the sermon you’re meant to hear and grow from. Your husband promised your anniversary would be exciting and romantic in ways it never has been. Your best friend better not invite that girl he’s dating, because you don’t like her, no matter how happy he may think he is. This is your special night, and if he’s truly a friend, then he’ll know better. You’d be hard-pressed to make it in this world without the help and support of others. Some of those people are going to be the rock and foundation you plant your feet on. They are steadfast and true, and worthy of your trust. The reality is, the majority of people you meet in life are going to be apathetic to your existence, and take no active interest in your life—however nice and/or exciting you may be. A small portion of people jump from the don’t care list, to the mildly interested and just enough to make modest efforts at connection. These people are often referred to as acquaintances, and they make up the lion’s share of your friends on Facebook, and likely every other social networking site. They may only make contact once a year – to wish you a happy birthday, but then again, they may not even do that. These are liminal friends, waiting on the doorstep, but not entering your home. We look at our friends list, and boast that we have over a thousand friends. But honestly, how many of them would attend your mother’s funeral? Loan you money? Donate to your GoFundMe campaign? Or go beyond wishing you a happy birthday, and actually buy yo a gift? When you count your friends in quality, as opposed to quantity, the numbers dwindle to less than a dozen.
With cameras at our fingertips, we seem to capture every moment of our lives, but never truly live them. How present are we in a transitory moment in time, when we’re too busy setting up the shot and trying to capture beauty that we only can enjoy through a screen? Not to mention the thousands of people who die while trying to capture the “perfect” shot. We live our fast-paced lives at the speed of the Internet, and then when we have genuine moments to reflect and take in nature’s beauty, we feel the need to immortalize the moment in a picture. As if we have no faith in our memories and our “mind’s eye” as Shakespeare coined in Hamlet. Even the expression, “Pics, or it didn’t happen” perfectly encapsulates the mentality of a society so obsessed with images and capturing every moment of our lives – like collecting ships in bottles for our future selves and for posterity.
We use social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram because we want to chronicle our lives, as if they didn’t matter or had no substance if they aren’t documented online. We use pictures to help us create a narrative of how we want our lives perceived by others. We curate our lives, so as to choose the perfect selfie, the ideal family portrait, and the most picturesque holiday photo to tell a story we want others to hear. We rarely talk about our bad days, and when we do, we rarely get likes. Perhaps some virtual hugs from time to time.
They say that a post with an image is 75% more likely to get comments and likes than one with just pure text. Instagram is so popular because it doesn’t allow its users to write much, and never in the body of the post…always as a comment underneath. IG is a visual medium, and it’s wonderful for photographers and artists, because it allows them to showcase their art and network within a vast community of consumers.
Lately, it seems that Facebook is becoming more like Instagram, and turning into a depository of pictures, memes, videos, and occasionally articles. It’s rare to see people write anything anymore, and when they do, it’s almost always short and to the point. When I write a long and thoughtful post, I’m lucky to get three likes. There have been times when I’ve posted a verbose story and not gotten a single like. My friend, Jeremiah, often tells long and entertaining stories connecting history to his personal life, and weaving contemporary society into events from the past. He’s lucky to get ten likes, and he has over 3000 “friends!” No one wants to read anymore. I absolutely detest the notation: TL/DR. Too long, didn’t read means that you’re too lazy and/ or don’t have the attention span to digest anything longer than a three sentence Facebook status. As a society, we have been moving away from books for decades. We no longer want to read anything of length, so we warn others if an article or essay is too long by slapping ‘TL/DR’ on there. Sometimes, some brave soul will read an entire article and write TL/DR and then provide a cursory summary of what the essay was about. As if an eight sentence summary can capture the voice, the art, and the wordplay of a well-written essay. We have lost our ability to pay attention, and I cannot help but blame television, the Internet, and the technology sitting in all our pockets right now.
Having said all this, I am just as guilty as the next guy. I take tons of photos and post them on Facebook and Instagram every day. I see a thing of beauty like a sunset, and rather than take it in and reflect on the moment, I pull out my camera to capture it. I chronicle my life through carefully curated pictures, and always try to show my best side. I often write comments that demonstrate how liberal and open-minded I am. I post articles that show how egalitarian and non-racist I really am. My articles, posts, and pictures all tell the story of a progressive and tolerant citizen of this world, who strongly believes in social justice, climate change, women’s reproductive rights, equality, and more. And those are all genuinely held believes that I have. But they don’t tell the whole picture.
The truth is rarely black and white. We live in a time that has become so divided and polarized that if you don’t tow the line of your party’s orthodoxy, you are somehow an enemy of the cause. The expression, “You’re either with us or against us” has never been so true as it is today. People rarely see in shades of grey today, and rarely embrace the nuance and contradictions inherent in human nature. I can support Black Lives Matter AND still recognize that many of the victims of police brutality were committing a crime when they were assaulted and/ or killed. That doesn’t take away the impact of their murders. It just doesn’t lionize them as victims or demonize the police as pure evil. The truth is almost somewhere in the middle between these divergent narratives. To praise a man like Teddy Roosevelt, Thomas Jefferson, or even Abraham Lincoln doesn’t mean you cannot accept and process their flaws and shortcomings. TR was an imperialist and bigoted brute in his younger days. Jefferson had the audacity to write “All men are created equal” while owning slaves and believing in their innate inferiority. Lincoln initially wanted to preserve the union more than outlaw slavery, and for many modern critics, was too slow to embrace abolitionism. What we fail to do when we put these men (and women) in boxes, is embrace their multitudes, as Walt Whitman once said. We don’t allow them their complexities or peccadillos, as we either paint them as Gods or Monsters. Human beings are complicated specimens, and rarely – if ever – fall into one convenient box. We are neither all evil or all bad. Hamlet says, “There is nothing either good orbad, but thinking makes it so.” And that’s true. We assign blame and strip humans of their nuances and layers when we try to distill their personalities down into cookie-cutter categories.
Another problem with lionizing or demonizing figures from history is that it divorces them of their times, and we fail to provide cultural context. Teddy Roosevelt’s early attitudes towards Native Americans in the late 19th Century was abhorrent, but hardly unusual for the time. And that attitude changed and improved over his lifetime, as he grew and matured. What WAS unusual for his time period was his progressive politics. In the 1912 United States Presidential Election, Roosevelt ran under his own third party – the Bull Moose Party. Despite the limitations of his time, his party’s platform called for suffrage for women, universal healthcare, a protection of federal lands, a livable wage, free education, and many more of the same things we are still fighting for today! Bernie Sanders essentially ran on the platform proposed by TR over a hundred years ago!
And yet, we have many liberals who want to cancel Teddy. And Jefferson. And astonishingly, even Abraham Lincoln. Statues have been removed, and schools renamed. At what cost? Who will be next? Who will be left? Even Martin Luther King was an unrepentant womanizer. Shall we cancel him next? If we have no figures from our past to look up to, how will we learn from their successes and failures? Isn’t it more educational to learn the full complexity of a man in order to understand that kind of nuance and depth within ourselves? We cancel our forefathers/mothers at our peril. If we have no giants to stand on the shoulders of, how will we ever see past ourselves and our own shortcomings?
As I wrote in my essay on cancel culture, we risk losing our very soul as a nation if we continue to throw our ancestors under the bus and refuse to place them in the context of the time periods they came from. We need to stop making those that came before us or our own contemporaries into “heroes” or “villains.” Humankind is too smart to be doing that. We have come too far, to backslide into such adolescent behavior.
Our technology has sped up our lives, but has it improved them? We can capture a sunset in seconds, but can we even take the time to enjoy it? We refuse to read anything of length and substance, but rather choose to watch 30 second clips on Tik Tok. Our attention spans have been irrefutably altered by the media and our technology, and its creating a society full of people suffering from severe ADD and the inability to focus on anything textured or profound. What happens when everything becomes so superficial, and we are so entrenched in our divided camps that we refuse to even talk with our opponents? If a picture is worth a thousand words, the portrait of America right now is not pretty to look at. We need more grey in that picture!
It sincerely troubles me that nearly half the population of the United States voted for Donald Trump in 2020. Can it be true that one out of every two Americans is a Trump supporter? That means that our family, our friends, and our neighbors may very well have voted for this wretched man. As I ride on the subway or see a car pass me on the highway, I can’t help but automatically wonder if the person inside is a Trump supporter. Much to my consternation, I find myself judging people’s clothing, their speech, and their level of education. I can’t see a pickup truck with an American flag without assuming that the driver is a redneck Trump supporter.
It’s devastating to me that our country’s flag – the enduring symbol of America – has been savagely appropriated and grotesquely twisted into a hateful symbol of the Right and the toxic brand of masculinity, jingoism, and authoritarianism that is embodied by Trumpism. This past summer, I was camping on Cape Cod and I had forgotten my camp chair. When I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods to buy a cheap replacement, the only ones they had left were covered with an enormous American Flag and were sickeningly patriotic. But I was desperate and they were cheap. I bought the chair but all weekend long I couldn’t help but feel self-conscious about my purchase. The campground we were staying at was filled with lefty hippie-types. The entire trip, I felt the unmistakable stare of the same judgmental eyes that I had been employing for the last three and a half years. They saw my chair and naturally assumed that I must be some jingoistic Trump-supporting bigot. It saddens me that I wasn’t simply mistaken for a proud American with a modest love of my country. The American flag has become corrupted by the Right and it started long before Trump, but it became a hyper-inflated symbol of his toxic nativism with his ascendency.
I find myself drawn to the flags of other countries these days. I recently put a Great Britain decal on the back of my car. I love the UK, and in many ways, I can identify with the British more than the Americans with whom I’m sharing my country. Although, given the recent affirmative vote on Brexit, it’s quite obvious that many Britons are xenophobic themselves and seem to favor a brand of authoritarianism made popular by OUR President. Trump might have brought it back, but this take on fascism is running rampant throughout the world and we are currently seeing a wave of right wing strongmen from Brazil to Hungary.
How did we arrive here?
I find it deeply disturbing that given the progress we’ve made in this country over the last sixty years, half the nation does not actually buy into that concept as “progress” and instead see us heading down a path of wickedness and deceit. The remarkable strides we’ve made on racism, sexism, homophobia, and other social injustices are actually seen by those on the Right as incompatible with an upstanding Christian society. As if Jesus ever mentioned homosexuality or condemned another human for their very humanity or who they were fundamentally as people. And yet, what the Left sees as inclusion and egalitarianism the Right sees as a society in decay – arbitrarily condoning twisted and aberrational behavior and granting legitimacy to “sinful” lifestyles. Many conservatives see the ascendency of people of color as a threat to their power and as a cause for alarm. An educated and compassionate Black man like Barack Obama is not an ally, but an adversary who must be vanquished at all costs. In their eyes, Obama was an “upstart crow” (to borrow the term used to admonish Shakespeare) and was what racists like to call an “Uppity Negro.” Or worse.The 44th President was an enemy because they saw him as a symbol of change, and for them, change is a zero sum game. Whereas Obama might suggest that by uplifting his race or by empowering the LGBTQ community, he is simply leveling the playing field and ensuring EQUAL rights. Many on the Right see those groups as threatening the white male hegemony and ultimately, eroding their hold on power. In their minds, there can be no shared power.
In 2008, I naively thought that this country had turned a corner. Barack Obama was promising “hope and change” and I sincerely thought that’s exactly what the country wanted. After eight years of warmongering and conservative politics, it seemed that the nation wanted a change. Craved it. At the time, I thouht George W. Bush was the worst president we’d ever had and likely ever would have. Little did I know. Obama seemed to appeal to the working class as much as the educated elites. Much like the Reagan Democrats, he seemed to woo traditionally conservative voters and capture votes from the Right. It’s no coincidence that Barack announced his candidacy on the capitol steps in Springfield, just as Lincoln (another young lawyer from Illinois) had done 148 years earlier. Both men ascended the national (and world) stage at a time of cultural crisis when the country was deeply divided over race and politics and it seemed that the very soul of the nation was at stake.
Admittedly, most voters probably don’t have these grandiose ideas in their heads as they vote. As we’ve seen time and again, it seems that most voters tend to vote for the person they’d most like to share a beer with. In 2000, that was Bush. In 2008, that was Obama. It didn’t matter that W no longer drank; it was the idea of “shooting the shit” with a guy you felt you could relate to. Someone that you could talk sports with or have a sympathetic ear to vent about whatever. That certainly wasn’t the egghead, Al Gore or the policy wonk and teacher’s pet, Hillary Clinton. As qualified as both of them were, they were wooden and unrelatable, and therefore, fundamentally unlikable. Clinton was a woman, and given our patriarchal and sexist society, she stood an even lesser chance of being liked than Gore did. Who would want to sit down and drink a beer with either of them?
But how in God’s name would anyone want to drink a beer with Donald J. Trump???
Again, “The Donald” doesn’t drink, but the concept is the same. Half of the American electorate saw Trump as a “straight-shooter” who, like them, wasn’t always polished and politically correct and certainly not “Presidential,” but who spoke his mind and invariably messed up sometimes. They actually appreciated his stumbles and his rude rants even when they didn’t always agree. They saw him as strong and triumphant over traditional politicians, the mainstream media, and the Hollywood/ Tech elite. When he called people degrading names and blasted the media, he was echoing their own frustrations with a system that had condemned their own feelings and concerns and had made them feel like outsiders in their own country. Trump was the ultimate outsider who promised to “drain the swamp” and use his business acumen to fix the economy and get people their jobs back. After all, he promised to build a wall to keep illegal immigrants out and make Mexico pay for it!
Just over five years ago, Trump announced his candidacy after dramatically descending a golden escalator in his characteristically theatrical fashion. He was greeted by a slew of American flags and was standing in front of a “Make America Great Again” sign. Then Trump proceeded to give a speech we’ve heard quoted a million times since then. It was shocking in its boldfaced honesty and unvarnished xenophobia. Sadly, the speech was just a taste of what would follow, and in retrospect, is totally consistent with the man we’ve come to know all too well. In the speech, Trump said, “When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re not sending you. They’re not sending you. They’re sending people that have lots of problems, and they’re bringing those problems with us. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people.”
Right out of the gate, we knew exactly who Trump was and what he stood for. Or at least, what he stood against. It was the first of many dog whistles and immediately caught the attention of his soon-to-be supporters. Apparently, for a great number of Americans, they saw a man who spoke bluntly and unapologetically and said what they had already been thinking.
For eight years, these Americans had felt marginalized and alienated by the country they love. They had been burdened by a Black president who had, purposefully or not, ushered in an era of “identity politics” and ubiquitous “political correctness.” They had been censored for eight LONG years and had been forced to bite their tongues and keep their mouths shut. Over the years, they had witnessed their jobs being shipped overseas to be worked by brown people in foreign lands. LGBTQ people had been allowed to marry, betraying their deeply-held religious beliefs and shattering their idea of traditional marriage. Affirmative Action had allowed seemingly less qualified colleagues to be promoted ahead of them all in the name of equality and filling a minority quota. In their eyes, crime had overridden their cities (some of which they had never even visited, but saw on Fox News) and that couldn’t be divorced from the fact that it was unequivocally tied to an increase in minority populations and immigrants “infesting” those very same neighborhoods. Although Roe v. Wade had legalized abortion over forty years earlier, the Pro Life movement had gained supporters and capital in recent years and there just weren’t enough conservative SCOTUS judges to overturn the landmark abortion case. They may not have had a problem with women in the workplace, but suddenly, those women had power over the men and their innocent teases and dirty jokes were now seen as sexual harassment. Some of their favorite celebrities and authors were now being “cancelled” because of their politically incorrect words or the jokes they made. Starbucks had declared war on Christmas by adorning their coffee cups with “Happy Holidays” instead of “Merry Christmas.” Colleges, universities, and even public elementary and secondary schools were indoctrinating their children with liberal politics and encouraging students to question the traditional history that they were taught as children. Liberals like Barack Obama hated America and blamed slavery and sexism for all the strife in our country and attached titles like “White Privilege” to honest, hardworking, poor Americans. Conservatives felt under attack when they tried to practice their religion openly and freely – especially when it came to issues like abortion and contraception.
The battle found its way to the SCOTUS and a conservative majority allowed rulings allowing religious organizations to deny women access to contraception and family planning services. Clearly, another Republican president could shore up the SCOTUS and deliver at least one or two more jurists. Men and women without college degrees felt like the Left had left them behind. For years, these working class blue collar workers and union members had supported Democrats and their agendas. They felt that the Dems had their backs. That has changed over the last 40 years as more and more uneducated American workers are defecting to the Republican Party whom they see as better protecting their best interests and embracing them for who they are and what they do. Democrats were now seen as “Ivory Tower” elitists who turn their nose up at the “working man” and try and shove “Identity Politics” down their throats, lecture them on how these workers’ preferential skin color gives them privilege, and how bigoted they are for hating immigrants and POC for taking their jobs. The Dems left them behind and forgot the valuable men and women who were once the backbone of this party.
These beleaguered citizens were fed up. They didn’t want a politician telling them what to think and how to live their lives. America is built upon the idea of freedom and liberty, and Obama had infringed upon their “God-given rights” as Americans. They wanted a plainspoken man to give them permission to air their grievances. Someone like them. Not a fancy Ivy League-educated elitist, but a man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and made something of himself. They wanted a man who spoke their language and didn’t mince words even if that meant he was rude and unpresidential at times. They didn’t want the same kind of Republican the party had been running for decades. They wanted someone unpolitical who would wipe away the Washington detritus and start anew. Someone who wouldn’t just promise change and not deliver, but actually return their country to its fundamental condition: white, male, Christian, and rife with guns. That was the American way. This country was founded on those principles. They needed a savior.
And they found one.
“Make America Great Again” was not just a slogan, but a way of life. It encapsulated everything many Americans saw wrong with this country. Ever since the Civil Rights era of the late ’50s and early ’60s, the nation had steadily become corrupt and was decaying with each passing day. For many Americans, they were seeing their country disappear before their eyes.
Boomers have been especially egregious in their assessment of the “good ole days.” For many of them, the nostalgia associated with the 1950s was palpable and they longed for a return to those simpler days. Of course, this “Halcyon Era” never actually existed. Or at least, not for everyone. If you were white, male, and Christian, it certainly was a beneficial time to be alive. Dwight Eisenhower had made their lives easier and raised the average American standard of living. Thanks to the GI Bill, men could afford homes for their families and the average American could buy their very own car. Their kitchens were furnished with modern appliances and their streets were safe to walk. Shows like “Father Knows Best,” “Leave it to Beaver,” and “The Andy Griffith Show” all cemented the memory of a time and place that was idyllic and aspirational. The “Mayberry” of their youth was not merely a fiction but a place to return to.
Of course, most respected scholars and historians (as well as the average person-in-the-know) would tell you that those years were not ideal or nostalgic for many. For women, gays, lesbians, transgender, Blacks, Asians, Native Americans, and other minorities, the 1950s were a deeply oppressive time where rights were curtailed and the ability to live proud and openly was just not a possibility. For instance, to be an openly gay Black woman in 1955 would have been unthinkable. A fierce and progressive queer feminist like African American writer, professor, editor, and social commentator Roxane Gay would most likely not have existed during that period in American history, or at least, she would have certainly been a marginalized and ostracized voice. Gay’s very presence is predicated on the work of thousands of Civil Rights icons who fought for her long before she was ever born. Like many of us (and she undoubtedly knows), she stands on the shoulders of giants.
The liberal SCOTUS of the Warren Court (1953-1969) had pushed integration and upheld minority voter enfranchisement legislation, among other things. Even though Justice Earl Warren retired in 1967, his court laid the groundwork for the Roe decision in 1973 and even compelled conservative judges like Justice Harry Blackmun, a conservative appointed by Richard Nixon, to write the majority opinion on the case. In fact, seven justices voted in favor of Roe. For the Right, the ascendency of Ronald Reagan in the ’80s briefly returned America to its greatness, only to be spoiled again by Bill Clinton in the ’90s. After all, Clinton had instituted “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”in the US military, allowing gays to serve – albeit, not openly.
These baby steps set the precedent for later leaders – specifically Obama – to open the military up for gays, lesbians, and transgender Americanswithout the shame of having to hide their true identities. For many constituents, this was a bridge too far. They predicted the collapse of the military and that morale would flag if LGBTQ soldiers were allowed to fight alongside their straight and cis counterparts. They warned of soldiers not willing to sacrifice their lives for each other and that homophobia would prevent meaningful relationships (essential to combat scenarios) from thriving. As we found out, this was all speculative nonsense and the military has never been stronger or more unified. Apparently, soldiers don’t care what your sexuality or gender identity is when you’ve got their back on the battlefield or carrying a wounded soldier to safety.
As we all know, Ronald Reagan shifted the American electorate dramatically and suddenly, blue collar working men and women began to slowly defect to the Republican Party and have ultimately abandoned the Democrats altogether by now. Mostly. Obama’s message of “Hope and Change” inspired these “purple voters” and they turned out for him in large numbers and Democrats recaptured red districts previously thought lost to the Left. Obama soundly defeated Romney and also did quite well against McCain. Perhaps that’s when I first thought that the country was shifting and becoming more liberal and that NOW was the time for us to make real change and progress on issues like the environment, Institutional Racism, and economic inequality. After all, Obama had the mandate of the people.
Then Trump came along.
I knew things were bad when I saw my mother and stepfather slowly get pulled into his web. In full disclosure, my mom and stepfather are wonderful, lovely, caring, empathetic, and loving people. They are two of the best souls to walk this earth. That said, they are also Evangelical Christians and quite conservative in their beliefs. Although my stepfather was a union letter carrier his whole life, his politics are firmly in the Right column. They care about Supreme Court Justice appointments because ultimately, they would like to see Roe v. Wade overturned. I also think they wouldn’t object to gay marriage laws being reversed. They are devout Evangelicals who have Fox News on their television nearly 24 hours-a-day. They loved Bill O’Reilly and were devastated and angry at what happened to him at Fox. I think they are big fans of Sean Hannity as well. And maybe Tucker Carlson.
You see, I can’t say with any certainty because my parents and I don’t talk politics. Or religion. Those are the dreaded “third-rail” topics that complicate our family dynamic. In the past, these were the very things that led to screaming matches, silent routines, and the unraveling of our happy home. I learned many years ago not to talk politics or religion with my mom and stepfather. And we are so much happier now that we don’t. I love them unconditionally and I know they feel the same way about me. We may not agree on politics or religion, but I know them to be good and decent people, with strong morals and deeply-held principles and beliefs. I DO NOT ACCEPT THAT THEY ARE BIGOTS. These people don’t personally agree with abortion because they think life starts at conception. They don’t believe in gay marriage because they believe that a traditional marriage should only be between one man and one woman and that the Bible expressly forbids homosexuality in the Old Testament. They are Fundamentalists and believe in the inviolability of the Bible and its teachings. No matter how contradictory the Bible is on everything from love to poverty to marriage to slavery to EVERYTHING.
I have pointed this out to them in the past and my parents’ answers will NEVER satisfy me. But I am satisfied now. I am satisfied that these two morally sound and loving individuals have something that they believe in, and that something sustains them and gives them strength. It makes them happy. Not because they are trying to curtail other people’s lives; they don’t think like that. They just want everyone to live by the “WORD OF GOD,” and in doing so, society will right itself and return to the path of righteousness. That is the groundwork that needs to be laid before Jesus Christ can return to the earth and take us all (or some) to Heaven. These people support Israel not because they fundamentally believe in the Jews right to exist, but rather, because dogmatically, they need the “Chosen People” to inhabit Israel at the moment of the “End of Days” in order for prophecy to be fulfilled and for Christians to fight a battle led by Christ for the souls of humans everywhere. That apocalypse will only ever be fully realized once the Jewish people are the sole occupants of “their” land and no one else contaminates the well, you might say. This is truly Biblical proportions. This is what they believe.
So as much as I deplore some of my parents’ beliefs and stridently disagree with them on so many things, they are my parents after all. Like it or not, I’m stuck with them. I’m joking, of course. I love them. AND respect them.
Honestly, I would not be the man I am today if it had not been for the struggles of my mother, and all that she sacrificed to get me to where I am today. My mom raised me as a single mom for 18 years with no one but her impoverished parents to depend on. And they were great, but they were nearly as poor as we were, so no one could truly take care of us. My mom did that. By herself. She sent me to college where I ultimately went on to earn three university degrees. SHE did that. Not me. I learned it all from her. She only had a high school degree until I was 15. Through sheer willpower, my mom worked her way through college in her 30s and 40s and eventually earned a business degree from a small college in Bangor, Maine. SHE did that. When she married my stepfather during my freshman year of undergrad, I knew she had found her soulmate. They may not have similar personalities; quite the opposite, in fact. They may not have similar interests. Also, quite the opposite. But what they do have is their shared faith. They read the Bible together and highlight passages that mean something special to them and to their struggles. They are lifted up through their Bible study classes and the work they do with recovering drug addicts and alcoholics. They are strengthened by the food bank they volunteer at to help the poor and needy in their town.
My mom also happens to believe in climate change and cares deeply about the environment. That’s when she says to me, “I’m not strictly a radical Republican. It’s complicated. There are things I disagree with them on.” And I usually don’t respond, trying to cleave to our previously mentioned “bargain.” I love them and I know they love humanity. They don’t hate Black people, but they don’t support Black Lives Matter. They don’t hate immigrants, but they don’t support DACA or allowing more refugees into the already overburdened country and sagging economy. They don’t hate gay or transgender people, but they don’t support their right to marry. They simply wish those people would find Christ and learn to live by his “rules” again. As they say, “Love the sinner, hate the sin.” They do love these people. Truly. My mom has never said one bigoted thing in her life. EVER. She raised me right. I happened to discover the theatre when I was ten and suddenly all the religious adults in my life were replaced by older and MUCH more liberal actors, playwrights, directors, techies, and other progressives I met through the theatre. I drifted away from religion, she didn’t push me away. I found my new Church.
I still maintain that I believe in God. I believe the universe is too complex and layered to have just been random. When I look at a painting, I think an artist painted that. When I look at a cathedral, I think an architect designed that. When I read a book I am passionate about, I think a writer wrote that. Why wouldn’t it be so in the universe as well? You may call that “Intelligent Design,” but I choose to call it God. I sometimes even still go to church. These days, it is a Unitarian Universalist church with a strong emphasis on social justice, but I feel comforted there. The people that attend have a strong fellowship and a shared goal of social justice and environmental regulation. They read passages from the Bible, but incorporate other religions and philosophies as well. The very first sermon I heard at my adopted UU church started with a passage from the Bible and ended with an excerpt from a Kurt Vonnegut book. I knew then and there that THIS was the church for me!
The point is, Democrats can be religious. Conservatives can be atheists. We are all human beings on this rock, fighting to survive and to love our families and keep them safe and protect them from those elements that may seek to destroy us. From others who may try and bring us down. In my opinion, liberals are right. They are on the “right side of history,” because, as Martin Luther King once said, “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.” And it bends towards love. Justice cannot be achieved without love. We must truly “love” our “neighbor as thyself” as the God in the Bible wisely commands. If you compare the Old Testament with the New, they might as well be different books written by two different religions. One is dark and punitive; the other is hopeful and reliant on love alone. I believe we must follow Christ’s teachings. Not because I necessarily think that he was the Son of God, but because they are morally sound and graspable concepts that will make the world a better place. You may have already found that in Buddha. Or Muhammad. Or Wiccan. Or Secular Humanism. Or wherever. The point is that you found it. And if you have not, then we cannot truly sit down at a table together and talk. As one world. One nation. One state. One city. One town. One family. We need to all acknowledge each other as human beings with MANY shared similarities and work to try to understand each other better as fellow members of the same planet. And when that work is done, maybe we’ll be better “armed” to tackle our seemingly intractable differences. But it all starts with love.
I thought I knew who Donald Trump was in 2015 when he called Mexicans rapists and murderers and promised to build a wall in his very first speech announcing his candidacy. I thought he was pretty transparent and that my fellow Americans would see right through him as I had done. Although I think Hillary Clinton was probably the most capable and qualified candidate for president we’ve ever had, I also know that she is hated and reviled by many and that ultimately she probably wasn’t the best candidate to pick in 2016. I liked other candidates better. But no matter what I felt about her chances, I was committed to seeing her beat the Republican – whomever that would be. Chris Christie. Yup. Marco Rubio? Even more. Ted Cruz? DEFINITELY. Donald Trump? Doesn’t stand a chance.
And many of us liberals felt the same way. Boy, were we wrong.
As I watched the election results that night – all the way back in 2016 (seems like a lifetime, doesn’t it?) – my heart slowly sunk as the bitter results came in and state after state went to Trump. On Facebook, in real time, I debated my ultra-liberal friends who were still in denial and who guaranteed a Clinton win. By the time it was all over, I was sick. How could we all have gotten it so wrong? Hillary was ahead in EVERY poll. How could nearly half of America vote for a monster like Donald Trump when to me he was so painfully a narcissist who whipped up support from fringe militant groups, white supremacists, and the electorate derisively referred to as “poor white trash.” I would never say that to anyone’s face. And I beat myself up every time the term even enters my consciousness. It is an awful epithet. NO ONE is trash! (Remember that thing about love and recognizing each other’s humanity?) But one way or another, Donald J. Trump had won the Presidency of the United States of America. And we had to live with it.
As I mentioned earlier, in 2016, these conservatives and marginalized working class voters felt left behind and truly without a home. They were sick of Washington and all the partisan gridlock. They needed a savior. They needed an outsider with a clear agenda and a list of “bad hombres” whom they could hate and blame for all their woes. They needed a populist demagogue who could lead them to the “Promised Land” and out of their abject poverty and poor health. That manwas Donald Trump. He promised to “drain the swamp” and bring back coal. He promised them a lot of things. And he made America HATE again. Apparently, he had the mandate of at least half the country.
By 2020, we had had nearly four years of this guy. We had seen him attack, dismiss, and excoriate over half the people he hired – THEN fired – and how easily it was to become an enemy of “The Donald”. We had seen him make fun of a disabled journalist with a crude and abhorrent impression of the man. We had seen him ban Muslims. We had seen him shockingly dismiss Senator John McCain as a war hero, arguing that, “I like people who weren’t captured.” We had seen him start to build his ‘wall.’ We had seen him withdraw from The Paris Agreement. And the World Health Organization. And nearly NATO. We had seen Trump belittle the parents of a slain Muslim soldier who had strongly denounced him during the Democratic National Convention, saying that the soldier’s father had delivered the entire speech because his mother was not “allowed” to speak. We had seen him call soldiers “suckers and losers.” We had seen half his associates arrested and thrown in jail, and even then charges were dropped and sentences commuted, as in the case of Sheriff Joe Arpaio. We had seen him roll back environmental regulations and open pristine federal land up for oil-drilling and fracking. We had seen him aggressively abandon, overturn, strike down, and change course on nearly every one of Barack Obama’s accomplishments while in office. We had seen him stack the Supreme Court with three reliable conservatives: the relatively untainted Neil Gorsuch, Kavanaugh (an alleged rapist), and now, Amy Coney Barrett, a devout Catholic woman with an unshakable opposition to abortion and gay marriage, and a jurist even more conservative than her mentor: Antonin Scalia. We had seen Trump call white supremacists who had just killed a peaceful protester “good people” and repeatedly send dog whistles out to his “underground” supporters, who it now seems were right beside us all along. We saw him condemn Black Lives Matter and label them and Antifa domestic terrorists while embracing law enforcement and admitting no racism problem in this country. We saw him call for the NFL Commissioner to fire Black athletes who knelt during the national anthem and suggested that they be deported for even raising the cry against police brutality. We saw him deny that Covid-19 was dangerous or that it had arrived in the US, frequently refer to it with a racial overtones as “The China Virus,” refuse to wear a mask, catch Covid, and then refuse to wear a mask afterwards. He fiddled while Rome burned.
And on. And on. And on.
We had seen Donald Trump for who he TRULY was: a man devoid of all empathy, compassion, self-awareness, morality, curiosity, intellect, or sense of decency. He was the most un-Presidential President in American history. Suddenly, we were rewriting history and looking back at presidents like Nixon and George W. Bush in “kinder and gentler” ways (as George H.W. Bush implored), almost longing for their relatively uncomplicated administrations.
And yet, despite ALL that, we still narrowly defeated Donald Trump in 2020. One in every two Americans may still support this man even after all they’ve seen over the last four years. How do you reason with people like that? We can’t seriously consider that 50% of America is filled with unrepentant racists, bigots, and haters can we? Even acknowledging that all us white folks are inherently biased and privileged, we still cannot paint half our electorate with such a broad brush. These people may not even like Trump personally. I suspect that my parents do not necessarily like Donald Trump, the man, but support some of the things he does stand for…most notably, his penchant for appointing Supreme Court Justices. I think it’s incumbent on all of us progressive liberals to give people the benefit of the doubt and suppose that this theory goes far beyond the vagaries of my own parents and it can be safely assumed to represent the various shades of the Republican Party in general. They don’t all love Trump.
But they need him. They need him to get this legislation passed. To strike down that legislation in the Courts. To pull us out of this treaty or to impose sanctions on that country. To appoint this judge and to fire that partisan hack. You get the point. With Donald Trump, it’s a la carte selective memory. You like what you like and you forget or deny the rest. We all suffer from Confirmation Bias. If they watch Fox News and they are told that the President is under attack from the “lamestream media” and that journalists are our enemies, then they are going to believe it. And if the mainstream media, Hollywood elites, and lefty tech giants are against Trump, then they are against America. It’s pick-and-choose politics and they like that Trump is “strong and unapologetic.”
So where do we go from here? I wish I knew. There are enough rumblings about Trump making a comeback in 2024 to make me nervous all over again. He’s certainly the Right’s most popular figure. After all, he did garner more total votes for President than any other Republican candidate in American history. Long after Donald’s gone, Trumpism will live on in this grossly appropriated and radically altered party and we will still be left questioning the guy driving by in the pickup truck and the lady yelling about facemasks and overturning displays of them at Target. This is 50% of America. And it’s not easily divided up. We can’t simply have the South secede this time. There are red swaths across every state and liberal bubbles surrounding every major city. “Fly over country” simply doesn’t exist anymore. These are our families, friends, and neighbors.
Love. Empathy. Compassion. That’s where it’s gotta start. Where we go from there, I have no idea…
The more I learn about Teddy Roosevelt, the more I like him. Did you know that his political platform in 1912 called for universal healthcare, environmental protection, the adoption of public lands for preservation, and other similar issues important to progressives today? Furthermore, Teddy was also the first major figure in American politics to call for women’s suffrage and equal pay for women – which we still don’t have today. In fact, his 1880 college thesis was an argument in favor of women’s suffrage. TR basically drew up the blueprint for the New Deal and for the course of American progressivism for the next century. And what surprises a lot of people is that Roosevelt was a Republican. At first. In 1912, TR split from the Republicans and formed the progressive Bull Moose Party after he lost the presidential nomination of the Republican Party to his former protégé and conservative rival, incumbent president William Howard Taft. Of course, even if he had continued in the Republican party, the two parties hadn’t switched platforms yet. That didn’t happen in earnest until the 1960s. So it’s fair to assume that TR would likely be a Democrat were he alive today. It’s just amazing how ahead of his time he was, and how he was so often on the right side of history. Especially when it came to racism and slavery. In 1885, he publicly denounced former Confederate President Jefferson Davis – who was still alive at the time – and compared him to the American turncoat, Benedict Arnold. Davis angrily rejected the comparison, and initially tried to sue for libel, but eventually dropped the suit. TR called for the end to Confederate monuments, which were rapidly going up all over the South at that time, as Jim Crow laws were instituted and the KKK was responsible for hundreds of public lynchings. Teddy called out these racist Southerners, and condemned their statues – 120 years before the rest of the country finally woke up to our nation’s intrinsic racism and the shameful hypocrisy of such monuments.
At the time, Roosevelt wrote: “I certainly cannot be put in the attitude of in any way apologizing for or regretting anything I have said about Jefferson Davis. If secession was not a crime, if it was not an offense against humanity to strive to break up this great republic in the interest of the perpetuation of slavery, then it is impossible ever to commit any crime, and there is no difference between good men & bad men in history. Jefferson Davis for many years had intrigued for secession – had intrigued for the destruction of this republic in the interest of slavery; and the evidence is overwhelming to my mind that in his course he was largely influenced by the eager desire to gratify his own ambition. In public utterances of mine I grouped together Jefferson Davis and Benedict Arnold. As a matter of pure morals I think I was right. Jefferson Davis was an unhung traitor. He stands as an evil eminence in our history.”
Like many people today, I also understand and share many people’s concerns about the true legacy of Teddy Roosevelt. He was an unrepentant Imperialist, who hated Native Americans and brutally bullied Latin America. Roosevelt was a shameless nativist and nationalist, who believed in American Exceptionalism. His foreign policy was Colonialist and oppressive, and he firmly believed America had an intrinsic obligation to police the world and impose its ideals on nations everywhere. TR famously said, “Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far.” Big Stick Policy, in American history, popularized and named by Roosevelt asserted that U.S. global domination was our country’s moral imperative. Much of the world disagreed, but cowered in its fear of the newly ascendent empire. Some of Theodore Roosevelt’s views and prejudices were problematic, at best, and abominable at worst.
Having said all that, I think it’s always important to keep things in perspective and contextualize the man in HIS time. Any person, for that matter. The world has a rich legacy of influential artists, authors, poets, politicians and the like, who have passed down their work through the millennia and is still warmly received today. We are still teaching many of these – admittedly white male figures – in school. The Western Canon has long been held up as the epitome of taste and culture. However, in the last few decades, that belief has rightfully come under fire. We are now carefully analyzing and parsing every historical figure’s words and deeds, and scrutinizing their every misstep. As we should be. We need to take a critical approach to our ancestors, and evaluate if they are still relevant and acceptable to our modern sensibilities. However, I do believe that it’s a slippery slope when we start unfairly holding our ancestors to our high ideals and standards of decency. Over millennia, we have evolved as a species – both physically and intellectually. It’s fair to say that we are much more enlightened today than we were a thousand years ago, and even just over a hundred years ago – while TR was still alive. While his views on Native Americans and Latin America were backwards and racist by contemporary standards, they were quite commonplace at that time. Imperialism and Colonialism were alive and well. And Teddy fell victim to that barbaric and primitive way of thinking. Sadly, like all of us, he was also a victim of his age. How will historians look back on us? Will we be “cancelled” and outright dismissed by our posterity because we were so short-sighted and primitive in our beliefs and priorities? After our fossil fuels all but deplete our oxygen and our planet becomes nearly unlivable – only to be saved by future technologies and forward-thinking people – will our descendants look back at us as we do the Neanderthals? Can our legacies be salvaged?
In regards to Teddy Roosevelt, despite his bigoted and myopic views of his nation and its role in the world, he was also ahead of his time on so many progressive fronts. Many of these issues still trouble us today, and haven’t even been addressed one hundred years later.
Personally, I think it’s dangerous to take historical figures out of the context of their time, and hold them up to our enlightened and egalitarian standards. If we do that with everyone from the past, we’d have no one left to celebrate or learn from. ALL of our ancestors were deeply flawed. Aristotle. Shakespeare. T.S. Eliot. Ezra Pound. H.L. Mencken. Picasso. DaVinci. Lincoln. Both Roosevelts. And on and on. These names are rife with sexists, antisemites, and racist authors, politicians, and artists. By today’s standards, NO ONE would pass the sniff test. No one. But I don’t think that’s cause to throw the baby out with the bathwater. These (mostly) men were of their age, but they also created art and policy that transcends ALL ages. In his eulogy to Shakespeare, Ben Jonson wrote, “Shakespeare was not of an age, but for all time.” As are all of these historical figures. Their work is transcendental, and we wouldn’t still be reading them or consuming their art today if it didn’t still speak to us.
In light of their sins of the past, we must not “cancel” or dismiss them outright, but attempt to understand them and reconcile ourselves with their often shameful and ignorant beliefs. Instead of eradicating them from our text books and tearing down their statues, we need to carefully teach these historical figures and contextualize their hateful and ignorant words and deeds. This is a teachable moment.
It all starts by expanding the canon, and integrating more women, people of color, and non-Westerners into our curriculums. We need to take a worldly and multicultural approach to the way we teach our young people. They need to learn the contributions of people from all different cultures, creeds, religions, skin colors, sexual orientation, gender identities, and more. Our education system needs to embrace the artist and politicians of the world who have helped shaped our society. The next step is to continue to ALSO teach the great Western masters – whose work has been passed down as sacrosanct and unassailable until now – but do so in a way that is thoughtful and instructive. There is a reason why we still read Shakespeare, even though he was a white Christian male. We shouldn’t cancel him because he may have been antisemitic and sexist. We must firmly place these individuals in their time and place, and educate our students about the attitudes and mores of the day – however repugnant. We must not cower and hide from the sins of our forebearers and all the past atrocities that may have inflicted on the world. We must examine their unique zeitgeists, and teach our students that they were, unfortunately, products of a less enlightened and deeply bigoted era. As Confederate monuments are being torn down across the country, it is even more imperative that we learn to be critical in our understanding of the bigoted and racist views of nearly half the country at that time. For the record, I adamantly support the tearing down of Confederate monuments and statues. And the removal of Confederate names from military bases. And the renaming of streets, schools, and everything else that may bear the name of these hateful forerunners. We shouldn’t celebrate either traitors OR racists in this country. The Confederacy was an illegitimate country sprung from the loins of slavery and built on the backs of enslaved Black men and women. Those people do not deserve our admiration and praise. And they certainly don’t deserve monuments celebrating their accomplishments. However, I also don’t necessarily believe they should be melted down or destroyed altogether. There’s history there, and lessons to be learned. I am of the opinion that these statues belong in museums and on battlefields where men on both sides died. That would be a fitting reminder of America’s original sin, and the people that perpetuated those atrocities. We need to remember them and learn from them, but no idolize and celebrate them. Just because Germany has no statues of Adolf Hitler doesn’t mean that they don’t learn about him and study the past. There’s a marked difference between recording the past and celebrating it. These statues need to come down NOW!
Things get a little more problematic when we start talking about the Founding Fathers. They were not traitors, and over the last 250 years, they have been lionized and celebrated for their unparalleled achievements, and the unimpeachable mark they left on the world. And yet, for all their high ideals, these men were deeply flawed and are rightfully problematic today. Many of our American heroes were slaveowners, and Thomas Jefferson was particularly bigoted, racist, and virulent in his private correspondence and journals. Reading his works beyond the masterful Declaration of Independence is frustrating and infuriating. How could a man that wrote so eloquently: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” also be an unrepentant slaveowner and horrific racist? What’s more, one that slept with an enslaved woman on his plantation and fathered her children! What hypocrisy! Are we supposed to hold that kind of man close to our bosoms? And yet, are we to tear down all the statues of George Washington and Thomas Jefferson too? Surely their sins are comparable with those of Jefferson Davis and other traitors of the Confederacy less than a hundred years later. But does that mean we rename Washington DC? And schools and streets in every town and city in America? Is that even possible? How do we erase our “Founding Fathers” and not erase our mythic ideals of the birth of this nation at the same time? Like it or not, our unique American identity is inextricably tied to those who founded this nation and launched the longest continuous Democracy in the history of the world.
What if we continued to celebrate their accomplishments and teach them through an evolved and enlightened lens, putting them in their times, and being critical of their racist views? I prefer the latter. How could anyone reject the beautiful words Jefferson wrote in the Declaration of Independence? And yet, those words did not apply to Black men and women, or women in general. We must learn from those egregious oversights.
Problematic and deeply flawed individuals litter our history, and can often make us feel uncomfortable at best or rageful at worst. These days, it’s hard to fathom these individual’s racist, sexist, homophobic, Islamophobic, transphobic, and bigoted views any more than we could our next door neighbor who voted for Donald Trump. Wrong is wrong, right? And understandably, many people who have been historically disenfranchised and marginalized throughout history, want to cancel these ancestors of ours, and erase any contributions they may have made. But people are people. Humans are flawed, and much more complex than our myopic history books tell us. That is why we must rewrite our curriculums, and teach these people in a way that embraces their accomplishments, while rejecting and learning from their hateful views. We must take this opportunity for a teachable moment, and use it to educate and enlighten today’s generation, for the sake of future generations. We must not erase our history and culture, but contextualize it and surround it by works by those who may have punished and oppressed by those ugly beliefs and actions. We must provide a holistic view of history, and take these moments to learn from our mistakes. I feel very passionately that we shouldn’t ‘cancel’ problematic figures from our history. We should teach them.
In teaching theater, the subject, ultimately, has to be the student. It’s not enough to say that we want to create a student-centered classroom, but then continue to teach a “one-size-fits-all” technique to theater. After all, every actor, director, designer, and playwright has their own perspective and life experience. What works for one student, may not work for another. If there is one overarching theme to my philosophy of teaching, it is that students should be exposed to a wide variety of methods and techniques, in order that they may pick and choose the practices that serve them best. I believe that we must teach individuals, and allow them to explore a range of styles, methods, and techniques, and ultimately, collaborate with them to help shape their unique voices. As a teacher, I see myself first and foremost as a collaborator with each individual student in the process of exploring their own inner-artists and outer-collaborators. The theater classroom should be a place of self-discovery, and as we partner with students to explore and refine their own personal approach to the theater, there are nine principles that guide my teaching philosophy:
Respect The most important thing we can do as educators is to respect each student as an individual, and demonstrate that respect by listening to them and striving to understand their unique perspective and point of view. There is no greater gift we can give another person than our undivided attention and the intimacy of our interest and consideration. Every student is worthy of our attentiveness, and deserves our respect. The teachers I loved the most in school were the ones who truly listened to me as a person. When I was nervous, or scared, or intellectually curious, those special teachers would listen to my point of view, and respond to what I said, not what to what they may have initially wanted to tell me. During my senior year at Emerson College, I had an excellent teacher named Andrew Borthwick-Leslie from Shakespeare & Company. He was a certified Linklater teacher, and had acted in dozens of Shakespeare plays over the course of his career. The class wasAdvanced Acting: Shakespeare.I was exploring a monologue by Hamlet, and was really struggling. Andrew made some adjustments to my body and encouraged me to breath from my diaphragm. I had heard all those words before, spoken by half a dozen teachers during my college career. I should have known by then. When I had Kristin Linklater as my freshman year acting teacher, she had said all the same things Andrew was saying then – four years later. When I started to cry, Andrew gently spoke to me, and asked me questions that allowed me to express my fear and explore my vulnerability. Rather than tell me what I SHOULD be doing, he asked what I WANTED to do. He spent over an hour listening – truly listening – to what I had to say. He gave me the respect I deserved, and so desperately needed in that moment. I will never forget that. I want my students to walk away from my class knowing they have my respect.
Diversity & Empathy As we embark on a new decade, it is even more important than ever that our classrooms be diverse and representative of a plurality of opinions and experiences. A university should reflect the world around it, and there is no one way to teach a student. Since each student arrives with their own identities, it is imperative that a classroom accommodate all opinions, while still being respectful and civil—whatever disagreements may arise. One way to cultivate such an atmosphere is for a teacher to model empathy and respect. When we are able to see from another perspective, we are better prepared as artists to tell divergent stories. I have always strived to nurture empathetic classrooms and instill those values within my students. We must have diverse, inclusive, and tolerant classrooms in order to produce actors who look like the world around them.
Humor As a teacher, I have always relied heavily on good-natured humor and levity to keep a classroom fresh, engaging, and buoyant. I like to use light-hearted and sometimes silly humor to show the students that I am approachable and always striving for humility. I encourage students to play with each other in respectful ways, and want to create a stress-free atmosphere of trust and discovery. Humor is a great equalizer and is often a healthy outlet for deep emotion and tension. As much as we need to cry and be vulnerable in our acting classes, we also need to laugh. All great plays have moments of levity – even the most deadly serious ones.
Diversified Curriculum As I stated in my introduction, I believe that it is our job to expose students to various methods, tools and techniques, and allow them to find what works best for them. When a student is allowed to explore various styles, they invariably learn the skills that best suit their talent and personality, while also serving the needs of the play. A skillful artist is an educated artist. A true professional is one who is familiar with the rich legacy of theater and all its various forms.
Creating theater is both a deeply personal experience AND a collaborative one. In order to paint a vibrant picture, an artist must know the various colors of paint at their disposal. Similarly, a carpenter or craftsman must be intimately familiar with the various tools they have in their toolbox. It is no different for the actor. Once they have been exposed to a variety of styles, techniques, and methods, they can carefully choose what tools work best in any given situation. If variety is the spice of life, an artist must season their art liberally, and work from an informed perspective, not a parochial one. As an actor and director, I’ve never been cultish about a particular method, and I’ve always found it better to assemble a broad range of skills, rely on what works, and discard the rest. As a teacher, I have taught Linklater, Meisner, Stanislavsky, Hagen, and others. Although I was initially taught by Kristin Linklater herself, I never allowed myself to exclusively adopt her method at the expense of others. I have learned a great deal from the teachings of Stanislavsky, and always use his techniques in my classroom. An artist should embrace what works for them, and dismiss what doesn’t. Acting is an art, not a science. We must encourage healthy exploration.
Question Everything As a student, I was always bored by static classrooms filled with passive learners and a teacher-centered pedagogy. The teachers who had the most impact on my life were the ones who constantly engaged me with questions and nurtured stimulating dialogue. As an educator, I have never been a committed talking head—even in a lecture hall filled with students. I prefer to employ the Socratic Method, and enthusiastically ask my students lots of questions, and urge them to ask me lots of questions. What’s more, I encourage dialogue between students, and encourage respectful discourse—rooted in asking open-ended questions of each other. This kind of open dialogue dovetails nicely into my philosophy of diversified curriculum, because the more perspectives, answers, and opinions shared, the greater our understanding of a topic and the wider variety of possible solutions. I find that an inquisitive actor is a thoughtful and informed one, and exactly the type of artist everyone wants to collaborate with. My favorite English teacher in high school was a man named Mr. Ames. He was very short and hairy, with a long and precarious bushy beard. He kind of looked like a character fromLord of the Rings. Mr. Ames was an intellectual, and he always encouraged thoughtfulness in his students. He used humor and curiosity as tools to explore literature, and he always asked dozens of open-ended questions of us. His classroom was a place where students could speak frankly, draw their own conclusions, and question their own rigid belief systems. And I was only 16 years-old at the time. You can understand how liberating this experience was for me. I was just maturing as a young man, and I needed a creative outlet for my inquisitive brain. By allowing me to question everything, Mr. Ames gave me a command of my own learning and the confidence that I so desperately needed. I learned a lot from him as a teacher, and have carried those lessons with me into my own classroom.
It is vitally important that as a teacher, I create an environment that is safe and supportive for my students. As theater educators, it is imperative that we set the appropriate tone from day one. We must insist that our classrooms are not stages or finish lines, but rather laboratories for experimentation and exploration. We must ensure that our students understand that we are asking them to take risks, learn trust, play with purpose, and are emphatically not looking for perfection or finished products. Students should be allowed to try and fail, and do so in a safe and supportive atmosphere. The classroom is no place for harsh critics—whether self-directed or from one’s peers. Naturally, constructive criticism and feedback are useful and beneficial. But as teachers, we must make sure everyone understands that failure is instructive, and we will never triumph without taking risks and being fearless. We can only do that in a play-lab of discovery. We must always strive to embrace process over product.
Tap Into Vulnerability
When I was a freshman at Emerson College in 1994, Kristin Linklater was my acting teacher, and her style was foreign and unfamiliar to me at first. She endeavored to create classrooms where students could breathe from their diaphragms and throughout their entire bodies, in order to tap into a vulnerability that good actors needed to possess. Kristin once said to me, “Once you get to the point where your vulnerability is your strength, then you are in charge.” That stuck with me. As teachers, we must create brave and inclusive classrooms, where students can feel safe being vulnerable and exploring their emotions. Eventually, they will need to tap into that vulnerability in order to truly embody a character. As an 18-year-old young man, I didn’t know what that meant. Up until that point, acting had been fun and a cool way to escape into other characters and worlds. It was fantasy, and had nothing to do with me personally. Or my lived experience. Up until that point, I had hardly been seated in my emotions and vulnerabilities. I must have seemed like a tightly-wound immature fool to Kristin, but if that’s what she thought, she certainly never showed it to me. Instead, she spent that semester nurturing me and encouraging me to tap into that raw and vulnerable place deep inside of me. She planted the seed, and continued to water it for months. By the time the class ended, I was crying and laughing and singing, and everything in between. She had demonstrated the patience and foresight to take a scared and closed off little boy, and turn him into a man. An actor. An actor who was unafraid to explore his own vulnerability. In my classroom, I teach Linklater Voice and the Stanislavsky Method – both of which rely heavily on tapping into past traumas and long buried emotions, in order to better create three-dimensional characters who respond to their world as we do as human beings. As a teacher, it is important to me that I impart the lessons of vulnerability to my students, so that they can access greater depths of their own experiences, and craft characters that seem as real as you and me.
In designing theater curriculum, it is imperative that teachers carefully sequence their instruction so as to construct lessons slowly and deliberately, so that we are building skill upon skill, and not creating a precarious house of cards. As a teacher, it is important that every lesson I teach has a clear lesson objective, an assessment tool, and an evaluation that allows me to judge where my students are at, and where they need to go. Ultimately, a teacher of the theater arts must be astudent of the student– taking as his course of study the unique intellectual and emotional journey of each individual student. The teacher must plan their classes carefully, and scaffold lessons in order to build upon previous knowledge in order to generate new skills and aptitudes.
Teach the Whole Learner Just as I believe it’s important to teach a wide variety of styles and techniques within a student’s discipline, I also believe it is important that we teach the whole student holistically, from the skills of their craft to how they interact with the world around them. Theater is a collaborative art form, and as important as it is for students to learn to be the kind oftalentthat people want to work with – they must also become the kind ofpersonthat people want to work with. Most high school students and undergraduates are at a critical age where they are still finding their voices, and figuring out the kind of person they want to be. These days, students come from such diverse backgrounds, and invariably have different strengths and deficits that we must address. It is not enough to teach the techniques of acting, for example, but we must also teach students how to be citizens of the world, good collaborators, hard workers, respectful colleagues, and ultimately, good people. Nowadays, everyone has an opinion, and social media is full of divisive rhetoric that only reinforces the already hyper-partisan world we live in. Everyone wants to TALK these days, but students need to learn how to LISTEN. In theater, listening is one of the most vital skills an actor must learn. In the Meisner technique, actors are required to truly listen to their scene partners, and respond accordingly. The ancient proverb reads, “The fool speaks, the wise man listens.” We must raise new generations of listeners Theater artists need to learn how to listen to the world, in order to improve upon it. As teachers, we must model good behavior, and instill these lessons in our students at every opportunity. That means, we must teach the intangible values of being a good artist.
The classroom is not about the teacher. It is about the student. One of the duties of teaching that I hold most dear, is the responsibility I feel towards the student, and how fiercely I value my role as mentor and advisor to that young person. Making art takes a lot of courage and temerity, and learning to be a good human being at the same time is even more challenging. Behind every great student is a teacher who believed in them, taught them well, and imparted life lessons that went far beyond the classroom. We must embrace a philosophy that gives the student options, and then allows them to find their own unique voice and the techniques that work best for them.
The Cautious Necessity of Nudity in Film, Television, and on Stage
As a director of both film and stage, I have directed several scenes involving nudity and simulated sex scenes. I find them completely justified, and would argue that they play a vital role in the art we produce and consume.
In other words, one of the primary purposes of art forms like television, film, and theatre, is to reflect nature as we artists see it, and as it really is. Some people — perhaps you — want their art as pure entertainment, and only require it to distract and entertain. These people want relatively mindless entertainment that doesn’t ask much of them, and is escapist enough that it doesn’t bear any resemblance to their own lives — or even any real lives on earth. This kind of entertainment is often considered wholesome and family friendly. Yet, some of this work transcends the mundane and blithe entertainment some families love, and actually educates and enlightens its audience. This brand of wholesomeness can be found in the work done by Pixar. It obviously has no nudity or swearing, and yet, it is smart and thought-provoking. Movies like Wall-E ask its audience to think about the earth, and how we treat it, and mildly condemn our sedentary consumerist lifestyle. What’s more, it does all of this without the use of very many words. Like the later Pixar film, Up, Wall-E allows the viewer to watch action unfold and tells its story wordlessly, trusting in the intelligence of the audience, and in its own ability to educate AND entertain. Movies like this don’t need to be encumbered by sex or violence to keep our attention, but still appeal to the unique feelings and emotions that make us human.
Those films are special, and although ostensibly being “children’s movies,” they have mass appeal to many adults. This is mostly because they can present kid friendly characters and scenarios in a way that is very adult, and can be fun and entertaining, while still be thoughtful and satisfying to older people.
However, sometimes it’s necessary for the subject matter to get more adult and portray mature themes only appropriate for people of a certain age. If the purpose of playing is to hold a mirror up to nature, that means that sometimes we must be unwavering in our depiction of humanity, and show our lives as they are, not as some Disney movie paints it. The reality is, sex and violence are two of the most enduring facets of human life. It seems that as long as humans roam the earth, they will inflict violence on one another, and they will have sex with one another. The very future of humanity depends upon the latter. As we know, money is the driving force behind the actions of many people, but sex has proven to be an even greater and more compelling motivator. It’s human nature, after all. We are all hardwired to procreate, and this is, and perhaps always will be, a determining factor in the choices we make in life. How could an art form pretend to portray real life, and hold a mirror up to nature, if it didn’t attempt to portray sex on screen or on stage?
When I direct a play, and it has nudity and a sex scene, I am extra vigilant about how I portray those moments on stage. If you consider how uncomfortable sex scenes on screen may make you feel, imagine live theatre, where two naked people could be simulating sex just a few feet away from you. In such a case, it is even more imperative that a director pay careful attention to how they are depicting such intimacy. Personally, I make sure that the nudity is never gratuitous, but is not afraid to show the actor fully and unflinchingly. When directing a sex scene, I pay careful attention to the power dynamic in the relationship. That doesn’t mean one character doesn’t dominate the other, but I try to get at why that is, and how that looks. I direct the scenes to be very realistic, while also artistic and with a slightly lyrical quality. The audience should be pulled into the action, but at the same time, have a vague awareness that they are watching art unfold. That they are watching a glorious illusion, and that these are artists making art in front of them. As a director, I enjoy that duality. It makes the experience meta, and the art can exist as a sort of reality AND like a painting in an art museum. You can be sucked into the painting, but will never totally forget that you’re in a gallery, and there are other paintings on the wall, all around you.
Some directors don’t want any fourth wall. They actually seek to demolish the device, and strive to create art that is so hyper-realistic, you actually think you are in the room, experiencing exactly what the characters are experiencing. The film directors Lars von Trier and Abbas Kiarostami are unflinching in what they show on screen. They believe that a film should be as close to real life as possible, and often eschew the trappings and tricks of filmmaking. Their films are truly examples of Cinéma vérité, a sort of documentary style cinema, where directors attempt to capture the darkness and grittiness of real life. In France, the spirit of the French New Wave, in the 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s was a revolt against the traditional old school Hollywood style that had come before. The classic Hollywood film was the embodiment of wholesome, symmetry, clean, neat, and orderly, and the stories weren’t messy and always ended happily and conveniently. These movies never had any nudity, of course, and the love and violence were G-rated. The French New Wave was an avant garde revolt against all things pleasant and orderly. The films were often hand held, and they were lovingly chaotic, messy, graphic, non-linear, and violent. These directors sought to rip down the fourth wall, and sucked the viewer right into the action. Not surprisingly, the films often contained graphic nudity and depicted simulated sex scenes. These directors wanted to show the vagaries of life, and refused to settle for some syrupy sweet and contrived story that bears little resemblance to actual life.
The primary reason why many writers and directors include nudity and sex in films, play, and tv shows is that it’s a part of real life. Why should we show fist fights, but shy away from murder and death? Why should we show love and attraction, but abstain from showing where those urges lead? Human beings have sex. A LOT of it, and most of it is not for the purpose of procreation. Why would we not depict something that consumes most of our minds, most of the time, and has driven men to murder, started wars, and ultimately led to each of us, from the lowliest born to the most royal King? Sex is what got us here, and it’s apparently what’s getting us through.
Finally, many people feel more invested in a story which they can relate to, and one which depicts a sort of avatar of themselves. Usually, we either see two people we want to be, OR we see two people who could be stand-ins for us. When people see nudity on screen, there are many different reactions. No offense, but some more prudish people have a reaction like you do, and are disgusted and repelled by what they see. They see such depictions of flesh as gratuitous, and can’t find any justification for why it would be included in any form of entertainment. Some are religious, some are moralistic, and some just aesthetically object to the practice. Many feel that sex scenes are off-story and tangential, and pollute an otherwise good story. When done poorly, I completely agree with this sentiment. All sex scenes — like violence — should be motivated by the character, and serve the overall story arc of the plot. Sex should never be gratuitous or salacious, just for the sake of shock value. It should have purpose. Realistically, the type of person likely to be offended is becoming more and more infrequent in society, as more of us have become desensitized to such cinematic and stage devices. Currently, many people demand such verisimilitude in their shows and films.
Without a doubt, for some, the inclusion of prurient material is sexually stimulating, and a draw to the work. These people seek out certain productions for the purpose of seeing sex and nudity. It may come as a surprise, but this group of people is small in number, and doesn’t adequately represent the average viewer.
For many of us, it’s rather something in between. I’m not interested in going to see some movie and being forced to endure some gratuitous sex scene with non-simulated penetration and graphic displays of flesh. To me, that’s not artistic. That’s porn. If I want to watch porn, I’ll simply go on the Internet. However, for the majority of people, the inclusion of nudity and sex adds to the art and reality of the experience. It makes the moment more realistic, and allows for the audience to be sucked in even more to the story. When we see two actors naked, they are vulnerable and reveal much more of themselves than we see when they are clothed. There is something unique and special about those moments, and it endears a character to us in a way unlike any other. When we see two actors engage in sex, we somehow buy into their characters more, and we feel more compelled to believe what we are seeing. People like to see people, flaws and all, and this moment of intimacy reveals a lot about people. Just like we often enjoy seeing actors improvise, or the camera to be placed in jarring documentary-style positions, we also enjoy seeing the story and actors laid bare. There is nothing more “behind-the-scenes” than human nudity and actors engaged in simulated sex.
Graphic sex and violence have no place in your children’s entertainment, and if you find it there, than something is seriously wrong. Children shouldn’t be treated as mindless drones, but we should be mindful of their ages, and what is appropriate for them to see. Family entertainment is all a bit bland and mindless to me, but I see its worth. Personally, I prefer stuff like Pixar, which is family friendly AND thought provoking. It is entertainment that is both socially conscious and responsible. It manages to get my mind moving, and do so without the use of graphic sex and gratuitous violence. And that’s great. BUT there is a time and a place for more mature elements in modern entertainment. A show like Game of Thrones is excessively violent and depicts graphic nudity and sex. AND IT SHOULD. That is the kind of art it is. For us to buy into this world of Westeros, we need to see something we can relate to. Additionally, since it is an analog for the middle ages, it is necessarily as violent and filled with sex as that lurid time in our history. We shouldn’t have to watch some Disneyfied version of George R.R. Martin’s instant classic, and be subjected to G-rated tales of ribaldry and action. The show depends upon its graphic depictions of sex and violence. Earlier this season, many fans of the show were turned off to a scene which ended in one of the beloved characters being raped by a monster of a character. In this particular case, the door closed, and we didn’t actually see the encounter, but briefly hearing it was enough. Many people were outraged at the sexual brutality a male character inflicted on a weaker and powerless female character. Meanwhile, for years these same people had watched people naked, dismembered, burnt, tortured, and massacred, but this was apparently the straw that broke the camel’s back. None of this would have been possible had it not been for the graphic and unflinching nature of the show. Was it the right decision or not? Had the show gone too far? IT DOESN’T MATTER. It went there, and it generated a lot of discussion, and invariably raised awareness about rape and sexual assault. Like all good art, it generated a discussion, and that’s something a lot of other films and shows can’t do. And that was all about something we DIDN’T see. Seeing all the graphic stuff before made THAT moment even more traumatic. It wouldn’t have been half as impactful had we not seen such graphic sexual acts prior.
Nudity and sex have their place in society’s modern art. It is our right to see life depicted as it really is, not through some Disney lens or some antiquated story about a Prince saving some damsel in distress. We are born into this world naked, and we spend a good deal of time in such a state. We spend hours of our lives having sex, and the very idea consumes many of us, for much of our lives. There is absolutely no reason why we shouldn’t be seeing sex depicted on screen or on stage. Does it belong in your daughter’s saturday morning cartoon lineup? No, of course not. But that is family friendly programming meant for THEM, and all the other graphic sex and violence is meant for US. If you are somehow getting them confused, I would suggest you look into the monitors and control settings on your computers and television. Nowadays, there is plenty of software to filter out inappropriate content for children. I would suggest you look into it.
Having said all that, I think there is probably too much sex and nudity in film, television, and theatre today. And I say that because I recognize that a lot of the time, the sex is not justified, and is included solely for the purpose of titillating and attracting an audience. More recently, I have felt like Game of Thrones injects too much gratuitous sex, and does so in order to entice in an unmotivated and prurient way. This betrays self-indulgence, lack of restraint, and appeals to the lowest common denominator in its audience. As I said earlier, sex and nudity should be like lines of dialogue, and serve the overall arc of the story. They should ALWAYS feel absolutely justified, and motivated by the action in the script. Characters are not mere play things to get naked at will, but should do so for viable and demonstrable reasons that make sense to them. An actor should always be able to justify why they are taking off their clothes.
Near the end of the original Terminator film, we see a sex scene between Kyle Reese and Sarah Connor, and I would argue that it is one of the most justified and motivated sex scenes ever included in a movie. We are seeing the culmination of love that had been building between these two characters, and it is the very embodiment of humanity, with all its organic hopes and dreams, in the face of this soulless machine that was pursuing them. It was so tender and loving, and it necessarily contrasted the mechanical menace that was hunting them, and the uncertain fate that awaited them. Sure, it was a rather cheesy ’80s sex scene montage with tasteful nudity and a synthesized score underneath, but it was also a much needed glimpse of humanity and vulnerability in a relentlessly violent and merciless story. Furthermore, it is the moment in which the imperative character John Connor is conceived, making it epic and vitally important for the future of the human race, and integral to the Terminator story arc. In many ways, it is rather an “Immaculate Conception.” In a movie full of termination, this is the very opposite…that of conception and rebirth. This is the perfect example of a film where the nudity and sex are completely motivated by the script, and help tell a more meaningful story. There are countless examples of television shows, plays, and movies that have similar moments of sex and nudity. It’s a part of life, and therefore, a part of art. That being said, we need to demand more from our artists, and keep them honest. Using sex and nudity recklessly demeans the art form, and reflects poorly on those of us who are trying to use it artfully.
The biggest complaint besides its excessive and gratuitous inclusion, is the way it is depicted. Since first appearing in film and on stage, sex and nudity has been predominantly represented by women, who have had to bear the weight of the act for far too long. The completely disproportionate number of women who get naked, versus men, is a direct result of the patriarchal nature of the movie business and our society, and sadly reflects how much men still control the production and consumption of entertainment. Women have been objectified for far too long, and as responsible artists, it is up to us to stand up for what is right, and bring more parity to the industry. If we expect our women to bare their bodies, we should have no compunctions about asking men to do the same thing. Next to its over-representation in art, sex and nudity need to be far more equal among the sexes. But to condemn it all as obscene and unnecessary is throwing the baby out with the bathwater. It more than has a place in the art of today. We just need to be more responsible in how and when we use it.
I recently read the article, Saying Stephen Hawking Is “Free” From His Wheelchair Is Ableist published in Teen Vogue. Initially, I had very mixed feelings about this article. In theory, I understand the spirit of saying, “The fact of the matter is that Stephen did all of his amazing work with his disability — not in spite of it.” We shouldn’t try and erase someone’s disability, and it is certainly part of them. I fully understand the idea that Ableism makes people unnecessarily ashamed to have a disability, and we must embrace the whole person, not try and strip them of their disability. However, as someone who is ON disability and LIVES with a disability, I would also challenge most people who have disabilities to honestly ask themselves whether they would choose to have that disability. I have no doubt that Stephen Hawking embraced his disability, and was successful with it and not in spite of it, but if given the choice, I wonder if he would have chosen to stand up and walk out of that wheelchair at any given time.
I know I would not choose to live with debilitating mental illness. Obviously, I don’t like the sentiment that death is a noble escape from disability. That’s reductive and diminishing. Clearly, disabled people can achieve nearly anything an able-bodied person can. But there are great obstacles. Huge challenges. I think its disingenuous to assert that people with disabilities would PREFER to have been born with, or develop a disability. Let’s be honest with ourselves. And yes, I’m sure this post will come under fire, and some people may even assert that I don’t have a qualifying disability because I’m not in a wheelchair. Yet, I still qualify as disabled. Doesn’t that qualify me to speak on the subject?
In this increasingly fractured and divisive time of identity politics, I sometimes wonder if we take these movements too far. To say I’m disabled, and proud is great. You should be. But is saying, “I’m disabled, and proud” the same as saying, “I’m black, and proud?” There’s nothing innately broken, disabled, or wrong with being black. Yet society seems to suggest there is something wrong with being disabled. Granted, no one chose to be black, just as no one chose to be disabled. But in our society, being black should be life-affirming, proud, and wonderful. Obviously, we live in a society plagued by Institutional Racism, and being black is unfortunately a liability much of the time. We live in an inequitable age, where women, members of the LGBTQ+ community, and minorities still face unenviable challenges. Many of them would rightfully suggest that racism, bigotry, and discrimination is a prejudice not unlike being disabled. However, for those of us who can rationally analyze what it means to be any race (as much as any of us can, given our pre-conditioning and stubborn socialization), we would embrace the fact that there is no inferior race, and that we are all human and blessed with an ineffable beauty. The same can be said about gender and orientation. And yet, in many people’s eyes, being disabled is somehow a state of being “half-formed” or “broken.” How could we not feel that way? Why would we be spending billions of R&D money trying to fix us? Being disabled is a social justice issue, just like being black in America is, but it’s not exactly the same thing. It’s hard not to feel inferior when your disability is trying to be fixed. Sure, there are plenty of people trying to “fix” black people or trans people, but no one worth listening to. Those people are just right, just the way they are. And we want to say that disabled people are too, but it is challenging, when to be disabled also means something or someone in need of a fix. It’s hard to directly compare disability with other social justice issues. No one in their right mind would try to fix being a woman. Or being born black. (although many people have tried) Yet, every day, we try and fix being disabled.
If we are truly honest with ourselves, we must also acknowledge that few people – if given the choice – would actually choose to have their disability. That may not be true for all, but I would venture to guess that a good many of us would. At the same time, I also allow that this thinking might be considered “Institutional Ableism” and that I have been socialized to see disability as “lacking,” “inadequate,” or somehow “broken” or “incomplete.” I accept that. I suppose there is a certain degree of self-loathing when it comes to having a disability, and many of us with challenges are “blessed” with the ignominious defeat of shame coupled with low self-esteem. I don’t deny that. I know that I am plagued by shame and guilt. Much of this undoubtedly stems from my disability. (A challenge, I might add, that has undoubtedly been with me since adolescence, but only recently diagnosed.) Does this ingrained and internalized guilt and shame manifest itself in self-loathing ways? Undoubtedly. I have no doubt that society’s view of disability and being in some way “broken” has worked its way into my subconscious. Hell, it’s right there in my conscious mind. I know what it feels like to feel broken. To be half-formed. To be somehow incomplete. Am I part of the problem?
I’ve sometimes wondered if developing a disability late in life may be more challenging than being born with one. That’s not to say that it isn’t as difficult dealing with the challenges from birth. However, I wonder if those who were born with a disability, and have known no other life, have an easier time accepting themselves and their circumstances. I sometimes wonder if it’s like the famous saying, “Time + Tragedy = Comedy.” Does Time + Disability = Acceptance and Self Love? For those of us who developed these disabilities after having lived a life without them (or without being diagnosed with them), it may take getting used to, and there may be an extended period of denial and/or shame. And grief, at the lives we perceive we lost. I may very well fall into that category. Perhaps I haven’t fully embraced my disability, and I am still entrenched in shame. If I truly felt blessed with my disability, perhaps I wouldn’t be so quick to try and shed it or profess the desire to have been born without this debilitating disease. Maybe I wouldn’t naturally assume that those with disabilities would choose NOT to have them, if given the choice. If my disability has in fact shaped me – as has my intellect, my height, or any other characteristic I have no control over – than perhaps I shouldn’t see it as a deficit, but rather, a trait not unlike the others. It is inescapably and indivisibly a part of me, and my identity. Maybe I would choose it.
In truth, Ableism is the stigma that keeps us from talking about mental health or averting our eyes from those in wheelchairs. It is the proverbial albatross around society’s necks, and one thing that prevents us from talking honestly about the emotional toll our averted gazes, furtive glances, and hushed whispers truly betray. As a society, we must grapple with the paradox that as we try to find cures for diseases like ALS or Bipolar Disorder, we are not trying to unduly cure the person suffering from those diseases of being who they truly are. How do we separate the person from the disease? Or do we? Can we love the whole person, while simultaneously attempting to cure them or their “disorder?” Is it even proper to call it a disorder? If “order” is normal and preferable, than surely disorder is broken and in need of a mend. I suffer from Bipolar Disorder. Am I in need of order? Probably. But is my life broken beyond repair, or is my condition just one of the many traits that make me unique and unquestionably loveable? I don’t know the answer to that question. I would hope it’s the latter.
The point is, the words we choose do matter. My initial reaction to this article was wrong. I was wrong to have a knee-jerk reaction to someone insisting it was Ableist to imply Stephen Hawking might choose death over his disability. Perhaps he might have. Perhaps he wouldn’t have chosen his disability. But he had one, and he chose to live his life fully and in a meaningful way. Maybe none of us would choose our disabilities, but for reasons unknown, they chose us. We weren’t cursed or smote by God, but by genetics, heredity, fate, circumstance, randomness, or whatever else you want to call it. It happened to us without our control, and we can either wallow in shame, or embrace what we’ve been given. Should we reject ourselves because of this? No! Is it okay to wish we weren’t burdened with these diseases? Yes. It’s okay. It has to be. We didn’t choose this. But we can choose how we think about our disability. Maybe we wouldn’t choose the disability. But it must stop there. The words we choose to describe our disabilities matter. We must be careful not to assume that someone would choose death over a disability. Or even that they wouldn’t choose it. Maybe they would. After all, it has made them who they are. Those are strong people, and something I aspire to.
What I do know is that I have a difficult time accepting my disability in its entirety, and I would find it surprising if anyone who suffers from a disability truly – in their heart of hearts – would choose to suffer with their disability or live without the pain, inconvenience, and accompanying heartache that disability inevitably brings. Maybe they would. I long to be that person who is so comfortable in their skin, that even their perceived deficits are seen as unique advantages. Perhaps one day, I will accomplish all the things I hope to accomplish not in spite of my disability, but because of it. With it. With all of me.
The words we choose matter. To be disabled is not to be broken. Even if deep down, I still harbor those hateful thoughts about myself. Even as medicine and science tries to cure us of our disabilities, we must cure ourselves…from the inside out. We must learn to embrace our disabilities, and accept ourselves for who we are. Only then, perhaps, we will choose to stay in the chair. Or learn to walk on our own. Society must learn to see us WITH our disabilities, and not be so hasty to change who we are and what we represent. The stigma is real. And if we cannot love ourselves first, it’s hard to imagine how we can expect others to see us fully and embrace us wholly. It’s a reciprocal relationship, and society needs to change, while we need to embrace our disabilities.
Maybe Stephen Hawking would have chosen the chair. Maybe he wouldn’t. But it’s not for us to decide.
We still have a long way to go. Perhaps me more than anyone.