Social Commentary

Essays concerning a wide range of societal issues, regarding topics such as the environment, racism, marriage equality, etc.

The Devil You Know: How Half the Country Could Have Voted for Trump in 2020…Even After Getting to Know Him!

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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…

A Tapestry of Tales: How Storytelling Weaves Culture

Introduction

When we envision a tapestry, it is easy to see how many threads join together to create a beautiful new and cohesive fabric, pleasing to the eye—and yet—also functional and utilitarian. It has an aim and intent. It is, at once, a thing to behold and entertain, while also having a purpose –whether to cover a wall, provide insulation from the cold, or to add color and panache to the interior design of a home. It takes many different colored threads to weave a tapestry that is pleasing to the eye, and in some way, it also tells a story. A tapestry tells a tale of the people who made it, and of the people it was made for. The color, design, pattern, and style all reflect the aesthetics and tastes of a particular group of people. A tapestry tells a story.

In much the same way, our society creates a tapestry of its own, as it weaves stories together, and creates a narrative of its past, present, and future. Since the first human beings began to speak and communicate, they have told stories and crafted tales that connected them to their home and environment, and linked them together as a community. The content, form, and function of these stories throughout our history reflect the morals, attitudes, mores, tastes, and belief system of the people who told the stories, and for the people they were intended for.

From Cave to Stage

Perhaps the first stories ever “recorded” were cave paintings, also known as parietal art, which were painted drawings on cave walls or ceilings, mainly of prehistoric origin, beginning roughly 40,000 years ago (around 38,000 BCE) in Eurasia. The paintings are the earliest known examples of storytelling in the world. The exact purpose of the Paleolithic cave paintings is not known. Evidence suggests that they were not merely decorations of living areas, since the caves in which they have been found do not have signs of ongoing habitation. Some theories suggest that cave paintings may have been a form of communication, while other theories posit that they were intended for a religious or ceremonial purpose. The paintings are remarkably similar around the world, commonly depicting impressive animals. Humans mainly appear as images of hands, mostly hand stencils made by blowing pigment on a hand held to the wall. Whatever their purpose, the cave paintings were a form of storytelling and were a distinct form of communication and expression.

Since humankind first began to communicate, it is obvious that passing down stories was important to the culture. Storytelling is what connects us to our humanity. It is what links us to our past, and provides a glimpse into our future. Since human beings first walked the earth, they have told stories, before even the written word or oral language emerged. Through these cave paintings and over fires, humans have told stories as a way to shape our existence.

Our Lives As Stories

In our lives, things impact us and we experience events that may seem random or unexplainable. It is natural that we would seek to relay our story to others and try and remember the events as they occurred. Things happen to us, which are inherently the elements of a story, but as humans, we have unique perspectives, biases, and beliefs, which naturally shape how we retell that story. Unlike the other animals we share the Earth with, human beings have the ability to think and to make meaning out of the events that shape our lives. Therefore, it is understandable why we as humans would try and attach meaning and create a narrative out of seemingly unconnected and random events. These are the building blocks that make for a story. To further the tapestry metaphor, these life events are the diverse and disparate threads that must be woven together to create a cohesive and engaging tapestry of a story.

Storytellers learned early on that people like to hear stories with a beginning, middle, and an end. We seem to be drawn to stories that have characters that look like us—or at least share characteristics we can relate to. We also desire to be drawn into a story, and enjoy when a story builds up to a thrilling climax, followed by a satisfying conclusion. Often, we want to use our imaginations, but sometimes we don’t, and prefer to passively have a story told to us. Many of us enjoy being moved by a story, either emotionally, or viscerally, like in a good action film or a tender tale of humanity and redemption.

A Visceral Experience

Throughout history, storytelling has served many functions, and continues to do so today. Perhaps the most basic and straightforward purpose of storytelling is to entertain and to distract.  When we go to see a movie like The Fast and the Furious, we are not going for the purpose of being educated, enlightened, or moved. When we watch films like that, we are there to be entertained. Entertainment can be delivered in various ways, and has naturally changed over the decades and centuries. However, the fundamentals of what entertains and diverts us have relatively stayed the same, even as the mediums, technologies, and methods of delivery have evolved and matured. Four hundred years ago, Shakespeare was writing plays that entertained us through humor and laughter, and action and horror. Not a lot has changed in the centuries since. Just as we draw inspiration from Shakespeare, the Bard himself drew inspiration from the Romans and Greeks, who had entertained through comedy and tragedy over a millennium earlier.

Throughout history, we can see humor and action used to divert our attention away from the tragedies, stresses, and discomforts of our own lives. Many people go to plays or to movies to be distracted from the stresses and realities of their own lives, and prefer to “turn off their brains.” These people do not wish to be educated or enlightened, but want the visceral thrill of being made to laugh or to watch action unfold on the screen. With major advancements in CGI, audiences today are being entertained at a higher and more sophisticated degree than ever before. It is possible to go see a movie and watch intense battle scenes and car chases that are completely manipulated or created digitally, and are viscerally thrilling and used to maximize excitement. Just as watching action sequences onscreen can distract a person, so can comedy. Both can function at a deeper level as well, but at its core, action and comedy are intended to entertain and distract us. Some of us prefer our stories to do no more than function as diversion, while others seek something deeper and more meaningful. These higher level thinking attributes of storytelling are deeply embedded in our culture, and are just as important to how we receive and incorporate stories into our lives. These elements serve to do more than entertain and distract us, but provide a more integrated and lasting impact on our society.

Our Emotional Connection

One of the significant ways that storytelling serves a society is through the use of emotion and empathy to build a rapportwith an audience.  When people attend the theatre or go to a movie, some are looking to get swept away in the action. For some people, that is as simple as watching intricate CGI action sequences play across the screen. In those cases, there doesn’t necessarily have to be a lot invested emotionally in the characters or the story. For many people, action and comedy can exist untethered from the emotional lives of the characters, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, for many people, they go to see plays, read books, and watch movies so that they can learn more about themselves through exploring the emotional lives of others.

The great Greek Philosopher, Aristotle, wrote at length about the purpose of storytelling and theatre. He spoke of catharsis, where an audience would be purged of all its guilt, shame, fear, etc. by watching something awful unfold, like a Greek Tragedy on stage. When people watch a movie, for instance, they often want to be taken on a journey of emotion, in which they feel the same excitement, fear, anger, thrill, and other emotions that the characters experience onscreen. The film is therefore a tool by which an audience can live vicariously through the characters, and experience what it’s like to be terrorized by a serial killer or explore outer space or do any other number of things they may not have ever experienced, nor may never experience in their own lives. Watching a play or a movie allows an audience to feel the emotions of a character, and take a trip with that person, without ever having to experience the very real effects of that journey.

In watching a film or play, people have access to a wide variety of emotions that they may have experienced in their own lives, never experienced before, and very well may never experience even once. The beauty of storytelling is that it allows people to empathize and relate to characters who may share a similar story as our own, or experience people who look nothing like us, and may have a very different life than our own. The power of storytelling is that it creates empathy in the viewer, who finds an outlet in order to channel their emotions into the characters in a story, and allows them to feel for the characters and feel LIKE the characters. This emotional connection is what invites people into a story, and motivates them to become emotionally invested in the characters and the storyline. Perhaps greater than dazzling action sequences or transitory moments of comedy, is the ability for a story to captivate its audience through raw emotion. When an audience is invested in the emotional lives of a story’s characters, they seem to be more devoted to the story and its outcome in general.

There are two primary types of emotional connection to a story. The first is to be engaged with the lives of characters who are feeling deep emotions and experiencing nuanced feelings like we have never felt before. In this case, an audience member is moved to feel what another human being feels, even if they have never experienced such emotion in their own lives. An example of this might be a person with money and prestige moved by the plight of a poor and dejected member of society, and their struggle to overcome poverty. Through storytelling, we are able to weave stories about people who may not look like us or come from where we come from, but are still able to engender pity and empathy within the viewer. In that case, the spectator becomes so invested in the character, they feel compelled to momentarily live another’s pain, joy, heartache, love, etc. This is the very definition of empathy.

The second type of emotional investment is when we see ourselves on the screen. These are the kinds of stories that are told about people like you and me, and people we know well. We are able to see ourselves in these characters, and can easily be moved by their stories, because perhaps they are enacting our own lives, and exploring the complex range of emotions we each feel everyday. When we see ourselves onscreen, we see all our hopes and dreams, triumphs and defeats, and all the nuanced emotions that surge through our bodies everyday. When we watch stories about ourselves, we can emotionally connect to what other human beings feel that we may have felt, in order to feel not so alone and to reaffirm our own humanity. In many ways, seeing ourselves onscreen or onstage is consoling, and allows us to claim a piece of our community, and reaffirms that we are all members of the human race. Whether someone is emotionally identifying with those who look different from them, or whether they feel they are looking at themselves on stage, it is difficult to imagine a more intimate experience than becoming invested in the emotional lives of the characters who populate our stories.

Building Character Through Characters

Another significant way that storytelling is important to a society is the way in which it creates role models and characters we can identify with. As human beings, it’s important to identify with certain types of people, learn behaviors, and become socialized as individuals. Just as our friends and family influence us immeasurably, so do the characters we read in books, see on stage, or watch in the movies and on television. From our first glimpse of television and movies to the first bedtime stories we hear, we are constantly exposed to characters who have professional lives we may someday aspire to. It is not uncommon to be introduced to doctors and lawyers, firemen and police officers, and truck drivers and astronauts. When we are exposed to these professions, it’s not unusual to develop an affinity for one job or another. Again, we relate to who we relate to, and it’s often easy to see ourselves in a story, including the jobs we have, the jobs we’d like, or the jobs we left behind. Storytelling is a way to introduce people to professions, and explore those careers right from the comfort of our own home or a seat in a theater.

Along the same lines, storytelling allows us to envision ourselves as somebody else –for good or for bad. It allows us to see ourselves as who we’d like to be—perhaps as an action star, a double agent, or a dashing romantic lead. Or perhaps just someone more confident, more outspoken, or more successful at love. We are able to measure ourselves against the characters we see onscreen, and that can be a motivating factor in making real and lasting change in our lives. Perhaps we are inspired by the stories we see, and are moved to take action in our own lives. Conversely, storytelling also has a cautionary function, and can depict characters who are cruel, gruesome, evil, and despicable in many ways. These kinds of antagonists can allow us to envision what we don’t want to be, and the kinds of people to stay away from.

In creating complex and engaging characters in the stories we tell, we are creating types that fulfill our needs in our personal and professional lives. When we see two friends on screen, we can look for those traits in new friends, and cultivate them in the relationships we already have. When we see romance on screen, we can aspire to have the same romantic relationships in our own lives. Naturally, we have to be cautious and realize that the stories we see are not always realistic and may be unattainable, but nonetheless, they can serve to inspire and motivate us in our own lives. What we see is often aspirational, and we can learn a lot from the characters we’re exposed to in books, on stage, and onscreen.

Morality, Socialization, and the Education of Youth

Since the first stories were ever woven, one of the major purposes of storytelling was to educate, as well as to entertain.  Storytelling may or may not have grown out of religious rituals and ceremonies, but either way, there has always been an aspect of storytelling that was meant to enlighten and elucidate. For instance, stories have been used for centuries as a cautionary tale to remind us what dire consequences there are for various actions we take. Stories serve to enlighten and prompt us to act, for when we forget the humanity of others, we risk losing our own humanity. There are many books which fall into the genre of dystopian fiction, which serve as reminders as to what can happen when we allow dictators to rule and authoritarian regimes to rule a nation. Several of these books have been turned into movies, and include 1984,Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, and A Clockwork Orange. Each of these books are cautionary tales, to remind us of the dangers of fascism – in all its many forms.

In many instances, stories are written in order to teach us morality and the difference between right and wrong. The characters often face tough moral challenges, and are forced to choose between the easy and convenient decision, and the difficult, but moral one. The book and film, To Kill a Mockingbird,is a prime example of a story that is intended to teach morality and to shape and change societal prejudices.  At the time it was written, the country was just beginning to emerge from the Jim Crow laws of the south, and the Civil Rights movement was challenging segregation and longstanding oppression. Author Harper Lee crafted the character of Atticus Finch to be an upstanding and moral southern gentleman, who would go on to defend the accused African American man, Tom Robinson, and fight racism wherever he saw it. Atticus’s children, Scout and Jem, were taught lessons about how to treat each other with kindness and empathy regardless of skin color, and we, the audience, were taught through his fine example.

A Lesson in History

Years later, Stephen Spielberg would make the haunting and arresting film, Schindler’s List, also based on a bestselling book. Through shockingly realistic depictions of concentration camps and fierce Nazi brutality, Spielberg weaves a cautionary tale for us about man’s inhumanity towards man, and the depths of depravity our brethren have sunk to. The film is intended to educate generations of people who never saw the Holocaust firsthand, and to remind us that we must “never forget” what happened there, and what could easily happen here, if we ever allowed a man like Adolf Hitler to gain power again. Like many important works of art, Schindler’s List is a story that educates us about our own history, while pulling us in with its characters and engaging story. We become emotionally invested in the characters, and are moved by their plights. While most of us may have never experienced the horrors of the Holocaust, and can only imagine the cost of such brutality, we are pulled in by the humanity of the characters, and are forced to empathize with their experience. A movie like Schindler’s List is successful on many levels, because the film manages to draw us into its story through action, good acting, an engaging plot, superb direction, masterful art direction and design, and emotional investment, while also educating us along the way.  We are taught a history lesson, a lesson in morality, and entertained all at the same time.

Storytelling can serve to educate a society about itself, and to provide a history lesson about where we all came from. We can learn invaluable things about who we once were, and be reminded of who we want to be.  Even science fiction serves the purpose of education and allows us to explore the possibilities and potential of the human condition. For example, as a cautionary tale, science fiction can warn of the dangers of technology run amok, without any thought to its moral implications. A movie like Metropolistells a harrowing tale of a future overrun by machines and the horrifying technology we have created to make our lives easier. However, if the human race is in fact evolving physically, it stands to reason that we are also evolving towards a more peaceful and moral society. When Gene Roddenberry created the original Star Trekseries, he imagined a future where humankind was equal and peace had been achieved on earth. Despite the racial turmoil going on in America during the late 1960s, Star Trekdepicted an egalitarian future, where all the races lived in harmony and had overcome such petty squabbles as skin color or gender. The story was set in the future, but many of its themes and ideas were rooted in the strife and struggles of mid-century America. Again, the show was intended as a cautionary tale, but not one as dark and hopeless as 1984or Brave New World. Star Trekprovided a hopeful and optimistic future of where we are going, or at least, what we can aspire to.

The Next Generation

Finally, storytelling is a way to teach our children, and the generations that follow us. This essay has already touched on how storytelling is used to socialize people, and introduce them to various professions, demonstrate positive and negative relationships, and to explore our wide range of emotions. It’s important for children to learn these skills, in order to be effective communicators and productive members of society. Storytelling also serves to entertain children, while also educating them about the past and the present, and allows them to imagine a brighter future—one which they can shape firsthand. Stories manage to use morality tales and parables to teach children about the atrocities that have come before them, and can guide them to make better choices in the future. Storytelling serves to inspire and give meaning to our lives, and allows us to make sense of an often chaotic and random world. When we are young, storytelling helps contextualize our lives and create a narrative not only for our own lives, but of our society as a whole. When we are able to create narratives, we are able to attach meaning to what has happened to us, and we are able to make decisions about how we want the future to be. When we are able to recognize that bad things happened as a result of poor decisions, we can minimize future bad decisions, and can take proactive steps to better our lives and the lives of those around us. Storytelling functions as a cautionary tale, an inspirational and aspirational tool, an education lesson, an entertaining diversion, and an emotional investment in people who may or may not look like us. Children are exposed to cultures they may never have seen otherwise, and our planet becomes smaller and can celebrate its diversity, rather than fear what makes us different. Just as a tapestry is woven by threads of all colors, the stories we tell are populated by diverse characters who make up the world, and who each have their own story to tell. Stories inspire us, and give meaning to our lives, and are an essential ingredient in the human experience. Without stories, our lives would be barbaric, primitive, and utterly meaningless. We need stories to tell us about who we’ve been, who we are, and who we hope to be.

Conclusion

Shakespeare’s Hamlet once said that a society passes on its values and uses stories to “..hold a mirror up to nature” to show us our reflection, however hard it may be to look. Yet, it also shows us where we came from, and to where we are heading. Storytelling is how we make meaning out of the chaos of human existence. It provides a shape, so that our own lives have a beginning, middle, and an end, and we can feel like we’ve meant something, and left our mark on the world. If each one of us could tell a piece of our life story, than we have a narrative, and suddenly, we are the protagonists in our own life story. Yet, that is what storytellers are there for. They serve to tell their own stories, and the stories of each and every one of us. This is why we create stories, and this is why we NEED storytellers. They entertain AND educate us. They are what make us human, and not savage beasts of the wild.

A Letter to a Fellow Sufferer: One Bipolar to Another

Dear T,

I am moving to Boston in just over a week, and I just wanted to say a few parting words… Although we are still technically “friends” on Facebook, we never actually got close in person. I can’t help but think that that has something to do with the things you’ve heard about me. It’s true, I don’t have a good reputation in the theatre community in Bangor. I directed at Penobscot Theatre Company, and I fell out with J. I. and B. N., I acted for Ten Bucks Theatre Company, and I fell out with J. L. I was set to direct at the Center Theatre in Dover-Foxcroft, ended up hastily resigning, and alienating your good friend, A. B. I am not proud of my behavior, and it is just one of the many reasons why I am leaving Bangor and moving back to Boston – where I have a stellar reputation and am much respected in the theatre community. I don’t want to make excuses for my poor behavior, but I do want to put it in context.

We both suffer from Bipolar Disorder, but apparently your affliction does not cause you to have severe mood changes and sometimes be an ass hole. I have noticed you are a beloved member of the community, and everybody loves working with you. That’s terrific. Disagreeable and anti-social behavior is one of the many symptoms of Bipolar, but apparently you have been blessed not to suffer from that debilitating part of the disease. That’s a good thing. Unfortunately, I did suffer from that. DID is the operative word. The stories you’ve undoubtedly heard about me all come from 2011/2012/2013. These stories are over five years old! When those people knew me, I had just been diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, and my meds weren’t adjusted correctly. I was on all the wrong medications, and I was grieving for the life I had lost. I was cycling between intense depression and mania. I also became addicted to Ritalin, and was snorting quite a bit of it. I was in and out of the emergency room, and I attempted to take my life on several occasions. And yet, I thought I could still do theatre. I couldn’t. I was miserable to be around. I was hardest on myself, but then incredibly hard on the people around me. I had unrealistic expectations of people, and inexplicably took my wrath out on them. I was not a pleasure to be around.

That being said, I can’t tell you the remarkable journey I’ve been on since then. I took a life-changing trip to Portugal, and came back a new man. I started working out, lost over 80 pounds, began to practice Yoga, delved headlong into my recovery/ therapy, took DBT/ mindfulness classes, started to eat healthy, and most importantly, got put on all the right meds, which balanced my moods and all but eradicated the mania and the depression. I quit Ritalin, and have been VERY healthy ever since. I rarely get depressed, and haven’t been manic in years! I am a very different person than I was five years ago.

Sadly, the theatre acquaintances we share can’t see that. They refuse to see that. I’ve tried apologizing on multiple occasions, but they refuse to hear it. They have unfriended and blocked me on Facebook. That’s fine. I understand that I didn’t treat them well, and I can understand why they’d reject me outright. Unfortunately, some people don’t believe in forgiveness and redemption. But I do. I believe in second chances.

My first suspicion that you may not like me was when you turned down my invitation to the Star Trek viewing party at my house. Ever since then, you haven’t once liked or commented on any of my posts, and I haven’t spoken to you in years. But I hoped that we could be friends. We are both actors. We are both writers. We both love Star Trek. We both have Bipolar. And we probably have many other things in common. I’ve found a publisher for my upcoming book, and I hope you’ll eventually read it. Although we’ll be separated by over two hundred miles, I hope you’ll consider truly being my friend. I am here to support you, and I want to be your friend. I just hope that you’ll come to your own conclusions about me, rather than rely on past impressions. Those days are thankfully over, and I look forward to having a second chance at life. I know that’s something you can get behind. I hope you can understand where I’m coming from. Sorry for the long message. I hope you are well.

A Brief History of Disability: A Response to the Teen Vogue article: “Saying Stephen Hawking Is ‘Free’ From His Wheelchair Is Ableist “

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.

To Belittle is to Be Little: Mansplaining & Our Words of Oppression

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So my mom was just telling me about a man she knows who sometimes talks to her like she was stupid and says sexist things from time to time. I quickly responded that he was “mansplaining” to her. She had never heard that expression. I then proceeded to explain it to her, while also being hyper-aware and vigilant about not doing the very thing I was preaching against.

I realized that this kind of hyper-vigilance is exactly what we all need to practice every day and in every circumstance. No matter who we’re talking to – friend, family, or foe. It’s not about political correctness. It’s about basic human decency and respect. We should always be able to disagree, but it’s about how we do so. 

I honestly think half the problems in this world aren’t necessarily caused by WHAT we say to each other and what we disagree about, but HOW we say it. How we talk to each other matters. It should be discourse built on an unspoken agreement of respect and civility. It’s about empathy.

The next time I talk to a woman, or a child, or a minority, or someone perhaps less formally educated- but no less intelligent, or ANYONE, I hope I remember what I learned today: words matter. Charity begins at home, and the way we talk to each other is the first step towards truly listening. And that’s where true compromise lies.

My Story: Living With Bipolar Disorder & Giving Voice to the Voiceless

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My name is Jon, and I live with mental illness. For over thirty years, I have worked as a professional actor, director, writer, and educator. I have taught high school, university, and adult education. As a writer, I write reviews, political essays, social commentary, and have been published on several websites. Despite my many accomplishments, five years ago – at the age of 35 – I was diagnosed with severe Bipolar I Disorder and ADHD, and it changed my life forever. Tonight, I am here to describe my journey into the abyss, but also to share my resilient story of hope and recovery, and how I am living proof that it is possible to live a purposeful and rewarding life while living with mental illness.

Five years ago, I was living in Chicago, and finishing up a Master of Fine Arts degree in Directing. During my three years of grad school, I had been arrested for DUI, faced jail time and thousands of dollars in fines, lost my driver’s license and totaled a new car, gone through a painful breakup, abused drugs and alcohol, and suffered the deaths of two close friends – one of whom had Schizophrenia, and took his own life. On top of all this, I was put on probation in my theatre department, and nearly kicked out of the program. Not because of my grades – I had a 4.0 and was at the top of my class. It was because I was having interpersonal conflicts, and couldn’t effectively collaborate with my peers. I didn’t know how to deal with stress, and was driven by an unrealistic need for perfection in myself and in those around me. I couldn’t handle rejection and criticism, and often lashed out in defensive ways.

In my final semester of grad school, I was working as an assistant director at a theatre in Chicago, with three very famous actors. I was living the dream. What I didn’t know then, was that I was also living with mental illness. Quickly, the pain and stress of those three long years began to catch up with me, and I suddenly had a complete psychotic break. And yet, I felt greater than I had in years. I was sleeping only about an hour a night, but I was accomplishing so much! I was more creative than I had ever been, and began writing books, plays, and keeping a daily journal –which I would scribble in all throughout the day. I thought I was the next Hemingway. I had delusions of grandeur, and pictured myself writing the next great American novel or a hit Broadway show! I was juggling dozens of creative projects, including painting, drawing, and sculpting, and had transformed an entire room in my apartment into an artist’s studio, where I furiously created art around the clock.

I also started spending all my money on frivolous things. In addition to creating art, I was also buying antiques and collectibles at a local thrift store, and selling them online at a business I had created for charity. Soon, I began working as a head chef at a local bar and grill, and somehow I imagined that I was on the verge of launching the next hit restaurant in Chicago.

But there was also a dark side. I was becoming increasingly erratic. I began to hallucinate and hear voices, and came to believe that I was the Son of God—sent here to save humanity. I let my hair and beard grow, and began walking through the streets of Chicago barefoot, giving sermons on street corners and preaching to prostitutes. I walked alone through some of the most dangerous neighborhoods in Chicago, and nearly got shot more than once.

When I wasn’t in the streets, I was preaching crazy ideas on Facebook, and no one had any idea what I was talking about. I was completely unstable, and began fighting with people on social media. I lost a lot of friends during that time. Many people thought that I was just being a terrible person, without realizing I was having a complete psychotic breakdown. The few friends and family I had left were worried about me, but for many, this was the first time they had ever seen someone in crisis, and didn’t know what to do. After several failed attempts to get me help in Chicago, my family finally flew me back to Maine to receive the treatment I needed. There’s no telling how much longer I would have survived in Chicago. By the time I left, I was convinced the CIA were watching me, and planning my assassination. I was a danger to myself.

Within three days of arriving in Bangor, I was at PCHC (Penobscot Community Health Center), and had seen a primary care doctor, therapist, and med manager. Before long, I was diagnosed with Bipolar I Disorder and ADHD, and put on several medications. I was also referred to the NAMI Bangor (National Alliance on Mental Illness) support group, and a Dialectical Behavioral Therapy class, to receive lessons in mindfulness and dealing with interpersonal conflict. All of this saved my life.

But make no mistake. I thought my life had ended. As scary as my time in Chicago might sound to you, for me, it was thrilling and exciting. Those three months of mania had been the most stimulating in my life, and I had never been so inspired or productive. I thought I was God, and now, here I was back in Maine, on disability, and living in my parents’ basement. All I wanted to do was die.

When I first got back, I attempted to teach and work in local theatre, but once again, I had serious conflicts with my colleagues, and gave up altogether. I became increasingly depressed, withdrew from friends and family, and rarely left the basement. I was overly medicated and could hardly function. I used to be a passionate and articulate person, but now here I was, drooling and could hardly feel a thing. I became suicidal, and made several attempts on my life.

For ADHD, I was put on Ritalin, and before long, I was snorting it for the high. It was the only time I felt creative and alive—like I had felt in Chicago. I was snorting an entire month’s supply in a week, which would make me manic, and not allow me to sleep for six or seven days at a time. My life was spiraling out of control, and I prayed every day that it would just end.

And it nearly did.

But about a year and a half ago, everything changed.

I was addicted to Ritalin, had gained nearly 80 pounds, and had been rushed to the emergency room several times. I finally said to myself: “You gotta get busy living, or get busy dying.” I realized I was trying to kill myself slowly, and things had to change. I decided to get busy living. But I needed to find purpose again. I had been on disability for over three years, and knew I couldn’t work. Yet, all my life, my work in theatre and education had given me all the purpose I needed. After all, I had sacrificed nearly everything—including a wife and kids—for my career. For the first time in over thirty years, I could no longer work, and had to find a new purpose for living. Before I could even get healthy, I needed a reason to get out of bed in the morning. I needed to find something I loved again. One semester during college, I had lived in a castle in the Netherlands, and had traveled all throughout Europe. However, I had never made it to Portugal—the country where my family came from. I decided that whatever it took, I was going to take a trip there.

You have to understand that I hadn’t been on a plane in four years, and was absolutely terrified. I have claustrophobia and severe social anxiety, and I was worried about trying to navigate language, culture, and transportation in a foreign country. I was concerned about breaking from my routine, and becoming disoriented in a strange and unfamiliar place. Every day, I went back and forth between thrilling excitement and absolute crippling terror.

In order to ensure that I was safe and had a good time, I knew that I had to plan this trip very carefully. I spent hours each day pouring over maps, watching travel videos, reading books, researching the culture, and carefully constructing a detailed travel itinerary. By the time I arrived in Lisbon, I knew that city like the back of my hand, and didn’t even need a map to find my way around. My trip was a resounding success! I had no problem with the flights, communicating, or staying on schedule. You see, despite the limitations of my disease, I had managed to turn an unfamiliar place INTO a familiar place, and Portugal became like a second home. Living with mental illness doesn’t mean you have to stop living, it just means you have to plan better!

When I came back from Portugal, I was a new man. I had a renewed sense of purpose, and a feeling of accomplishment. For years, I had been crippled by insecurity and low self-esteem, but after my trip, I had nothing but confidence.

The first thing I did was quit Ritalin. Next, I renewed my gym membership, and started swimming and working out 3-4 times a week. I changed my diet, and lost over 40 pounds. I worked with my doctors to get me off the more sedating medications, and found just the right combination of meds. I started walking several miles each day. And after years of being told I should volunteer, I finally did. Within weeks of my return, I began volunteering for NAMI Bangor, where I currently serve as a Media and PR Assistant, and help the President—Betsy—with outreach and advertising for all our NAMI events—including this one. I enrolled in a training program at Literacy Volunteers of Bangor, and now tutor and mentor adult literacy students, as well as work with children reading and distributing books. As a tutor, I spend hours each week creating lesson plans and instructing adult literacy students.

I also researched and learned as much as I could about Bipolar, and soon realized that having a daily schedule and routine was vital for my survival. I started planning my days, and keeping a strict calendar. Every morning, I wake up at 6 am, do yoga, make coffee, drink a smoothie, and listen to NPR. I work out, relax in the sauna, swim, eat healthy, and attend weekly NAMI meetings and weekly therapy sessions. I devote a few hours to reading and writing, and a couple hours to watching tv. I craft lesson plans, teach students, coordinate NAMI business, and volunteer on political campaigns. The point is…I stay busy. I finally got out of that basement.

I can’t tell you how much NAMI has meant to me as an organization. It literally saved my life. In group, I talk with other people suffering from mental illness, learn coping skills, get advice, and have access to helpful resources. I’ve made deep and lasting friendships, and found fellowship with others who have been where I’ve been. After years of trying to convince my parents to attend a family meeting, they finally did last month, and they loved it. It allowed them to talk with other parents, and get a little bit of perspective about me and my disease. They were finally able to vent, and to grieve, and to seek the advice of others who knew the pain of having to care for a loved one. They are now committed to attending every month, and I’m happy to say that they are here with us tonight.

Recently, I switched to a new therapist, and I’ve made more progress in two short months than I had in over four years! I cannot express how important it is to find a good therapist, and I would recommend it for everyone, whether you suffer from mental illness or not. There is something deeply profound and therapeutic about taking to someone who knows what they are doing. If you’re interested, NAMI can help you find the services you’re looking for.

I’ve also decided to move back to Boston, and return to work again. Over the next year, I plan on applying for college teaching jobs and to start directing again. However, I will never stop volunteering. It gives my life purpose.

I want to say that despite the fact that I have made significant steps in my recovery, I still have bad days. Even bad weeks. In fact, these last few weeks have been tough for me. Every so often, I go through a brief, but deep depression. There are times when I still have fleeting thoughts of suicide. When I don’t get enough sleep, I am always at risk of becoming manic. It’s important to understand that there is no cure for mental illness. Only management. Those of us in recovery are each on our own path to wellness, and realistically, that means times of dizzying success, and times of great struggle. There are relapses and stumbles along the road, and there are times when I honestly don’t know if I’m gonna make it. There is no silver bullet for mental illness, and it’s something I will live with for the rest of my life. I will always be susceptible to the darkness. However, it is treatable, and with planning and vigilance, it is possible to lead a healthy and productive life. It takes work. A LOT of work. But as they say in AA, it works, if you work it.

Since being diagnosed, it has taken a lot of courage for me to admit that I live with mental illness. At first, I was scared and ashamed, and didn’t tell anyone. Over the years, I’ve slowly “come out” to friends and family, and three months ago, I revealed my illness on Facebook, where I’ve received nothing but love and support. Tonight is the first time I have ever publicly spoken about my disease. But it won’t be my last. It’s time we end the stigma of mental illness, and I am personally committed to a life of advocacy. Most people had no idea that I was suffering in silence. And that’s the point. That’s why I’m here tonight. And that’s why I will continue to speak all over the state and the nation, to small groups and large, to community organizations and in front of legislators who have the power to fund mental health care and reform our broken system.

But I’m also here to ask for YOUR help. If you’re afflicted with mental illness, I encourage you to seek therapy, and perhaps attend a NAMI support group. If you suffer in silence, as I once did, I would ask you to consider being open and honest about your condition, and living out loud and proud. It’s not easy. There is still much work to be done. But the more of us who come forward with our stories, the more people will realize how common mental illness truly is, and the easier it will become to accept. The more we normalize mental illness, the closer we get to treating it as you would any other disease of the body. Like every great social justice issue, SILENCE IS DEADLY, and we have lost too many people to mental illness. Every day, in this country, we lose 22 veterans to suicide and undiagnosed PTSD. Over 40,00 people take their own lives every year in this country. For those of you who have friends and family who suffer—and I guarantee you do—I would ask that you educate yourself about their disease, and look for ways that you can advocate for all of us. This is an epidemic, and we need your voice and support. It starts as small as offering aid to a friend in crisis, but it doesn’t have to end there. We here at NAMI have several resources to help, and I encourage you to seek us out. You’ve already made the first step in coming here, and I thank you for listening to my story.

SOME THOUGHTS ON PITTSBURGH, AS MY PLANE TOUCHES DOWN

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Sixteen years ago this month, I moved to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, and it changed the course of my life.

I had been trying to make it as an actor in Los Angeles for nearly two years, and I hated it out there. I was profoundly unhappy, and felt superficial and empty. I wanted to give back. So, I joined AmeriCorps National Service, and I was assigned to an inner-city high school in Pittsburgh.
I served at Northside Urban Pathways High School as a tutor and mentor in a program called Knowledge to Empower Youths to Success (KEYS). One of the requirements in my year of service was that I do a community service project. Many of my colleagues in the program were doing things like bottle drives and organizing park clean-ups. As important as those thing are, I felt like I would best serve the community by sharing my art and using my skills in the theatre to try and help the community in some way. Late that spring, I directed my very first play. It was an original work, written by me and the students, covering topics like racism, homophobia, sexism, and other social issues. For many parents, this was the first play they had ever seen. For most of my students, it was the first play they had ever been in! It was an amazing and transformative experience, and the parents and school community were really moved and impressed. I had never directed a play before, and the experience was so rewarding and inspirational, it made me seriously reconsider what I wanted to do with my life.
As it turns out, the school liked me so much, they decided to hire me as their English and Theatre teacher the very next year. The only stipulation was that I earn my teaching certification. While teaching during the day, I went to school nights at a very good small Liberal Arts college in Pittsburgh called Point Park University. I studied Education, and within two years, I earned a Postbaccalaureate BA in Theatre Education, Grades 7-12, with certifications in Theatre and Communications. I graduated Suma Cum Laude – at the top of my class. It was wonderful to be back in school. It also made me realize that I eventually wanted to go on to earn my Master’s degree.
On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was teaching my first week of high school. I had just taught English to my freshmen, and was about to start teaching my seniors. The school was a small charter school on the tenth floor of a building owned by Point Park University — directly in downtown Pittsburgh. I was told by one of my seniors that a plane had flown into the World Trade Center in NYC. Given that he was kind of a class clown, I did not believe him at first. He told me to turn on the television. I did, and we all watched in horror as the second plane hit, and I realized that we were under attack. During a hasty and impromptu meeting in the hall with the Principal and other teachers, we were told that there was a fourth plane, and it was headed directly at Pittsburgh. Authorities believed that it was heading towards Washington D.C., but had no idea if it would get there. All we knew was that it was heading towards us. Given that we were on the tenth floor of a downtown building, we were told to evacuate. Since all the kids were on the city bus system, we sent them all home, and called their parents.
After making sure all the kids were gone, I left the building, and was horrified by what I saw. The entire city was in a panic, and everyone was trying to evacuate. It looked like the scene out of some dystopian disaster flick. Everyone thinks about the nightmare scene in NYC and DC, but not many people know that Pittsburgh thought it was going to be next. If you know Pittsburgh, you know that the city lies at the intersection of three rivers, and that there are more bridges in the city than any other in the world, except for Florence, Italy. As you can imagine, all the bridges were packed, and there was huge congestion. Luckily, I lived in a nice neighborhood called Mt. Washington, which was over the bridge, up a small mountain, and overlooked the city and three rivers. I simply walked over the bridge and took one of the inclines home. The Monongahela and Duquesne Inclines are historic inclined plane cable cars that go up the side of this hill in Pittsburgh. At the top of the hill, are breathtaking views of the city, including the stadiums where the Steelers, Penguins, and Pirates play. Yeah, we lived up there! When I got to the top, I went to one of my favorite restaurants and sat and ate, as I watched all of the news coverage on television. It was — hands down — the most surreal experience of my life. I still have nightmares about that day.
Pittsburgh is one of those cities which gets a bad rap. Almost no one has actually been there, but everybody talks about it like they have. Everyone thinks they know Pittsburgh. They most often think of it as a dirty, grimy, blue-collar steel town, right in the heart of the rust belt. Many people have described a rusty, white version of Detroit, filled with falling down buildings, and soot-covered everything. While that may have been the Pittsburgh of 30 years ago, it doesn’t resemble the place I came to love. While it’s true that there are lots of abandoned industrial buildings, what’s amazing about the city, is what they have done with them. They have turned buildings into artist studios and living spaces, art galleries, museums, performance spaces, and all kinds of mixed-media venues. They have also created amazing restaurants in these spaces.
What people don’t often realize is that all that steel money had to go somewhere, and in many cases, it went to the arts and sciences. Carnegie Melon University is one of the premiere arts and technology universities in the world, and Pittsburgh has many other great colleges and universities as well. That Carnegie money also went into creating some amazing libraries, as well as the extensive network of museums the city has to offer. There are science museums, art museums, history museums, and just about every type of museum you can imagine. There is beautiful architecture all over town, as well as wonderful parks and green spaces spread throughout the city. And of course, who can forget the storied sports history Pittsburgh has to offer? The Pittsburgh Steelers have more trophies than any other team in the NFL, and the Pirates and Penguins have their own share of impressive hardware.
One of the best things about Pittsburgh is that it is thoroughly unpretentious. It has some of the best museums, universities, and sports teams in the country, but it’s still a small town feel. The city is still a very working-class place, with a wonderful arts community and money to support the arts. It has a world class ballet and symphony, and many great places to eat. It is a first class city, at a very reasonable price. The cost of living is very low, and your money goes a long way there.
While I was in Pittsburgh, I also got the chance to act A LOT! I got an incredible amount of work, and developed close relationships with their local theatres — The Pittsburgh Public Theatre, The City Theatre, and the Point Park Playhouse. It was in Pittsburgh where I saw Adam Rapp’s play, ‘Blackbird,’ starring future Oscar nominee, Michael Shannon. The play would have such a profound affect on me, I later went on to direct it as my first full length directing project in grad school. During the month that it played, I must have seen it seven or eight times, and became close to the Artistic Director, and often got to hang out with the cast and the playwright, Adam Rapp. Because I established this relationship with Rapp, I was later able to fly him out to my graduate school and host him for a series of workshops and lectures, and had him screen his film adaptation of ‘Blackbird.’
Even though I was just a young actor of 24, I was planting seeds in Pittsburgh that would later blossom. It was in this city that I directed my first play, and realized my love for directing. I would later go on to get my MFA in Directing from Illinois State University. It was also in this city where I taught my first class, and realized that I had a love and affinity for teaching. Directing and teaching are what I do for a living today, and it all started in Pittsburgh. It was also where I got my second degree in Theatre Education, and realized I loved school, and wanted to pursue my Master’s degree. It was also where I first considered going into Academia.
Finally, Pittsburgh was a place where I found myself. I found love in Pittsburgh, and although those romantic relationships didn’t last, they taught me a lot about myself and the kind of partner I wanted to be. I made lasting friendships there, and it was the place where my best friend, Brendan, and I grew closest. For three years, we shared an apartment together, and shared a lot of memories. His family was there, and I grew especially close to them. It felt like a second home. I will always love Boston, and consider it my one true home, but Pittsburgh might be my second favorite city I’ve lived in. Obviously, other cities have much more to see and do, but Pittsburgh is where I became a man. It gave me my spirit. I’m glad to be back in Pittsburgh, and to catch up with old friends!

A House Divided Cannot Stand, But Should It? Is This Nation Too Broken To Mend?

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In the last two weeks, I have been to a Clinton rally with Bernie Sanders and a Trump rally with Rudy Giuliani and Donald Trump, and I must say that I am really frightened and saddened by the state of our nation. We live in two different Americas, and I cannot help but think that perhaps it would have been best if Lincoln hadn’t preserved the nation. What would have happened if we had not fought The Civil War? I know that it’s practically blasphemous or treasonous to even suggest such a thing. And I also know that even with the Mason-Dixon line, there still was no easy way to divide the nation then, and would be nearly impossible today. These days, we have red states next to blue states, and then all kinds of purple states, and then within states, we have large swaths of red rural areas, and dense blue urban areas. Undoubtedly, it would be impossible to somehow divide the country along ideological lines. It’s just not logistically possible. However, in some ways — and on some days — it seems like it would be a hell of a lot easier than healing the divide in this country, which seems ominously close to tearing us asunder.
 
And I know all you eternal optimists will reject my words, and just say we need to all work together, and put the nation first. Sure. I’m sorry, but from what I have seen over the last two weeks, we are not even speaking the same language. We have VASTLY different ideas about which direction this country should go in. WE LIVE IN TWO AMERICAS! And neither side is willing to see the decency and good in the other, and neither is willing to budge an inch. I am not optimistic.
 
I don’t believe Hillary will win in a landslide, but I do believe she’ll win. However, I still think she loses. If we thought Congress was obstructionist and didn’t work under the Obama Administration, I shudder to think about how broken it will be under a Hillary Presidency. Whether I vote for her or not, or like her or not, there is no arguing that she is a deeply divisive and polarizing figure. Just as he is. I hate to say it, but we got the election we deserve. Sure, we could have put up better candidates, folks, but that is NOT what the electorate wanted. That is not who we are as a country at this time. We are a deeply divided and polarized nation of extreme viewpoints, and we nominated exactly who we thought could fight our battles. We wanted two polarizing figures, who were sharply divided on the issues, and spoke our minds. And we got them.
 
Donald Trump will slowly fade from our memory, and eventually be a sad footnote in history. But I’m sad to say, we must share this nation with his supporters for generations to come. He has exposed an ugly underbelly, and given voice to hatred and bigotry. He has somehow empowered the poor working white man, and given legitimacy to their fears of foreigners and other people they see as threats. If you had been at that Trump rally yesterday, you would have seen how scary this portion of the electorate is. Sure, there are good people voting for Trump, and bad people voting for Hillary. There are bad apples in every bunch. But don’t confuse the two parties and candidates. Hillary may have her obvious faults and has clearly made some poor decisions, but Donald Trump is a sociopath, and many of his followers are legitimately dangerous. Don’t sit there and try and tell me that they are two sides of the same coin. Remember, I have been at both rallies. The Clinton rally had no metal detectors, was extremely peaceful, had no protesters, and was ALWAYS respectful. Bernie mostly talked specific policy points, and rarely spoke of Donald Trump. When he did, it was never personal, and it was always respectful. He spoke of why Trump would be bad for this country, but never did he hurl insults or epithets. There was no name calling or calls to “Lock him up!” or “Jail the Rapist” or any other such nonsense. The crowd was rational and even-tempered throughout.
 
On the other hand, the Trump rally was scary. There was OVERT racism and sexism, with all sorts of nasty and misogynistic chants from the crowd. I heard awful and disgusting things yelled in that auditorium, just as we were surrounded by young boys and girls, and their frothing, hateful parents. I saw disgusting tee-shirts with not only hateful and abusive language, but violent depictions of what they should do to Hillary. These were people not only calling for her imprisonment, but demanding she be raped and murdered. Don’t for a minute confuse these two groups of voters. Those people at that Trump rally may not represent all of Trump’s fans. I know there are good and decent people voting AGAINST Hillary, and are admittedly holding their nose, and voting for Trump. But I’m sorry, that’s almost as bad. By voting for this man, you are endorsing him and all his bad behavior. You are giving him your mandate, and you might as well be one of his rabid, frothing followers. You are rubber-stamping a monster. At least with his hateful bigoted supporters, I know where they stand, and who to look out for. I’m more frightened of his silent supporters. If you think it’s just a small segment of the electorate, think again. Consider all the more moderate Republicans who refused to rebuke him or unendorse the man. Men like Paul Ryan. Yes, the Speaker of the House. The third in line to succeed the President, in case of emergency, and a tremendously powerful figure in Congress. He has refused to pull his endorsement of Trump despite blatant xenophobia, Islamophobia, sexism, misogyny, homophobia, racism, and bigotry. Even in the face of charges of sexual assault and misconduct. I honestly believe Trump could rape and kill someone on camera, and not lose a single supporter. Could he harm a child, and get away with it? At this point, I think so. 
 
We live in two different Americas. And I have very little hope that they will get along and work together any time soon. A victory for Hillary will not end this “election nightmare.” I’m afraid this is just a prelude to a much more troubling road ahead.
 
Sorry to be such a bummer. 😦

What’s Past Is Prologue: Why Verifiable Reality Can’t Even Stop Donald Trump

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I was just having a conversation with my friend about how unbelievable Donald Trump is in denying he said and did certain things, that are so easily proven otherwise. Like…um…there’s a paper, video, and audio trail, sir. Nope. Doesn’t faze him. Some might think that he is completely disassociated from reality. I’d like to think that, but I think it’s even worse. At least in that case, he’d have an excuse beyond just being a complete narcissist.

To me, I find it unfathomable that someone who is so skilled at using social media and the press to his advantage, could be so defiant in the face of demonstrable video and audio that is irrefutable and damning. I don’t think he’s disassociated from reality. I believe he knows that cameras have caught him in lies and ensnared him in inconsistencies. I just think he’s a man that has gotten his way his entire life, and flies in the face of reason and doubt, that would most certainly make the rest of us apologetic and contrite. His reversals and refusals would cripple anyone else, but in Trump, they only make him MORE resolute and defiant. He ALWAYS doubles down. He has such a force of will, that he is defiant in the face of inarguable truth. I have never seen an actual human being demonstrate the concept of Hubris more than Trump — like you would find in a Greek Tragedy. He puts Oedipus to shame. He puts Nixon to shame. He is so proud and singularly focused, he doesn’t need physics and reality to get in his way. It’s stunning.

Donald Trump is so convinced of his own greatness, he honestly believes that he can will facts and evidence out of existence. He believes his cult of personality can honestly erase all of his many flaws and inconsistencies. And why not? Despite a media that constantly point out his many gaffes, his own supporters see him as flawless and always consistent in reinforcing his message of hate. Those who love him refuse to hold him accountable, and therefore, he never has to contemplate change, self-reflection, or regret. As he has said repeatedly, “I could stand in the middle of 5th Avenue and shoot somebody and I wouldn’t lose voters.” I honestly believe there could be video of him raping, torturing, or killing someone, and he would probably still not lose any voters. It’s unprecedented.

Trump has the ability to make US all feel crazy for trying to use HIS words against him, and prove that it’s not us who are insane. My friend, Tammi, put it best: “It’s like Donald Trump is Gaslighting the entire nation.” Yup. That’s exactly it.

Colin Kaepernick & Captain America: Two Caps Fighting Their Own Civil Wars

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Have you ever thought about the similarities between Colin Kaepernick and Captain America, who are both referred to as Cap (Kap)? Stay with me. I know it’s a stretch, but if you’ve seen Civil War, you know that Captain America defies popular public opinion, and defends a known criminal, openly defying Congress’s call to register all superheroes and “profile” America’s defenders. His opinion is not a popular one, and this once popular superhero becomes labeled a traitor and demonized by a large portion of America. However, he does have his commited defenders, and this is why the superheroes are split, and the reason the film and comic story arc is called “Civil War.” How appropriate. 

Colin Kaepernick was once a hero of the NFL, and he has decided to stand up to police brutality by taking a knee. He has had an overwhelming majority of negative press, and people calling him a traitor and un-American, but he also has a large group of supporters, not unlike Captain America.

Whatever you may think of Colin Kaepernick or Captain America, they both represent the best of America. It just depends on what you see when you look at our nation. Do you see it as a perfect and flawless nation that we should make great “again” or a great nation in need of improvement, and the ongoing effort to “form a more perfect union” — for every American?

I think they are both superheroes, and saying I support Colin Kaepernick and Black Lives Matter does not mean I hate cops or don’t support “all lives” or “Blue Lives.” 151 years later, we are still fighting the Civil War.

 

Photo Credit: Drawing by Dave Rappoccio