Admitting a Mistake

Hello from my upstairs sanctuary,

Each day I want to believe – seriously I do – that we cannot become more divided, more visceral, more unwilling to listen to the other, but each day it seems I can be proved wrong. The last 24 hours have my head reeling. To listen to the flash gernades in the background as I waited for the President to address us from the Rose Garden yesterday was such a juxtaposition that seems to typify everything in our country right. That was one thing. However, to find out on the hand that he (or his Attorney General, William Barr – and this is an addition) specifically had Lafayette Park cleared of a largely peaceful protest, using flash grenades, tear gas, and rubber bullets to walk over to St. John’s Church carrying a Bible moved beyond even how low I imagined he could go. The response of the Episcopal Bishop this morning (and clergy who were gassed in the church) sums it up quite appropriately. And, then to top it off, he broke his own curfew, just imposed by Mr. Law & Order, to walk over there. Where in any of this can one find even an inkling of appropriateness?

As a person who has a background as a history major, a theological background as a former ordained Lutheran pastor, and two degrees in rhetoric, I find myself trying to make sense of the optics of last evening’s incredibly profound fiasco that began as a Presidential statement. Certainly, I agree that when protest disintegrates into violence and looting, that is beyond a serious problem (and some for whom I have great love and I have disagreed since my posting about this). However, there needs to be recognition of the reason the anger has become so visceral. I could list the names over the last 10 years; I could explain what I know my students of color face everyday in terms of being treated differently, viewed suspiciously, or spoken to disrespectfully by supposed law-abiding, often conservative-Christian, white people. Most of us, if we will stop and think, would be angry, fed up, and struggle also. Think about it on an individual scale. Anyone who has been married and divorced: generally (hopefully) you believed you could not love that person more on the day of your wedding. And yet something disintegrated. The hope, the trust, the foundational belief in the goodness of something changed. Did you ever holler, swear, throw something, punch something, do something out of anger you wish you had not done? Did you ever hate them so much you wished them dead? Sad, but most of us can probably answer yes. When you are so angry you wish them dead or out of your life, regardless, perhaps we come to some understanding of how the loss of hope, trust, and foundational belief in society for those marginalized for years might feel. I have watched as some have gotten angry merely over being told to wear a mask and have stormed the State Capitol waving guns (which btw, what did 2nd Amendment have to do with anything in that statement last night?). If the same people now demonstrating against discrimination, even without hollering or chanting, walked into the State Capitol carrying a gun, legally or not, what would happen? I would venture someone would be in a hospital recovering from bullet wounds, and charges would be filed. Do you not see the double standard in this? Can we not admit we have systemic racism in this country? Why is it we are afraid of mail in ballots? That is the way to manage a change appropriately should we as a county believe there is a change needed. I voted two weeks ago. I requested and got my ballot. It came to my mailbox as it should; I filled it out as I should; and I was notified that it was received and would be counted, as I should. Studies have shown the incidences of fraud are minimal (I could list them, but will not) and the states with Republican or Democrat governors is split almost 50/50. In addition, of 5 Western States, those who have gone to mail in balloting, three have a Republican Governor or chief election official (Collier, 29May2020). The governors and the chief election officials of any state, regardless their administration’s party have a swore duty to uphold laws. The seemingly prevelant argument that Blue States have no laws, nor enforce them, is asinine. The false narrative that all non-white people are trying to sway an election is fear mongering at the very least. More importantly, it is yet another example of disenfranchisement of a significant part of our electorate at its worst. It is discrimination at its most fundamental worst. Certainly the right to cast a ballot has been a struggle many in of our democratic country has experienced from the outset. There was a reason for the passage of voting laws to curb that. Yet, as typical of our states’ rights bent, if you were a woman, a black, an immigrant who gained citizenship, the ways states made it difficult to vote are legion. Too often the stories of KKK leaders, those who hid under their pointed hoods, were the very law enforcement people, the very lawyers, and the esteemed businessmen of their communities, too often the supposed Christians sitting in the pews on Sunday morning, but more accurately little more than bigots and liars with not enough balls to be honest.

The difficulty today is the only thing changed is their tactics, but their actions result in the same discriminatory and hate-filled rants that went along with their white-nationalistic, their white-supremacy-filled, hateful rhetoric and the crosses they burned in the night. Today they argue that the way of the white person is being overrun by immigrants, illegals, or academic liberal ideology that somehow questions their 21st century version of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party. I know this is an incredibly inflammatory statement that will anger some people, but I believe this is where we are. The President’s statement yesterday is not that different from the arguments that an Austrian failed-artist once made to rile his base supporters in the 1930s. I am reminded of the statement of Martin Niemöller, the German theologian and pastor imprisoned for his opposition to what Hitler had done to the church. Hitler demanded that the church show allegiance. Hitler too was obsessed with loyalty. Niemöller wrote, “First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist . . . Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out— because I was not a trade unionist . . . Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—because I was not a Jew . . . Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” Being called socialist is something this President has done to those like Senator Sanders and Warren, and certainly many in the right fringes have picked that up. The role of unions has been battered by big business and certainly those who do not want to allow labor a decent wage. This has been an argument for some time. And yet, while the President has promised job things like the auto plant in Lordstown, OH would be back bigger than ever, he has taken more than one auto company CEO to task for not playing his game. An issue of loyalty again. As I have noted in recent blogs, the fact that we can go from 3.3% unemployment to 19% in less than three months (40,000,000 people unemployed) gives some indication of how strong the job market really was. And while there has been a significant uptick in discrimination and hate crimes against the Jewish people, what is happening continually against blacks, which has never really stopped, the Muslim people, particularly post-911, the Hispanic people, because current administration policies from the very first statements when President Trump declared his candidacy, and now Asians, because of Covid, referred to regularly in discriminatory terms by the President as the China Virus, are all exemplars of this administration’s bigotry. To what extreme has this happened? Check out the recent video news conference when he told an Asian reporter to ask China about the Corona virus. When she appropriately asked why he would say that to her, he acted like she was wrong. Incredible. Futher, more problematic is his overt and blatant racism is met too often by silence by many in the Republican Party, the very party the helped pass the 13th Amendment and was led by the Illinois Senator who stated unequivocally that “a house divided against itself cannot stand” (Lincoln, 1858). In questioning the role of slavery in the country, Lincoln understood that this was a national issue, not merely an issue of popular sovereignty as his opponent Stephen Douglas had argued. I believe we are, at minimum, at a crossroads once again. Yet as our President wants to claim law and order through his militaristic threats, he simultaneously argues the states need to do their work while he has ultimate authority. It is the divide and conquer strategy. When there is no clear path forward, chaos can reign and the individual gets lost in the morass. More significantly, the creator of the chaos claims it is not their fault.

In the last 24 hours, this President, who can argue that he can grab women by the genitals and they will let him, wants to now hold up a Bible and somehow make us believe in his faithfulness. As a former pastor, I will note I never believed I had the right to question the position of someone’s soul, but I do believe that the importance someone’s faith has in their life is demonstrated through their daily actions and words. I will let that statement speak for itself. And as such, the photo opportunity after clearing Lafayette Park is an anathema to faithful well-intended, struggling Christians or people of any faith for that matter. As people protested in Lafayette Park on Monday, members of the clergy were at the church, offering water and aid as things were peaceful. As noted in the New Yorker today, the scene that unfolded as the President strolled into the recently cleared park was beyond words. “When he reached the sanctuary, he did not go inside. Instead, he turned toward the camera, and members of his entourage assembled into a tableau so bizarre that it took a moment to understand what was unfolding. He held up a Bible and posed with it for the cameras, clasping it to his chest, bouncing it in his hand, turning it to and fro, like a product on QVC. He did not offer a prayer or read from scripture. On either side of him, his aides fidgeted awkwardly; there was the droopy, basset-hound visage of his enabling Attorney General, William Barr, his unrelenting cheerleader Mark Meadows, the chief of staff; his spokesperson, Kayleigh McEnany, who grinned madly. Apart from Ivanka Trump, none wore masks” (Osnos 2Jun2020). There was no contacting the Bishop or the clergy of the parish, there was no mention of God, it was simply an arrogant bully, a foul-mouthed, poor-excuse-for-a- President getting his picture taken with sacred scripture. This crawls into the depths of nothing I have read or researched since the Reich Church swore an allegiance to Hitler.

When are we willing to admit the mistake we made in the last election? Hopefully soon. While I was not an initial Biden supporter, wanting the process to play out, his statement yesterday is more presidential than any statement I have heard in three and a half years (this is an edit also). When are we willing to question the policies of an administration who make a mockery of checks and balances, and jeopardize the very democracy we want to believe we have? If you take the time to look at some of the speeches in Germany of the 1930s and the Presidential rhetoric of today, the parallels are obvious, but the enemy is a bit different. The enemy is not pointed at any one group, but rather at anyone who speaks out in disagreement. Certainly, the use of Hispanics, immigrants, Arabs, Muslims, and other groups of color are well encased in the President’s disdain, but it goes farther. When anyone disagrees, his inability to manage disagreement is well evidenced. I can appreciate that people were fed up with the normal politics because they too (and I believe there are good people on both sides of the aisle) seem to do little more than figure out how to stay in office and maintain their power; most often at expense of the masses. As I have argued, term limits would be an important remedy, but I would term limit both Congress and change the term length and change the length of a term for the President also. I would do the following as related to terms and their limits:

  • Six Years (three terms) for House Representatives
  • Eight Years (two terms and this changes the length) for Senators
  • Six Years (one term, which changes to a single term and the length of term) for the President

I know this would have some difficulties like, for instance, is a President automatically a lame-duck? Six years is a long time to do nothing, but I am thinking it would require people to work harder, more diligently, and more thoughtfully. I would also take away their life-long pensions (at least in Congress). It would limit the power any one person could have and in that is democracy. Can we admit that President Trump, who I can appreciate was elected both because of his business acumen and because Secretary Clinton had flaws as a candidate, has not been successful? If the economy was successful, would it have tanked as quickly? Would the stock market had wiped out things as quickly? Can we admit that we have a systemic racism issue in this country and while looting and rioting are a problem (as one of my colleagues regularly admonishes me ‘Michael, that is an F-ing understatement), the anger behind it is justified and must be worked with? It is a mistake not to do so. To admit failure or mistake is difficult, but it is also a chance for redemption, which is a biblical term, a theological term. It is a chance to change direction and make amends for our failings. It is a chance for forgiveness and for renewal. We need renewal desperately if we are to come together as a people. The words of the Reverend Doctor King need to ring out from every corner of this land if we are to create a society he dreamt of. I wish I would have been more courageous earlier in my life to speak against so much injustice, but like Niemöller, I have too often acted as if it did not affect me it was not my fight. I have to admit, I was wrong, but never again. I will not be silent in the face of tyranny and injustice, the injustice that too many people I care about face each day. I know this is a difficult blog for some to read, and I am more than willing to speak and listen to those who disagree with me. Come visit the acre and I will make the coffee or offer a beverage. I am not kidding. I am not saying you do not think; I am not saying you are bad if you openly disagree. I am saying I think I have too often been silent when I should have stood up and supported those who do have the same opportunity to speak up. That time is now.

Thanks as always for reading.

Dr. Martin

When Hope Devolves into Despair

Hello from my yard,

    Completing my seminary education in St. Paul, and living in the Twin Cities for 5 years, and then only an hours commute for another 6, I feel I am pretty acquainted with the metropolitan area. Likewise growing up in NW Iowa in what was considered a pretty large town at the time, I am well aware of the “whiteness” as a general demographic of the upper Midwest. Watching the news and listening to the responses of both mayors of Minneapolis and St. Paul as well as Governor Walz, my heart aches for those affected as the consequences of what seems to be yet another case of an overzealous officer treating a black man as someone unworthy of humane treatment regardless the situation leading to an arrest. I know I was not there, but how many have taken the time to watch the video more than once, appalled by a technique that numerous law enforcement people have regarded as unnecessarily brutal? How many listened to the clerk who called the police to begin with? How many of us, who are not black, brown, or Asian, have really attempted to understand how they might feel, how often they fear for their lives as a general daily practice, or to what extreme we as white people really consider that we are too afraid to admit our colonialisms in our own country? What do I mean by that you might ask? It is simple to state, but incredibly hard to accept. As a white person I am afforded privilege simply because I am white. I am allowed access to things that people of color must work harder at if they are to have that same access. The concept of separate, but equal was deemed discriminatory by the SCOTUS in a landmark decision, but in practice it still exists at all levels of this nation. As a white male I too have struggled at times, arguing I am a victim of reverse discrimination, if you will, but when I think about it more critically, I realize the insignificant things I want to claim as unfair pale in comparison to what my fellow citizens (and I use that word intentionally) of color must overcome 24/7.

    In her amazing book titled White Fragility, Robin Diangelo, a professor of multicultural education as well as a consultant and trainer of racial and social justice issues, addresses so many things that we do unconsciously that contribute to the idea of racial inequality. Consider this for a moment if you will: when you see a black, brown, mulatto, or person who is not white, do you recognize and first see them as whatever that color is? When you see another white person, do you first recognize them for their whiteness? As I noted above there were times I felt what I called reverse discrimination. More likely, I have heard about it or wondered about it, but have I ever felt it? Studies show that while “55% of white people” believe there is discrimination (and this sort of understanding is based on things like Affirmative Action), to a great percentage, when pushed a much smaller percentage say they have actually experienced this (Diangelo, 107-108). Much more often, when most white people are pushed we fall back on our stereotypic response. I have black friends ~ I work with black people ~ I try to support black/brown/other people. Everyone of these responses is racist. What Diangelo notes is white fragility is about recognizing and admitting white privilege. She, who is, btw, white herself, asserts being aware of our privilege, if we can even admit that is not enough. Too often we attempt to be more inclusive, but the very idea that we believe we need to reach out to be kinder, more accepting, or focused on equality, we actually further the white fragility and racial underpinnings that cause us too often to see someone who is not white as the other. When I was part of a faculty reading group who worked with this text this past semester, it was stunning to see how we struggled to figure out what we might do. There were non-white people in the group and it was beyond eye-opening to hear their perspective. I do not believe there was a bad person in the reading group, but I can say with some incredible certainty that we all walked out that group after 4 or 5 weeks with a very different perspective on what our whiteness signifies to others. Too often, we see racism as an individual act versus a systemic problem. Too often, we believe the things we see or hear we would never do, but each time we look out at the situation, we are missing the point. As a white person, I am privileged and our society is structured to maintain that privilege. I know what some are thinking and what some are saying. For some, it is I do not believe this. For some, it is what am I supposed to do? I know that is in part true because it was a question the reading group asked among ourselves.

    When the killing of a black man in the streets of Minneapolis or of a black woman is killed in her bedroom in Louisville, many of us are aghast, but what does that change? I think many thought when we elected President Obama, racism was over. What a naïve thought. I think many of us one to believe that racism is a Southern thing or an inner-city thing. Racism is because we are afraid to admit our privilege. I know of black students, those attending Bloomsburg where I teach, who have a saying that it is not safe beyond the fountain. I know where then the monster truck show is in town at the fairgrounds, our students of color are warned to not go out by themselves. What does that say? Be honest with yourself for even a minute. While I am fortunate to live where I do, I can say that I am continually amazed by the number of Stars and Bars flags I see in this state, ironically when it was in this state (Gettysburg) that Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia was stopped and that turned the Civil War. I have a colleague whose parent was born in the Pittsburgh area, but has spent significant time in the South, and as such refers to the Civil War as the War of Northern Aggression. All of this is really a precursor to what I believe we are facing as we move into the summer of 2020.

    I do not remember such a simmering, smoldering, tinderbox in our cultural fabric since I was about 13 years old. That was the summer of 1968 and the April assassination of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and an assassination of a second Kennedy brother had our country reeling. That along with the Têt Offensive, which did as much to push the United States into the realization that the North Vietnamese and the Viet Cong were willing and able to fight a war of attrition was a turning point in how the American public viewed what was happening in Southeast Asia. The previous summer of 1967 saw rioting across the country and it was particularly deadly in Newark and Detroit. Paradoxically, Dr. King spoke to a large crowd of mostly white people on March 31st of 1968 at the Washington National Cathedral (there were more than 4,000 people in attendance). He noted, “I don’t like to predict violence . . . but if nothing is done between now and June to raise ghetto hope,” King continued, “I feel this summer will not only be as bad but worse than last year” (Wills, 01Apr2008). He would be assassinated four days later. The four days following his assassination would rock our country again, and the political fallout would be witnessed at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago later that summer. President Lyndon Johnson, who is argued to be the Civil Rights President, would choose to not run for office again, which would push Bobby Kennedy to seek the Democrat’s party nomination, only to be assassinated himself. It seems the parallels of the Covid situation and now of incredible unrest, which I believe the unrest is appropriate (I am not saying I agree with looting, firebombing, and other violence.) as the number of times a black male has been killed by police seems to continue unabated. One of my former students posted what they would do if their child was to be killed by police. They did not mince words, and I know how serious they are. This is not a time for vitriol or foolishness. It is a time to step back and be honest with what we are dealing with.

    It is now Sunday morning and I graduated from high school 47 years ago today. It is still incredible that I have been blessed to see that much life beyond those public school years. It was a different time. Some of what I noted above was happening then. Vietnam was supposedly wrapping up, but I would end up there two years later as a 19 year old to help with our evacuation. Iowa Beef Processors had quite a strike my senior year in high school over union wages, workers, and what should happen. And while the violence is nothing like we see happening now, I remember the anger my father had of people crossing picket lines to work. As a journeyman electrician, I grew up believing that the union was one of the few things available to protect the blue-collar, tradesperson. I have never lost that understanding, though it has perhaps been tempered. In the spirit of transparency, I am a member of our professor and coaches union, and I am proud to be such. I was a whole 28 days away from leaving for MCRD San Diego at that point. I had little idea about the larger world I was going into, but I believed it to be a good place. I believed that what I would do would help set me on a path that would provide yet unseen opportunity. To put it simply: I had a hopeful attitude and inquisitive mind. I knew, at least tangentially, there were difficulties, but the service did more than help me grow (I grew three inches and gained 25 pounds in bootcamp alone). It taught me how, as our drill instructor put it, there was only one color in the Marine Corp. It was olive drab. While we certainly had clicks: there were the cowboys; there were the brothers as they referred to themselves; there were Hispanics; and yes, there were those of us who were just there, hoping to get somewhere afterwards. To this day, I learned more about humanity and myself at that point. It was a bit coarse and matter of fact. If you have never watched the beginning of Full Metal Jacket, while many will find the language a bit offensive, it was how we were treated and the dialog is spot on. I still remember the first time I saw it and the person I was sitting with questioned if it was the first time I saw the movie. Indeed, it was the first time for the movie, but I had lived it a few times.

    What I know 47 years later is much of the idealist fervor I had as that 17 year old is gone, but I refuse to despair. Are there serious issues for us all? That is an understatement. It seems everywhere I look, there is more than a slight reason for concern. When I grew up, serving in the Congress, imagining becoming the President, or now again, after yesterday, an astronaut was something to aspire to. Of the three, I think the astronaut would be still there. What is happening in Washington on a daily basis, on either side of the aisle is abhorrent. The lack of decorum and civility, the comments and what seems, unfortunately, to be necessary about labeling someone’s writing as suspect creates all sorts of problems: yes, from protected speech to the power of the words and why it seems we need to be warned. That is a topic for an entirely separate blog in and of itself. It is that I am wiser and see the connections and the complexity of what is happening? I wish it were that easy. I do see the connections and I certainly realize the complexity, but it seems we are content to live with the inherent inequity that permeates our country unless it affects us personally. The problem is it does affect us, even when we do not see the immediate consequence. When there is no hope, the future is tenuous at best. Then there is despair because you cannot protect the people you love, anger soon follows. Fear and anger are all encompassing, particularly when it seems there is no way to change things. We are facing another summer of questions, but these questions are not new. After I wrote about my student last night, I called them and told them how sorry I was that they had to worry about this for their black son in the world we live. They noted how they would have to educate them to protect themselves in this world. What a profound statement. All of us try to teach our sons and daughters, our children who identify in whatever way they believe to be safe and protect themselves, but what does it mean that parents have to teach some to learn how to respond when they are mistreated, discriminated, or abused by the very society they live in? No wonder there is despair, anger, and struggle. It seems we need to be honest about the change we need to make; it is a profound and all encompassing change. It is an incredibly different change, but if we can do it, we can move toward hope once again. When I was ordained, I had this song sung at my ordination, It seems appropriate to remember the words of St. Francis once again.

    Thanks as always for reading.

    Michael

    “Are We Still of Any Use?”

    Hello from my kitchen bar counter on a Thursday afternoon, 

    When I began writing this, we had just managed freezing weather, wind chills of the lower 20s in May, and then during a week of grading, yesterday felt like summer might actually be on the horizon (and even in my yard). It was a week of three constants (two of the three at least as of late). I worked on things for various aspects of my life as a professor. Contrary to what many think, we do not really have vacations. We have times where the focus on the immediate changes. For instance, I did not have classes this past week, although I start again tomorrow for summer already (and I know that is a choice I make). While it is only one class, it is in a condensed format, so I need to manage 15 weeks material in 4. This is a tall order, and when it is remotely, it is more work. Again, it is not a complaint because I love teaching college aged students (and some high school students as well as non-traditionals). My first 8 or so years at Bloomsburg, I focused on my teaching, service, and developing a professional writing program. For those who understand the academy and its demands, that means my scholarship suffered. I did not have the time to write and publish as I should. Therefore, over the last two years, I have changed focus, and I need to continue doing so.Therefore, for the coming summer, I have created a plan to work on classwork for the fall, work on strengthening my Polish, and working on my scholarship. While we might not be locked down as much as we have been, I will still be quite cautious about how I return into society and whatever it looks like. I am not anxious about that, but I do believe pretending that Covid has disappeared would probably result in my disappearing and I am not quite ready to do so. While it might appear I am everywhere, all of the meals I have prepared and only been dropped off and left for those who I deliver to. We have chatted at the door from a distance a couple of times, but otherwise, with the exception of the Covid (Corona )Cafe group, I have not been around a lot of people. As we move forward, I am sure the ways I can safely transition or cannot, will be figured out. As I write now, I am considering turning on the central air because it has reached 87 degrees in my upstairs. 

    Contrary to what it might seem, I have never been a person who wanted to go into politics. I find them fascinating, but to be an actual elected politician is not something I wish to do. It is kind of like administration at the university. While I have chaired a college committee, served as a program director, and worked closely with some in administration, I have no desire to be a chair, a dean, or any such thing. I admire those who do those things, but it is not where I see my gifts. I think that is the point of what I have been thinking these past weeks, and perhaps even more so during the last two months. It was two months ago yesterday that we began a second week of Spring Break, which would lead to where we now find ourselves as a country. I had noted that we would lock down and some of my students believed I was bit alarmist. I am not really that sort of person. I am not a sound-byte-hear-and-repeat person. I am a thinker and a ponderer. I do not disrespect or dislike people who think differently than I. I am not a person who believes those who are content where they stand are bad people. What I do, however, have a problem with is people who are unwilling to think or question. As seems to be the exception rather than the rule, this latest national issue (which spans from the individual to the world) has created yet another we versus them. I am not sure where I fall in the continuum, but being confrontational and unwilling to consider all the consequences of this pandemic is ludicrous. I understand the economic issues and that there are incredible hardships both on a personal as well as a national or global stage. Do I understand all of it? No; in fact, it would be interesting to have Lydia to explain it. She was an international economist and she was brilliant about how it all worked. In our own country, the pandemic has exposed a number of fiscal and economic shortfalls in our current system. The fragile reality of many small businesses, the actuality of the job growth that has been touted by both Democrats and Republicans, and the continued argument that we had the best economy ever has been shown to be not much more that the famed fairy tale, The Emperor’s New Clothes. Without the PPP, which has fallen short of hopes, many more small businesses would be gone already. What will happen at the summer’s end is still open and unsure. While 11 years of job growth has certainly been trending upward, many of those jobs do not pay as many union jobs did. I know of many people who work two or even three jobs to try to make enough to manage. And finally, while the stock market was in record territory, 50% of Americans do not own stock. Those who do average about 90,000.00 a year; those who do not average about 45,000.00 (Schrager, 09/05/2019).Those are three important considerations before we consider what has happened in the past 8-10 weeks. 

    The Congress has passed two bills  that have pumped almost three trillion dollars into propping up the economy. Jerome Powell, the Chair of the Federal Reserve, has, in just the last week and a half, noted there will be a need for more. It does not matter where your political leanings are at this point. The first three trillion dollars is an example of social democracy. It is the government stabilizing the economy for the entire country. That is a form of socialism, that dreaded word. In the meanwhile, and there has been some rebound, but there is little doubt that all the gains in our portfolios over the past three and a half years were wiped out in less than 6 weeks. How stable are we? How amazing is the economy? Not that much. Again, we have rebounded, but the volatility in our market (and the global markets) is real. Before this had hit, Germany, the economy that under-girds the EU had retracted for two consecutive quarters. The economic retraction for the second quarter here in the US was 37%. That is unheard of. More significantly, we have no idea what the third quarter will be nor do we have sense of what the next year will bring. What does all that mean? It means a great majority of us are at the mercy of the few. Again, I say that, but still have a job, so please know that I am both aware and blessed at how fortunate I am. I know the difficulty for most is wanting to play a blame game, and I, myself, have been guilty of succumbing to that process, but I think the more important question is the question that Bonhoeffer’s co-conspirators posed to him after 10 years of Hitler begin the chancellor of Germany. They wanted some sort of absolution, some forgiveness, for their plan and the action they believed necessary to save their country. Yet, Bonhoeffer was not willing to offer such an easy way out. He instead asked the question that all must ask themselves at difficult times. Are we still of any use?

    When we have so little power, particularly when the economic processes that drive the country, and the world for that matter, are so much bigger than any one individual (save perhaps a Jerome Powell or the President). I can only do what I know is possible in my limited situation. What is that? Go to work, do the best I can, and hope that my job stays secure. So far, it seems to be the case. And yet, I have wondered what might happen should that change. What would I do? I can certainly sell what I have and downsize. I could certainly consider other options in terms of what I do or where I live, but all of that is pretty daunting at the very least. What use am I in this given situation? I can try to make others’ lives more hopeful, more reasonably comfortable, if even for a day. I think to use Bonhoeffer’s words in this address, which come from a sermon or mediation, if you will called “After Ten Years.” ” . . . We have been drenched by many storms; we have learned the art of equivocation and pretense. Experience has made us suspicious of others, and kept us from being truthful and open. Are we still of any use?” It seems that almost every day we are battered by arguments from both sides of our political divide about what is happening to our democracy. As a storm of sorts, they do not stop. On both sides, we have learned to speak out and receive the ire of those who disagree with us, or we learn to merely be quiet and let whatever happens happen. Is there a happy medium somewhere? Is pretense all we have in this present political/economic/medical turmoil? What is honest pretense? It means that it is impossible to merely stand idly by. “Justice for Bonhoeffer required a sense of mitleiden. One could only be involved if one was willing to suffer with those who suffer. It was the costly solidarity of participation” (Rasmussen, Bethge 70). Bonhoeffer, by choosing to return to Germany and plot against Hitler, rejected equivocation or even evasion believing that speaking out (through action more than word) was necessary even at the cost of his own soul. The struggle to find the good in the other now seems to be much like what I see and hear daily in our news. As such, too often we are suspicious of someone who thinks differently. We are afraid to question what is truth be it the newspaper, the news media either in our sets or on our computers? And yet, if we are willing to ask tough questions, and yet ask respectfully, the consequence is we have even less power than the minute amount we already have. 

    Our real power is still in our ballot and casting a ballot as an informed and thoughtful citizen. Too often I hear people say, well I do not know enough, so I do not vote. That is a terrible excuse with a dreadful consequence. Too often, we are only willing to listen to the things that make us comfortable or solidify our limited viewpoints. I too can be guilty of this at times. Someone incredibly close to me reminded me that people who think differently than I do, do think. It was important for me to hear that from them. So are we of use? Yes, one voice, one vote, one decision at a time. I struggle in this time as much as the next in terms of wondering where it will lead and what sort of a world we will have. We have a changed world. The other day someone noted their struggle with the term “the new normal.” It was an eye-opening comment for me. It is new . . .  as they noted, but there is nothing normal about it. As I walked around with my mask on, which I do whenever I am off my property or not in a place where I know the others and their habits, I questioned what small children must know or think. I wondered what they imagine as they see so many adults walking around with masks. One of my colleagues has been questioning the rhetorical consequence of mask-wearing. What will the university be like in the fall? What will we do? What will a classroom look like? What will events look like? From concerts to professional sports, from large lectures to churches? Will it be safe once there is a vaccine? Will it be safe if there are enough people with antibodies? What will happen to travel: cruises, planes, trains, subways? Whatever new will be, there is little to no normal? Perhaps it is good this happened in an election year? Why? I am not even sure, but somehow I think so. 

    Whatever we have on the other side of this nationalism will not fix it; globalism will not fix it; and certainly no one vaccine or company, no single political ideology or small groups of companies, and no one religious or ethnic position can manage this virus. Are we still of any use? Yes, I believe we are when we become one collectively, hopefully, and openly. Yes, when we chose life and care over individual self-aggrandizement. When we believe we are all of value and each person is important, I believe we are of use. I am continually humbled by things I learn both from others and my return to my dissertation topic, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. We are of use when we seek justice for our world and we are willing to stand for that justice, even at the expense of our own lives. Bonhoeffer pushed the limits of what sort of things could be questioned. That is nothing new in our country, and one of the people I most admire in terms of what they have done is Alan Alda from M*A*S*H. What he offers here is interesting to me. 

    Thanks as always for reading.

    Dr. Martin

     

    Questioning, Pondering, Disagreeing, and Respecting

    Good late Saturday morning from my study,

    I have another blog I have been working on for about a week, but have decided to shelve it for the moment and take a different direction. I has some issues with sleeping last night, if I am going to be as transparent as I believe I should. I reposted (shared) the words of a Catholic priest who offered his thoughts as a clergy person about the appropriateness of our President threatening to reopen our national churches as essential businesses. The difficulties with that from both a political and medical standpoint can have people debating for weeks, years, and perhaps decades, but that is not where I want to go with my blog. It would be low-hanging-fruit, to use the phrase to do so. And while sometimes I do post things to create discussion and have people question others, last night was not one of those times. Nonetheless, it caused a number of people to state their views on that post.

    One post in particular did more than cause me to pause, it created a somewhat sleepless night. Is that a bad thing? Not necessarily. The person who posted is a former student from my UW-Stout time and someone for whom I have both appreciation and respect. She was a talented and diligent student and cares deeply for her family, her faith, and the people for whom she cares. I have always known her as a strongly faithful Catholic and she now has a sizable family. I believe she is probably the most incredible mother and also someone who can create something or whip something up, and in spite of the fact she was simple in what she used, you would believe you were visiting a Michelin restaurant. She noted in his response that in spite of holding her tongue on a number of occasions, this time she had to let me know that she disagreed with me . . . and to her credit, let me know, she did. While I am still prone to disagree with her on a number of points she raised, I think it took courage for her to disagree with a former professor of hers and I respect that she did so. She spoke from her heart and from a deep-seated and abiding faith she holds as a Roman Catholic. While it was interesting to me that she did not note she was disagreeing with the words of a Catholic clergy person, she did note the personal consequences being unable to be involved in congregational worship created and the pain she was feeling. Again, I think her intentions were pure and she felt a compelling need to question the position I had laid out by reposting the words of the priest. 

    I think the difficulty for her (and ultimately for me) is the responses her post created, as is often the case in our present polarized atmosphere, is our struggle to honestly listen, ponder their words carefully, and then respond. I know there is one person from my hometown, a person older than me, and one I still respect as a fellow-Riversider, yet, his sound-byte comments and lack of proofreading push me to my limit. I am not trying to be mean, and I have noted I would like to engage him in conversation, but I am not always sure what is being written. Again, an entirely different issue and fodder for another post, but I do not want to digress too far. The largest difficulty in our particular circumstance is we are afraid and we are angry. The two emotions are intrinsically related, and most often in a split second. What exacerbates this current struggle with trying to balance health and the economy (which will be my next blog – the blog mostly written) is that we have no sense of civility or decorum in our present national cooperative persona. What does that mean? It simply means we have disintegrated to the point that disagreement means there is nothing we can do with that other opinion than lash out. It is modeled for us daily from almost all of our nationally- elected leaders. This sort of pull-the-trigger-and-ask-questions-later that permeates our national, state, local, or interpersonal dialogs can only lead to more division, more dissension, and ultimately to chaos. Democracy is founded on argument, but the role of argument is not to win, the terminal consequence of argument is to come to consensus – to find a place where the majority of people believe they were heard and their opinions mattered. That requires patience and perseverance. It demands that people use some common sense and think about the audience(s) to whom they are speaking and see the purpose as achieving something bigger than themselves. That is difficult in general, but it seems we find it nigh impossible in this current time of fear and uncertainty. 

    Before I post and even when I write this blog, which generally is used as a way to get me to clear out my jumbled head or heart, I step back and think, sometimes for days. I imagine the other side and what sort of questions will be launched from them. If you follow my Facebook page or you have read this blog, you know that sometimes, there are some rather vociferous arguments. With the exception of one, I have been able to find some area of agreement. The one, and yet I respect that person, seems to do things to merely yank my chain, and I must admit, he has won from time to time. I detest disrespect and as I tell my students if you want to fire me up that is a pretty sure way to do so. Questioning is a necessary aspect of our human nature. If we do not have the desire or the option to question, be are little more than a pawn in a very large chessboard. Certainly pawns have value, but they are the first to be sacrificed for the larger goal of winning the game. I should also note that people with whom I disagree are also thinkers. Please do not assume that I believe my way of thinking is the only way. I come to the position I am from a varied background, and, for instance, when I was in college one of my best friends on my floor was head of Young Republicans and I was the co-chair of Young Democrats with the most amazing person. I understand why some of my friends are Republicans and why they believe the path forward is different than the path I see as more appropriate. I know that there are times I might even overthink things and that can be detrimental. I grew up in a union household with a father whose family was pulled out of the throes of the depression by Roosevelt’s New Deal, and while my father was a rather liberal Democrat, he also believed in hard work and that one must earn their way. He was more socially liberal than in terms of a safety net for people, but then again, he only owned one credit card in his life and the was a gasoline credit card. He believed you paid cash for things, I am not sure he ever had a loan rather than a house mortgage. I am not sure what he would think of our present situation, though I am quite sure we would agree on what I believe is a rather detrimental atmosphere in our current state of affairs. 

    I think the way beyond fear, which I believe plagues most of us (pun intended) presently is to honestly question, to systematically ponder, and then respectfully disagree when necessary. Each of those couplets seem reasonable, but employing them is so much more difficult that first appears. Each two-word phrase is ideographic in nature. When you say honestly question, so much comes along with it. The same for sytematically ponder or respectfully disagree. Honestly for me means be willing to question your own presuppositions, but also ask from where those presuppositions come? How much of my father remains in me simply because he was my father? It is often times difficult to move beyond our foundational beliefs and concepts because we might feel disloyal. It is more often the case it moves us beyond our comfort zone, and when everything else seems to be disintegrating before us, we will hold on to what we know ever more so tightly. To systematically ponder something is to follow a logical pattern and work through a progression, and for me, it means asking the tough questions I might wish not to ask or, again, more so, I do not want to hear the answer because it will make me uncomfortable. I have a colleague that I have taught both in Wisconsin and here in Bloomsburg with. He is perhaps the most insightful person I have ever met. He can drill down to the main point of an issue more quickly than anyone I know. He sees through the extraneous stuff with what often seems a mere blink-of-an eye. Systematic thought requires a certain detachment, not a lack of emotion, but rather a distance from the emotion that allows one to see the interconnectivity of many issues as well as the sort of domino effect that happens when a decision is made. It is that synthesis that has made the biggest difference for me as I have grown older. We are too willing to box anything and everything, thereby failing to see how there is no decision made in some vacuum. We are social creatures and our decisions affect the social fabric of our country. Again, I do not believe I had a concept of synthesis before I went to Dana and took the humanities sequence. After that, It was impossible for me to not see the congruence of things, to ponder the innate association between things, events, or people. But that is also what taught me a fundamental respect for both where we are as who we are. 

    When we lose sight of that respect, I believe we lose our bearing as a society or culture. I believe that is what is happening how on multiple levels from our interpersonal conversations to our state and national conversations. The loss of those bearings are being demonstrated, again in my opinion, as our President chooses to unilaterally leave climate change accords, nuclear arms treaties, the WHO funding, or now the Open Skies Treaty, trade agreements, and other things that have been in place, some as long as the time of President Reagan. Again, I am not saying there are not reasons to question position, but there is a certain way that we and others (particularly our allies) have negotiated and worked in accordance. Bear with me, but unilateral decisions by Tweet does not seem respectful or wise, and even when he has been advised differently, he seems to go about things on his own terms. That is a difficult thing for the citizenry of the country to understand when those choices seem to often come from his own head (comments like I go with my gut; I am the smartest person you will know; I know more than my advisors -paraphrases, but relatively accurate). I would love to help someone help me see how respect works in those situations. How for either his own country or the good of the globe can such incredibly earth changing choices be announced in 240 characters, and often not well written? I wish that was the most difficult part, but that is only the beginning. When someone disagrees with him, or someone asks a question for clarification, his response is seldom respectful, what seems to be considered, or thoughtful. I am sure he does think, but merely dismissing someone or calling them names is something we are taught as inappropriate before we even are old enough to go to kindergarten. What did I look like in kindergarten? The initial picture is my kindergarten picture. 

    I want to respect him . . . seriously I do because the Office of the Presidency deserves that. I want to respect him because of the innate power the Office affords him. I want to respect him as a veteran because I believe in a chain of command. But to equate the idea of trust that one of my former college classmates note in yet another Facebook discussion recently, to respect someone requires they act respectfully. To trust, respect and believe in the integrity of someone occurs when they demonstrate trustworthy behavior, they treat others with respect, and they do not seem to lie about ridiculous things. I one thought about a person I know who sometimes struggles to be truthful. When people lie about important issues it is because they are afraid of their failures and they cannot own up. When people like about things that do not matter, they have no respect of the idea of truth to begin with. That is much more egregious, I would argue. Lying habitually flies in the face of what Charles Fried, a professor from Harvard and Solicitor General under Ronald Reagan, notes when he says, “A good man does not lie. It is this intuition which brings lying so naturally within the domain of things categorically wrong” (Right and Wrong, 54). Sisela Bok, the Swedish ethicist and Philosophy Professor at Harvard notes the following about lying, “What . . . would it be like to live in a world in which truth-telling was not the common practice? In such a world, you could never trust anything you were told or anything you read. You would have to find out everything for yourself, first-hand. You would have to invest enormous amounts of your time to find out the simplest matters” (The Principle of Veracity). I had to read two of her books for my doctoral comprehensive exams. If we have little regard for the truth, we have as little regard for respect. If we have little respect, disagreement becomes a fight and discussion or consensus is not a goal. It seems to me this describes more of our world than I wish it did. It also gives me great pause for where we are going. As I write this on a Memorial Day weekend, I am reminded of all those veterans who either lost their lives in action or particularly those WWII, Korean War, and now even Vietnam veterans who are leaving us daily. I hope we might consider their sacrifices and their belief in a country where respect, dignity, and freedom means more than the ability to argue, fight amongst ourselves, and at the detriment of a world that needs a shining light now as much as ever before. Can we ask the hard questions, ponder the hard decisions, and do so in a way worthy of their sacrifice? I hope we can. I am reminded of a song by the German group the Scorpions. There was a hope we could come together globally. Perhaps . . . 

    Thanks as always for reading. 

    Dr. Martin

     

    What is in a Decade? (and I have not forgotten about hope)

    Hello from my study. 

    Somehow I thought I wrote an entire paragraph or two before I went to a meeting, but I guess I have lost it. I think it was because I had not saved and then closed some windows. That is not the first technological snafu I have accomplished or preformed today, so I guess I will error on the side of consistency. Earlier while speaking with colleagues on another Zoom chat, someone was speaking about their recent birthday and an age. Age is both a real and a symbolic thing. There are all of the clichés about age and there is the reality of how you feel. There are the actual experiences you have put into whatever length of life you have achieved and then there is the number and how people look at you as a consequence. When I applied for the tenure track position that I currently hold, I knew because of age, should I be hired, it would be my last academic position, or at least that is what logic told me. And that has been in reality what has happened. I did add some things this last year to that, and while they are in place, Covid has managed to put all of that on hold. Regardless, I am still working away and managing whatever it is I am asked to do, and I generally believe I am doing admirable work. I am never really satisfied or thing I am there. There is not a concept of coasting if you will. I have been blessed to land in a wonderful place, a place with great colleagues, generally thoughtful and good students, and presently a wonderful administration. All of those things matter, and I know that first-hand. 

    When the decision was made (at least my part of the decision) to pursue other options, even though I knew it was necessary there was nothing simple about it. At that point, Lydia was beginning a steeper decline into the world of Alzheimer’s or dementia. Moving away from the Circle was not an easy choice; and yet, it was a necessary change. Running afoul of a Dean was not something I could overcome, and if I did not try to make a change, I would have certainly been on the one year clock. When you have no choices, you are much more likely to make a bad one. Fortunately, things occurred that ended with my chance to be offered the position at Bloomsburg. Much like others, this year for me has been, and will be, a momentous one. It began with Anton still here and I was about four months into being a temporary, but full-time father to a 17 year old. That was a phenomenal experience for a multitude of reasons, but suffice it to say, speaking with him this morning on FB video was a wonderful day to begin the day. He changed my life is so many, and positive, ways. Only a few weeks into this pandemic, when we were still quite naïve about where we would end up, Anton was called home. While it was a difficult time, I am glad he is home and now I merely need to get a whole boatload of things to him when we are allowed to be in the post office again. Of course, the second dramatic change was the lockdown of all sorts of things and moving toward remote teaching for all classes, which will remain for the summer, and for me, beyond. A third thing that has created a more prolonged and drastic change is the postponement of my sabbatical. That change was necessary because I was scheduled to teach in Poland. It appears most travel from the university, the country, and probably the world will be rethought as we move forward. While the postponement is not a difficult thing, it too has more long-term consequences. Because I am required to do an additional in-residence year upon my return, that means I will be working a year longer. That is not necessarily a change from what I planned, but it is working closer to 70. A fourth thing, because of my own health issues, it has been deemed prudent and necessary that I will continue to teach remotely through December. That is a somewhat RD condensed version of my 2020. If it sounds like I am complaining, I really am not. I am blessed to be here, to have a job, to do what I love to do, and to have incredible people who are willing to work with me. 

    During this past semester I had to assemble and submit my 5 year review packet, which is required of all tenure track professors. Yes, we are still evaluated (and rightly so). That review, of course, signaled that I have been here at Bloomsburg for a decade. What is a decade? When we are 10, it is our entire life. When we hit 20 it signals we are no longer a teenager, which means a lot to some people. The age of 30 is traumatic for some, and that can be the case for either gender. Then there is that 40. We create black balloons, napkins and wonderful sayings like “Over the Hill.” There is the half century mark and then beyond. I think I have noted this before, but the birthday that was not a celebration or hard for me, though I did not know it that day (which is another story), was when I turned 25. No birthday has been quite as difficult. But the idea of decade hit me again, much like the proverbial ton of bricks because it prompted me to look at the last 10 years. I think it has been the decade where I have finally become comfortable and content, for the most part, both with what life has handed me, and there has been a lot, as well as who I am or have become. As I am writing this, I am on a couple of different threads about the importance of respect. One of my college classmates has asserted one of the common clichés about respect being earned. I do believe there is a modicum of truth in that, but there is an element of respect given from the outset when a person has expertise, office, or standing. I agree they must do the appropriate things to maintain (or if you want -earn) it beyond the initial giving. He has gone on to say respect is not necessary. At that point, I believe I must disagree. This actually gets me back to where I was about the person I am. As a rhetorician, both as an academic and as a human being, I believe in the fundamental truth that all communication is based on a thoughtful understanding of audience and then have some sense of purpose. 

    When I tell my students I want them to question things, I want them to disagree with me; or when I say you need to use your brains to do more than hold your ears apart, I always follow it up with just do it respectfully. The rhetoric of respect is complicated. Respect at any level of our political system seems about as likely as finding a snow ball in the Mohave Desert. There has always been an adversarial relationship between the Presidency and the press. In fact, an article in the Harvard Law and Policy Review journal contains an article that considers the oppositional relationship. The authors note this is nothing new, but assert that the current administration has taken it to an entirely different level. In their words, “Although the adversarial relationship between the press and the White House is nothing new, there is little doubt that the current rhetoric is re-markable in its harshness and vitriol” (Brown, MacLaren 2018, p. 90). I think what is important here is the basic ideal of mutuality. We need a President, but we also need the press. When there is no press, we lose one of the most important checks and balances that the American public has. While I am not completely bailing out the Fourth Estate here (and Lord knows the 24/7 news cycle has thrown objectivity out the window), what we need to do is understand the reality of the press. First, all news is biased. Someone is paying for it. As a public we need to read (something that has fallen into desuetude), but more importantly, they need to read things that make them uncomfortable, things that make them question. Make yourself listen to opinions the cause you to cringe and question why? We are so fragile or frightened that we might find we are misguided or inaccurate. The struggle between the President and the press is not wrong, what is wrong is the tone. What is wrong is the consequence of the rhetorical strategy taken (at times by either side). Again, turning to Brown and MacLaren, they write, “‘Despite this adversarial tradition, this president’s tone is deeply distressing because of its outright dismissal of a historically core tenet of American democracy: that an “informed public opinion is the most potent of all restraints upon misgovernment.’ President Trump’s construction of the press as an enemy therefore looks less like a continuation of a familiar conflict, thrust into the fore by the internet and social media, and more like an attempt to remove a check on presidential power” (90). I would note that a simple search in the library database for articles concerning respect and the press are plentiful. Some of noted that President Trump seems to be more bashed by the press than previous presidents. While on the surface that might seem true, I am not willing to agree with that until I do some more research. I know the press was pretty brutal to President Clinton during impeachment, and I believe his moral intrepitude created his bashing. His own statement to the press about what he had or had not done would come back to  haunt him, or in fact, impeach him. President George W. Bush certainly got beaten up by the press when his “Mission Accomplished” banner on an aircraft carrier was not quite as accurate as he had hoped. The entire WMD fiasco caused him a gargantuan amount of disdain in the press. President Obama was beat on throughout his terms for a variety of things. What I would note is not of them claimed the press to be the enemy of the people. Fake News is a term, while not coined by President Trump, is most certainly high in his lexicon of single syllable responses. 

    So to return to my decade in Bloomsburg, I have created a wonderful life here. I am blessed in spite of continued health related issues. I have a job I love going to daily (and it is pretty much that). I have been afforded the opportunity to travel and meet new people as well as create meaningful international relationships. I have a property that I love coming home to and working on. My home has been the home to a variety of people, everything from a respite when needed to a summer place, from a place of safety to becoming a parent to an international student. I have taken what I learned from Lydia and applied it to my yard and my property. I have been blessed by new friends, colleagues, or acquaintances. There have been some difficult lessons too, but through it all I have learned to step back and think, ponder, and realize what is important. September will be one of the profound birthdays. I will turn 65. At this point, I have lived longer than any of my siblings or half-siblings (I would note that 5 out of 9 have passed away already).Getting back to what I noted earlier, I am not sure what 65 is supposed to feel like, but I feel pretty darn good. As I noted in a Facebook post, I am lighter than I have been in six years, and almost 37 pounds down from my highest weight. I still have a bit to go, but I will make it. Yes, I am halfway through another decade, but I am happy to be here. I am fortunate beyond measure. I know there is a lot of things that are clogging the airwaves about how dire our situation is. Is it serious? I believe it is. Do I think we have a good strategy or cohesive one? Unfortunately, I do not. Does that scare me? Yes, and no. I can only do what I believe is best for me and the people I meet. I will do what I am supposed to do. I will mask, wash, manage my being safe-in-place to the best of my ability, but I refuse to live in fear. I believe we will see this decade as a decade of global responsibility to the other. I hope that is what we do. We are on the earth together, be it across the street, the country, or the half way around the world. If my travels have taught me anything, it is this: we are all human and we hope for a world that will be better than what we were given. I am not sure our actions demonstrate that hope as well as we should. I hope this time will push us to be respectful of the other and of the world (the natural world) and planet we inhabit. Perhaps we all need to think before we get all riled up. 

    Thanks as always for reading. 

    Michael

     

    Moving Toward a Rhetoric of Hope

    Good Saturday Morning,

    It has been a bit of a crazy week. At this point last weekend, my HP tablet, the university computer, decided (for the second time) to pop the plastic clips that hold one side of the case closed. I believe it is the case of an overheated battery again, causing the case to warp or bow. The long and short of it, I have a computer which    is not functioning. While I did have enough foresight to put iCloud capabilities on my HP to be able to push things back and forth to my Mac Book Pro, I had not taken the time to put the last couple weeks work into iCloud, thereby making my planning irrelevant. Foolish boy!! There were things I needed on the HP to help me finish my semester. Thanks to a tech person at the university I was able to get my Mac Book to work as if it was my university computer and I am able to access the files, but that did not happen until Wednesday. My HP is in getting fixed. I also have a somewhat ancient Surface III, which I have not used for a while. In fact, when I fired it back up, the calendar said August 28, 2018. It is not a big computer/tablet and I had less than a GB of storage left, and it needed some serious updating. All in all, to get both the Mac Book and the Surface working optimally took about 24 hours of updating and revising (cleaning up space, making sure what I was deleting was still somewhere). So I am back up and running. While I am pretty  technologically savvy for a 60+ person, there is still the need to manage all of it and to make sure you are doing the appropriate updating. More importantly, it is yet another reminder of the complicated necessity of being able to use our technology thoughtfully and effectively. One of the things the past two months has demonstrated all too clearly is the reality of the digital divide we have in our country. For me, it is one more example of the inequity that is present at some many levels of our society, our country, and even in our world. The important part of this realization for me as we have been required to move to remote learning is that students are not able to access things with the same degree of accessibility. This fundamentally changes what we (either them or me) can do to participate in a class. Again, often this disparity is because a student lives in a rural area, a student lives in a household where there are limits on the volume of data they can use, or a student simply does not have the technological know-how to do what is necessary to participate adequately. The consequence (and many times this is a first-generation student) is a feeling of hopelessness, a feeling of fear, and a belief that they have failed. None of these emotions will give that struggling student any sense of hope for their future. 

    What is hope? That is something to ponder. How are we convinced that hope is possible? A number of years ago, I was a dinner with my sister-in-law, who was remarried (to a Lutheran pastor) and at the beginning of the meal, my eldest nephew, who was maybe barely pre-teen, was asked to say grace. He was not particularly willing to comply, and when asked why his response was quite amazing. I do not remember his exact words, but the basic idea was “I do not believe praying is very helpful because our world is not going to get better.” That was a profound statement from a 12 year old, perhaps even more than he realized. However, as I remember, it surely caught us off guard. That was in the mid 1980s. I think I was in my first year in seminary. Part of my education at the time was learning how to provide a sense of hope when despair seems to be the only thing possible. It brings us to an important idea: what is hope. What does it mean to be hopeful, to believe there is something better to believe in, to consider possibilities that provide a sense of well-being and positive thoughts toward something that has not yet occurred? Is it grammatically what subjunctive mood is? Perhaps that is the case. Studies show that one of the most important times to be hopeful is during adolescence. An article in the Journal of Positive Psychology, researchers studied a group of 4H students. If you have any experience with 4H, you are aware of the positive attributes they develop in their participants. Through this profound developmental time in our human growth, those conducting the study consider the group of 5 traits they believe are essential for youth to achieve what they call Positive Youth Development (PYD), which they then connect to the idea of hope. The five traits are competence, confidence, connection, character, and caring (Schmid, Phelps, et al 2011, p.49). These traits are essential if a youth person is to live a life that bends toward a successful and beneficial future. 

    Competence often gets a bad rap as someone characterized as merely adequate. It is much more than that, however. It is not only knowing how to do something, but how to do it well; one the other hand is also understanding why one does it. To do both requires critical thinking and careful analysis. Something I regularly tell my students is necessary if they want to be educated. Therefore, competency is much more than merely jumping through a hoop or teaching to a test. It is more than a recipe card or rubric. Indeed, competence is more than academics or vocational ability; it is also cognitive and social (Schmid, et al). If you think about this, it covers all aspects of our being. Being confident is also something we all have a sense of,  but too often we do not understand the depth of it or the intricacies of how confidence is modeled. Confidence is connected to competency, but moves us beyond our individual self-reflection to seeing how we fit among others. How we become a successful social creature. Are we positive in our own feelings about how others might see us? Are we willing to reflect or analyze how we fit into a much larger picture of the world in which we live and function? We use words like self-esteem, self-worth, and others, but confidence comes from something outside ourselves. It is being supported by others regardless our failings. I think for me that was embodied in the person of my grandmother. She was the person who provided me a sense of happiness, a sense of value, no matter my circumstance. She was the person who loved me regardless my failings and through those gifts, she also helped me develop that illusive quality of hope.

    The third attribute is being able to feel connected. I believe the ultimate loneliness is being lonely in a crowd. Connection is an unbelievably important element for us to have a positive outlook. It is the thing we are most struggling to maintain during this time of lock down, be it stay-at-home or safe-at-home. Healthy connection to another is about mutuality. It is when the relationship is honestly two-way, and the consequence is positive for all involved. Certainly, this gets more difficult the more individuals involved. It is also the thing we have struggled to maintain over the past decade or more. There is an irony that we are more connected now than ever before, but, even before the pandemic, we are more disconnected. Perhaps the bane of social networking has been a bit remediated in the past two months. I know that connecting with many of my high school friends, and even those older than me, has been an unexpected blessing. It is the mutual or shared experience, which allows the time or distance to be mediated. It is what allows a connection. It is also amazing how five years seems so large when you are in your teens, but in your 60s it is nothing. The next trait is the most intimate, the most telling. I believe character might be the most important of the five, at least for me. I believe I have finally gotten to a point in my life where I am proud of what I have accomplished and who I am. It took me a lot longer than I wish it had. Character is about morals and values, about those things you are taught as a small person. What I realize now is honesty and trust are the things I value most. There were times earlier in my life when I failed at this. Honesty can only happen, however, when one is not afraid. Honesty happens when you have a sense of surety, that in spite of your failings, you will not be rejected or thrown away. I realize now that much of my life I was afraid of that rejection, of being discarded. There were times that the feel I had caused me to create or cause the very thing I feared. This is also integral to being able to trust. Trust can only happen when you know you are valued or loved. Character is also modeled. We learn from what we observe, what we experience. 

    I think, as often the case, my life is rather oxymoronic. I had examples of incredible love from a grandmother, but a lack on the other hand from a mother, who told me I would never amount to anything. I had a grandmother, who might have been generous to a fault (perhaps trying to make up for the other side) and a mother who did nothing for free. While I have been able to get beyond much of those dueling examples, I struggle with the fallout from both. My generosity has gotten me used and hurt when I trusted (I will not tell you how much money that has cost me), and yet I would still rather error on that side than the other. Suffice it to say my former bank branch president made me promise to not lend out any more money. I promise I made and have kept. I will always reach out to a person and try to care; I will try to provide some sort of care, making their lives better. Again, sometimes that also gets me in trouble. What happens when the help is not wanted? Or the person you want to help is not ready to accept what is needed? I think rejection is still the thing that cuts me deeper than any other consequence. That is really the last of the attributes above. It is about caring. Caring is what has been stressed at all levels during this past  two-three months. It is about sympathy and empathy. Can you feel the distress of the other person? This is something we need to learn to do as an adolescent if we are to carry it into our future lives. And yet, what if our cultural surroundings at that time of our life does not lend itself to cultivating these qualities? Are we out of luck . . . too bad, so sad? I do not think that has to be the case. Can we persuade the other, the one seemingly bent on despair, to turn toward a possibility of hope? I believe hope requires us to think outside the box, to believe that there is possibility outside the status quo. And yet that will scare people because it requires us to overcome a more sinister problem. To think outside the box as the saying goes means getting beyond and then we must be willing to try it in spite of our fear of the unknown. I believe to adopt a hopeful attitude, it will require a radical transformation from where we are. If we hope to sustain life, society, or a planet that can move forward with a sense of hope, we will need to rethink what it means to be sustainable. Reactionary behavior, much of what I believe we have done since the beginning of the year, will not work. If we are to be a world of hope, we will need to use the various traits we need to learn as adolescents, but we will need to act a bit more thoughtfully than the hormone driven adolescent we would have been. Critical understanding of hope is complex. It is a combination of both thought and action. Pablo Freire, the Brazilian educator and philosopher, looked very critically at the idea of hope from the perspective of the oppressed. He also questioned the idea of banking an education, which means putting away what you learned for a sort of rainy day. I believe this is too often what we do. One of the things I continually impress upon my students is to claim their education, not bank it. To take charge of it, to question, to think, to analyze. Freire would write a sort of sequel to his Pedagogy of the Oppressed. In 1994 he wrote Pedagogy of Hope. Might need to order that. So what does it mean to hope? Stay tuned – that will be the next blog. I want to give a call out to all the seniors who would have walked in graduation today. Congratulations! I know this is not what you expected, but it will still happen. Believe and have hope! Often our dreams are about our hopes. Here is one of my favorite Heart songs titled “These Dreams.” I love the sort of surrealism in a sort of Salvador Dali manner. 

    To those who have added me from my home neighborhood. Thanks! To all, as always, thank you for reading.

    Michael

     

    A Different Reformation

    Hello from the kitchen bar on the Acre,

    I wish I had a magic wand like Harry Potter is able to carry, but if I did what would I do with it? What would be reasonable in this present situation? At what place, or specific point in time, do I wish I could go back and make it all different? Those sort of daydreams are exactly that: dreams of what if? I have noted before that there are people who wish they could go back in time and know what they know now. I have never really been one of those people, and I am not one now. In fact, I am content and happy that I am in my 60s. I know that my life has been blessed in a multitude of ways, and there is nothing more I could ask for. I think asking to live longer in this time is a bit crazy, in fact. I know that we have a tendency to see things in the past as nostalgic.  We see or remember them as somehow better, as somehow more simple, less difficult, not necessarily easy, but somehow we imagine it was a better time. Again, I am not convinced there is truth in these statements for many of us, and yet, I find myself believing the same. I thought my time in high school was difficult at the time, but that was more because of home than school. I remember loving band, amazing classmates, walking the halls in the morning. I remember youth group and church activities. Later, I remember when I was first married and living in Omaha Village on the Dana College campus. I spent four days a week in Sioux City, my hometown, working as a parish worker at First Lutheran Church. When I came home late Wednesday night, I was tired. Thursday and Friday nights I picked up a couple of shifts at Pizza Hut out on Highway 30 in Blair. I made enough in those two shifts to pay for our groceries for the week. We had a two-foot square piece of particle board with 4 x 4 legs. I had put the legs on with a with a couple of nails (and I think we had a napkin under a leg to steady it) and it had a table cloth on it. That was our eating/dining table. A bowl of cereal and a small glass of orange juice was breakfast and on Saturday, before I returned to Sioux City, we would grocery shop and go to McDonald’s for breakfast. That was the treat of the week. It was a simple life, but I remember liking it and I still see it as one of the more important times I was married to Susan. We would leave after interim that year and I would resume my studies at Luther Northwestern Seminary. That time in OV was a pleasant time, even as I look back at it now. We had little extra (and often no extra) money, but we had what we needed. 

    There was a time I was in graduate school again (I ended up in graduate school on 5 different occasions to finish three graduate degrees, which says something about stubbornness), years later in Hougton, Michigan. I was working on my second Master’s/PhD, as a supported student, but with my Crohn’s diagnosis, and my need for my own things as a 40 year old, in spite of that financial support, I had a part-time (really full-time) job managing a restaurant, waiting tables and working as a bartender. Yet at one point, I was really struggling and I had to sell a guitar (my 12 string) and an amp to have enough money to pay for health insurance, car insurance, and other things. I have had people tell me that was crazy, but I had to do what was necessary. At another time, back in graduate school again, a divorce cost me almost everything I had, or had accumulated. While those times were difficult, I was fortunate, I had my schooling and a job. I could make it. Graduate school is about perseverance. It is necessary to be intelligent, but it is as important to be focused and simply keep working. At the time, I think I believed things were tough, but looking back, not so much. Yes, I had to sell some things to keep things in the house; yes, like toilet paper and food (not so different from now, surprisingly). I have more than what I need now, but life is not simpler. In fact, it is much more complicated, or so it seems. I know now, looking back, there have been times in my life where I was scraping a bit. I know that was the case even when I was small, but my parents never let us know if they worried. I know now that there are so many people who have less than I do. I am blessed beyond measure. As I have stated rather pointedly, in spite of all that is happening, I am at the most inconvenienced. Certainly as an immunocompromised person, I am at more danger than others. I know that with all the things we are warned of, I need to make good choices, but regardless all of this, I have so much more than others. This brings me to where this blog is pointed, or my intentions for writing to begin with. Where are we headed on the other side, if there is the other side of this? I do not mean that in an apocalyptic way, but rather, what does the other side look like? Will we ever be the sort of social creature we have been in future practices? What will a classroom look like? Will the days of concerts, sporting events, parties, celebrations ever be the same? If not what will we do to adjust? What will we do to manage? Will those, who are less than two, remember a time where people did not wear masks in public? Will we hug each other, shake hands, hold hands? What might it look like when two people wearing a mask want to give the other a kiss? What will our world look like? What will work on an assembly line or a plant require? Will taking a temperature before you can enter somewhere be a standard? Might you need some sort of health card to be allowed to enter certain public places? All of these questions are rattling around in my head. 

    This past weekend, while listening to the Reverend Merle Brockhoff’s remote church service, he noted the idea that a particular person, and I should go look it up, but I am being tired and lazy, believed that about every 500 years or so something occurs that is so cataclysmic it alters the path of human history, and what occurs so revises the world it cannot return to where it was before. Five hundred years ago, give or take a bit, a German monk, one who had studied to be a lawyer, had the audacity to question the powers of the time. Those powers were the Roman Catholic Church itself – a church that had power over taxes and death. One it collected; the other it presided over. Through 95 questions posted on a door of the Castle Church, Martin Luther changed humanity’s understanding of the world, but more profoundly, also of God. There was a reforming of humankind because there was a reforming in the very foundation of human thinking.  Luther’s questions offered an opportunity to think about what people were willing to accept going forward. What were the other paradigmatic moments? Perhaps the time before, while not 500 years, might be the Norman Conquest of 1066. The 95 disputational questions of Luther were 503 years ago (at least this coming October). I think what is occurring now is a questioning of pretty much any structure that promotes a sort of top down, nationalism that has been around for sometime, but is a hallmark of the Trump Doctrine.

    While this might sound like I am against capitalism, and thereby throw me into that socialist camp, let me state plainly, I am not against capitalism and the engine of ingenuity, or progress, technologically or otherwise, which create a better world. I am not against people being paid appropriately for their work. I also know there are a ton of questions about what all of that means. That is again, for another time. I am asking something a bit more simple, but also infinitely important. Step back and be honest with yourselves for a moment. I do not believe anyone in the top 1% is reading my blog; in fact, I do not believe anyone in the top 20% is reading this blog. If you look at the figures, the percentage of total world-wealth owned by the top one-percent is staggering. Again, I do not begrudge what they have accomplished. However, I might question the ethics of how it was achieved. If you believe for even a moment, the majority of them really care about you in the slightest, in some altruistic manner, we need to chat. Contact me and I will give you a cell phone number. What they care about is maintaining the position of influence. What they want from the remainder is that we buy into the mistaken notion they give a rip about us. If they can convince us of that, they have accomplished their task. The task: to remain in power and have us be content with the completely ludicrous notion of trickle-down economics, trickle-down justice, trickle-down fairness, or trickle-down opportunity. The one-percent population is so insulated from us, they have no idea what the common day struggle is. Does that sound a bit jaded? It does, and yet when I note I am blessed, I have completely bought into their desire for their world. I am happy; I am content. I believe I have made it. What happens is they are allowed to continue on as they have for most of history. 

    If I am correct, or even partially correct, I imagine this pandemic and what is happening scares a number of people. Who in particular? Those who are concerned about their wealth, their individual freedom, their ability to do whatever, whenever they want,  and, on the other hand, those who have battled from the bottom as “the other” for generations. The NYT ran a story about Hazleton, PA, a town 40 miles from me today. It is a town where my Dominican family as I called them lives, or lived (some have grown and moved away). Their town epitomizes this struggle. I believe we are at another epic crossroads. This pandemic has laid bare (or for some at least, into the open the inequity of society on a broad range of issues.

    I am not saying these are new things, but it is now more difficult to sweep them under the carpet. Let me begin in reverse of my list. There have been numerous news stories about how this virus has been particularly hard on the minorities in the country. Metropolitan areas, which are logically hard hit when something is contagious, have experienced incredibly higher statistical consequence from Covid than other groups. I am sorry, but 1,200.00 will not change their lives. It might allow them to go out and spend some money, but going out puts them at higher risk. That is a problem. Many of them are those needing to work and are taking the jobs necessary for us to go to our grocery stores or other places, but again, this puts them at risk. Many working in packing plants, and I worked at IBP at one point, or other jobs are showing up as places the number of cases reported are exploding. Just today I saw that the number of cases per 1,000 is the highest in the country in my own hometown. Yet, they have little choice in whether to work or not. Two of my current students are still here in Bloom because it is not safe for them to go home, which is in the PA town I referred to earlier. Then there are the folks who believe their individual freedoms are being unjustly or unfairly infringed upon by stay-at-home, safe-at-home, or any other edict that doesn’t allow them free reign. Demonstrating out of anger, with a gun to intimidate, is simply not something I can find much sympathy for. It is not about their frustration. I can appreciate their frustration. What I cannot abide is their vitriol that argues a simple-minded belief that is based on selfishness and anger. This sort of behavior has been witnessed before in both our own history (pre-Civil Rights and certainly as a type of behavior that I believe brought about the Civil War) as well as in Europe, and my own academic work and dissertation were about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the German Lutheran pastor, executed for his role in the plot to assassinate Hitler. The other day, an older high school classmate wanted to use Hitler as an example, as a comparison, for governors’ actions because the Federal Government left it to these same governors to make the decisions for which they are now being blamed. The audacity used in this administration to refuse to take any accountability is not comprehensible to me.There is little more I want to say, but before you want to merely brand me as a liberal hack. I am about as centrist as one can be. I have both conservative attributes (mostly fiscally) and more liberal attributes (mostly socially). Therefore, the extreme on either side causes me concern. I should note that I am not lukewarm, however. I would like to believe I am thoughtful and logical about things. Then finally, there are those who have worked hard, tried to play by the rules, put in their time. This pandemic has created  an enormous burden on them. These are the small business people, the hardworking people who have worked more than one job, those trying to put their children through college. What is evident is pretty simple again. We were able to wipe out most of the stock market gains of three plus years in six weeks. What does that say? We managed to wipe out 11 years of job growth in two months. What does that say? It says the system as it is is precarious. It says most of what we think we have is merely a facade of security. I believe we are on the cusp of a new reformation. What does that mean? I am uncertain. I hope it is about justice; I hope it is about caring for all people; I hope it is a reformation that allows both for the individual to flourish, but a world that demonstrates care for both humanity and the globe we call home. While I am fortunate where I am, I know there are so many more than are not. In light of what I posted in the last blog and as we are trying to understand in this time, I offer this song that speaks to the inequity we all try to manage.

    Thank you as always for reading. I have been humbled by the comments and responses. Again, thanks!

    Michael

    I was Fourteen . . . Tin soldiers and . . .

    Hello from my kitchen on a Sunday morning,

    I went to bed early last night and slept pretty well. Up once around 2:00, but this time I was able to go back to sleep somewhat quickly and slept until about 6:30. As usual, I did some reading and some praying. After some morning preparations for the day, I was off to the kitchen. The Corona (quarantine) Cafe has moved to Lightstreet today. A group of three for brunch. Again, per usual, I have been thinking the menu through in my head for a couple days. I think it will be fun. I love the creativity of thinking outside the box. An incredibly talented friend and restaurateur has this ability to take a basic idea and turn it into the extraordinary. I think I learned some things from merely being around him. If you are reading this blog from accessing it from my personal FB page, you will see some of my culinary adventures as of late.If you are insufferably curious (or even less so), but accessing it from the other pages I post on, you are welcome to add me and I will give you food to consider.

    When I was 14, the Spring of my freshman year in high school, the world was in substantial turmoil. Certainly the years of 1968-69, the year my brother had graduate from college, was as traumatic to our national psyche as the previous year had been (e.g. two assassinations and the Democratic National Convention in Chicago). I remember sitting in the living room of our home and watching the lottery wondering what would happen to my older brother, who was a freshman in college. I am quite sure if he had been drafted, he would be a citizen of another country. He believed the situation in Vietnam was unjust. When speaking with a nephew and niece over the weekend, his two eldest, we noted that both their parents would be classified as hippies today. I might have to dig a picture of Carolyn out; she might never speak to me again, but she is actually quite beautiful, but that has always been the case. . . .  I am on to Monday.

    Last night got a bit sidetracked when my university tablet decided to pop open (the bottom separating from the keyboard panel), which is not the first time this has happened. It seems the bottom gets too hot and the plastic warps until it pops open. Not surprising when it has been running so much. So fortunately, I have both a Macbook Pro and yesterday, someone kindly retrieved by Surface Three, which I have not used in sometime. That is what I am writing on at the moment, but I needed to do some serious updating. The calendar said August 28, 2018. Wow!! There are still some updates to manage, but that is for another day. Yesterday it got to almost 80 here. It was the first day that felt like perhaps the summer will get here. 

    While communicating on/through a number of platforms or by phone with people I grew up with, as of late, I am continually amazed by or at the various paths our lives have taken in the 50 years since that fateful day in our country’s history. Perhaps it is because I am a college professor that I look at the events on the Kent State campus so introspectively on this day. Perhaps it is because we are in yet another crisis of national identity, which I believe started long before a pandemic broke out or before somehow we thought it was a good idea to elect a bully and simultaneously a victim (e.g. I am brilliant and I am more mistreated than Lincoln), a braggart and pundit (e.g, the popularity of his coronavirus briefings or when he muses about Clorox as a possibly effective treatment), or as a expert and rebel (e.g. when asked about his source for an opinion at a recent briefing he pointed to his head and when he notes he experts and staff advise him to steer clear of something he is little a toddler in a mud puddle). Perhaps I am pondering the events at Kent State because of the way Vietnam divided out country and I see too many similarities to our current national persona. The divisiveness seems more profound to me this time. Perhaps it is my age; perhaps it is because it seems more total from the top to bottom of our country’s discourse today. Perhaps it is 50 years of experience and hopefully a bit more wisdom. Recently I received a book by Celeste Michelle Condit, one of the premier rhetorical scholars in the world (I do not believe I am the only person who would say this). Her book, titled Angry Public Rhetorics: Global Relations and Emotion in the Wake of 9/11. While I have barely opened the book, it is evident she has thoughtfully and thoroughly considered the complexity of how our world has changed in the wake of that fateful September morning. 

    I remember distinctly the emotional shock of 1969-70 and the worry of so many about their sons (and males were the only people to be drafted) as they watched the casualties flashed daily on the evening news at suppertime in American households. I remember the emotion that fluctuated between fear and anger in my brother, who was college freshman about whether he would keep his college deferment or not. Perhaps I am wondering because the uncertainly of the world is much the same for my college freshman (or college seniors) today. The uncertainly of what the world will hold, the fear of whether or not their lives will be cut short by something unexpected (25 of my 40 Technical Writing students this semester are nursing students). That is a fair concern. Recently, a student who graduated a year ago and is a nurse posted a gut-wrenching post about being in the hospital at the present time. These are not merely names. These are students I have spoken with, traveled to Poland with, FBed with, and sat and ate with. 

    We have some of the same fears today, but it seems that fear, which most often leads to anger, and the anger that leads to a lack of thinking is not merely among the everyday people, it has broken through every barrier and every level. While I think there can be little doubt that we have both these emotions and all fall into this pattern, I think what is important is to begin to understand the consequence of such a process. There is much to say (or write) as Condit’s book is 338 pages long, and it is just one study. What I see happening, and as noted, I am guilty of this too, what I have gotten out of the first pages in my read, is both sides of this political divide want to believe in the moral appropriateness of their position. Both sides want to believe they stand where they are out of a sense of duty and honor to country. Both sides will assert they are being patriotic. The difficulty is they (and this is all) seem to forget that they emotions get in the way of their cognitive distance, which is necessary if you are going to make thoughtful, rationale, long-term decisions. Both sides want to display as sort of righteous indignation as if God is on their side. If you believe in a creator, I would like to believe the Creator cares for all of us, and probably weeps as we weep as well as weeps because of us. 

    While I do have a doctoral degree and fourteen years of college – hmmmm, the same number of years as is in my title, I do not see myself either part of the educational elite, whatever that is, nor do I see myself as much other than a person who works hard, came from a blue-collar background, and tried to think about things and see the logic in them. That was a pattern I demonstrated long before I went to college. While many tell me they remember me as smart, I only had a 2.8 GPA out of high school. I flunked out of college the first time I went, and I had to learn most things the hard way. I guess the important part of that is I did learn. It was when I got to Dana College that I learned both how to learn and why to learn. Wisdom comes from reflecting on our experiences. We need more reflection and we need more wisdom, perhaps more now than ever. I have taken the time to read a significant amount about the four students who died as the National Guard opened fire on students at Kent State that day. It took 13 seconds to fire 67 shots, wounding 13 students, leaving one permanently paralyzed and four dead. The first was an ROTC student who was observing from a distance. The second was an active protester; the third had protested by putting a flower in the barrel of a guardsman’s rifle. The fourth was an honors student who was merely walking from class to class. Kent State was not a radical campus the likes of Berkeley or Madison. It was relatively conformist, though there had been unrest in the days before, including the burning of a building (the ROTC building, and that is one of the students killed, an irony beyond words). Interestingly, at the time, the Governor of Ohio, James, Rhodes, called the students communists. Not that surprising for Ohio, even today, though their present Governor Dewine has demonstrated pretty thoughtful responses to this current struggle. Yet, even then, fear and anger played an important part of this tragedy. Most guardsmen were probably not much older than the students they fired upon. As I read stories from the professors who were teaching at the time, I have not been able to find stories from the National Guard personnel. As the faculty advisor to the student veterans on campus, many of those students are in the Army National Guard or the Air Guard. They would be the students called out to active duty if this were happening. In fact, I believe some of them might have been called up in our present situation. 

    Fifty years ago, I was in ninth grade. I had little understanding other than what I heard at home about Vietnam or our national struggle. While there are similarities in terms of emotion today, the situation is fundamentally different. While both times were (and are) a crisis of our moral fiber; this is a health crisis. Regardless of where or how it started, and that is an entirely different story or yet another conspiracy, it is. It continues to spread and destroy people’s lives. The crisis is how we will respond, both in terms of our medical abilities (which our health professionals deserve more gratitude and support that is even measurable) as well as how we can use or brains more than our emotions? Can we depend on those who have been trained in the sciences and put into their positions because of their expertise? Should we not trust them rather than fire them if we disagree with them? Can we as a public, first believe that every life matters (it seems that has been a conservative mantra for a while)? Does it not matter now? As Governor Cuomo said so well, “If the consequence of the virus is death, what is worse than death?” I am not debating the economic fallout; I am not debating the right to have the emotions (the entire range) that people have. What I will debate is protesters who intimidate. What I will debate is those who believe there is only one size fits all to this, and I realize this can be attributed to those on the far left of things. Fifty years ago, four students lost their lives because we could not manage our frustration and anger. This virus as killed more than all the people who died in that war, but somehow again, we cannot seem to manage our emotions. Angry rhetoric is just that; it is angry. I know there is more to it than that. I want to believe there is more to us as a country than merely anger and selfishness. This pandemic is more than tin soldiers or even a more dastardly version of Nixon. 

    Thank you for reading as always.

    Dr. Martin

     

    Empathy: A Necessary Component

    Hello on the second day of May,

    There is little doubt that we are in a polarized environment. Daily, and I am guilty of falling into some of this behavior, though I generally try to remain respectful, the lack if willingness to listen to the other, when compassion seems to be merely a pipe dream, when there seems to be so little empathy from our head of state, is something that wears on me. I worked quite diligently to be rhetorically appropriate when listening to the steady stream of bullying or belittling, to the justifications that many, who claim Christianity as their moral compass, seem content to espouse. I think of all the people who are struggling, yet we somehow believe that a small check will fix it all. I wonder how large corporations have no struggle taking money that was meant for small businesses (and I know it is not every large business). I find it beyond comprehension that we cannot come up with a national strategy for testing when we have the most innovative and thoughtful minds and one of the largest economies in the world. I am stunned that citizens believe it is reasonable to storm a state capitol with guns demanding their freedoms at the expense others (this is a health crisis). This is not an issue of the individual, it is an issue of the community. Again, another issue for another time. 

    I have pondered at times what evokes the emotion of empathy in a person. Perhaps conversely, what is it that seems to keep others from feeling or showing, empathy for another? Perhaps (oh dang, there is that word), particularly because we have societally become so dichotomous, which is not conducive to being empathic. Maybe we are more likely pathetic, but that is not quite the same. Doing some research on this idea, it seems, and not surprisingly so, the ability to be empathetic is both a cognitive and an emotional response in a particular part of our brain. It is also a building block of morality (The Psychology of Emotional and Cognitive Empathy). It seems more and more I find Bonhoeffer and his work popping up again and again. I think I need to read his little book Life Together again. To understand or engage in the cognitive aspect of empathetic response requires some skill. It is necessary to be able to perceive and process the emotions of the other. That requires a person to be able, as well as to be willing or open. Willing or open to what? Walking in their proverbial shoes or so it would seem. Being willing to help, to understand, to feel compassion, particularly when someone is a stranger or stigmatized is one of the most enduring forms of empathetic behavior. What seems to be certain is empathetic behavior requires a combination of both cognitive and emotional processes. Another thing illustrated in studies is that external factors play an incredibly important role in how one either develops a personal sense of empathy or how they might actually lose the ability to even feel empathy. A recent study done by the University of Michigan reveals that college students are 40% less empathetic than students in the 1980s or 1990s (Empathy, Exploring Your Mind). While such a statistic is frightening, if external factors affect the human’s empathetic ability in both directions, perhaps it is time to treat others with the empathy we might hope to receive. 

    While I have been pointed and serious in my disdain for the attitude that promotes bullying, disrespect, self-centeredness, or any other trait that seems to not put country first, and I still hold those concerns, the idea of America first has been co-opted by an incredible misunderstanding of what makes us all great. What makes any single person or collective group of people great is their ability to be empathetic, to care deeply about the other and to look upon them without judgement. I understand as well as anyone how difficult it is to not make assumptions about someone. There is a reason we note that first impressions are lasting. Additionally, I am painfully cognizant of how past experiences can color or affect our ability to see beyond those impressions. Regardless, how often do we make snap judgements about something or someone only to find out we were less than accurate? Too often we allow the hurts and the mistreatment or mistakes of our past to hinder what we might accomplish going forward. Again, I  know this well because I lived it. As I have noted in the past two blogs, my sister, Kris, has been gone for 12 years. We were adopted, but she was my sister, my biological sister; she was my younger sister, and I have always believed her to be the much more intelligent of the two of us. Since my last post, one of her classmates noted how shy she was, how quiet she was. She was that way because she was frightened. She was that way because she struggled to understand the abuse she had endured (while we were all abused to some degree) and why someone supposedly wanted us both only then seeming to hate us. She suffered the abuse the worst of us all (there was an older brother). Many things that happened to her would put a parent in jail today, or at the very least, we would have been removed from that house. I do not say this to point fingers at my mother because I realize now she was mentally ill. What is amazing for Kristy, as she was known to her classmates in elementary school, was in spite of the abuse, she never lost her ability to care or be empathetic toward others. So while she hurt terribly inside, she was never bitter. She did turn to other things to try to manage that hurt, but regardless, she had an unlimited ability in caring for the other. As I reread her autopsy report the other day, in many ways it is amazing she lived as long as she did. I am not even sure she realized she had a previous heart attack. One of the things I think about at times is various parts of her are living in other people today, and not only the normal things that you might expect through organ donation, but even the bones from her arms and legs were given for others. It was how I believe she would have wanted it. She was always ready to care for those who struggled more than she, and that was no minor thing because she struggled mightily because of the abuse she had both suffered and tolerated. In many ways she had more patience and perseverance than I did. I could not keep my mouth shut (I know that does not surprise most of you), and I verbally fought back. It was for that reason I knew as soon as high school was completed, I needed to leave. How drastic was I in making sure I could leave? I enlisted in the Marine Corps at 17 years old, standing only 5’4″ and not even weighing enough to pass the physical when I went to the AFFEEs Building in downtown Omaha, NE. I had to gain three pounds in an hour to make it. After eating an unbelievable amount of baker items, I still went to the drinking fountain when I was 3/4 of a pound light to make weight. That gives some indication how badly I wanted to be away. 

    That struggle with my mother would continue for the remainder of her (my mother’s) life. We did not really speak to each other the last three years she was alive. If you go back to a blog the summer of 2014 (July), you will see that I have forgiven her. What I know is the lack of empathy we experienced growing up affected my sister and me very differently on one hand (almost polar opposites) and on the other (almost a carbon-copy). While the things told to us about our worth caused us both harm, I worked as hard as I could to prove that description wrong (and sometimes I struggle even yet to prove it). For Kristy, it created a hurdle she never cleared. On the other hand, we both learned to be empathetic almost as a consequence of experiencing none ourselves. I sometimes wonder what she would think of our world now. I wonder how strongly she would speak out against the injustice she sees. Undoubtedly, she would have things to say, or she would work to circumvent them. And yet, there are other changes, she would embrace: the changes in acceptance of LGBTQA people would overjoy her. As we bicker, fight, protest, and argue the path forward in this present world, those arguments are very simple. They are based on selfishness. I realize I say that as a person who still has their job, a paycheck, can pay my bills, and this lockdown, this social distancing really is an inconvenience. Yes, I am privileged. I can sit here in my comfortable house and do my work. I can go and buy food and even prepare it for other people if I so choose. I can do my job perhaps even better than I imagined, though it is taking more hours and more wear and tear on my eyes. Empathy is about seeing what something does to the other; it is trying both to understand their experience as well as actually feeling what they are feeling (this goes back to my earlier research). It requires cognition and emotion. We have had examples from former Presidents of that empathy. President Reagan’s speech when the Challenger exploded is a prime example of our President being empathetic. When President Obama, who was known for being rather stoic and criticized for being aloof (or even too intelligent) cried after considering the children who died at Sandy Hook. He felt the sorrow that any parent must have felt. He understood the tragic depth of loss, which should never occur in an elementary school. He also understood the recalcitrance of some in Congress, and their eventual failure to pass a bipartisan bill by a Republican Senator from here in Pennsylvania, and an incredibly conservative Democrat from West Virginia, both members of the NRA and gun owners themselves, two members who have A grades from the NRA. While I have been hard on President Trump during this pandemic, and yes, even before, I want to focus not on him, but the 60,000 people who have lost their lives in the first 1/3 of this year. I would hope that each of them had people who cared for them, who loved them, who, unfortunately, but appropriately, are mourning their loss. This is the reality of where we are and the fact that we are not able to test adequately, how many more have died who are not included. Depending on what, where, or who you read, they argue the numbers are significantly higher. In fact, statistics show that the number of people who have passed away in the country during the past four months is almost exponentially higher than the typical late winter/early spring in our country during similar periods.  

    Each and every one of these deaths is not a number; they are a human being. They are a family member. They loved and were loved. Do not doubt, I understand there are people scared about their livelihoods, I know some of these people personally, so please do not think I am merely sitting idly in my security. I will not say what I have been doing because this is not about me. It is about each and every single person who has lost their life because of this terrible virus. If we only see them as a block of 60,000 (and counting), we fail the empathy test. Even those who have not been a victim of Covid-19, as they have spent their last days, hours, or minutes, they had to do it alone. That is not how we are supposed to leave this world. We are social creatures, and that social element is Biblical for those wondering. The tragedy for those surviving is not something easily overcome. Empathy is an necessary component if we are to get through this as a country, and a country that will hopefully be better on the other side. The picture included is because I want to dedicate this blog to a doctor I did not know her, but a number of people where I live do. Many of you might have heard about her in the news this week. Dr. Lorna Breen was an Emergency Room doctor in NYC, and an outstanding one. She battled this virus at the epicenter where 10s of thousands have died. In the city that never sleeps. She lost her life in an incredibly tragic way because of what working on the front lines did to her. She not only treated thousands of patients, she contracted this terrible virus. She is certainly not a number. Dr. Breen, the daughter of a surgeon, grew up only 11 miles away from Bloomsburg. She grew up in the town where I work with students and doctors and teach in their medical school. In my somewhat idealistic hope, I want to believe the better angels will come forth. I want to believe that we will somehow come out of this better. I want to believe the love we have for others can rekindle an empathetic spirit that can transform our country, our world, and hopefully set an example for future times when our world struggles again with some situation that calls for our mutual care. That time will come; in fact, it might become the rule rather than the exception. So much for idealism. In spite of the loss of so many, if we can reach down deep and find the empathy we need, I believe the love each of them shared with those of us still here will go on. 

    I wish each of you a sense of love and comfort in this time. Thanks again for reading. 

    Dr. Martin

    The Role of a Mentor

    Hello from the Office (in the house, that is),

    This morning when I woke up, it is often the case that I will close my eyes again and pray. I give thanks for the many blessings and people that are in my life that make my life such a wonderful thing. It is then the case that I realized that both one of my most important mentors, Dr. Daniel Riordan, and my sister passed from this life on the same day of the year. Not long ago I noted how there was a strange pairing of dates that seem to be characteristic in my life, much to my amazement. I saw the addition to the story of Mary Riordan on Facebook, and realized this yet one more astounding irony in my life. More importantly, it reminded me of a mentor and colleague who continues to bless me in spite of my no longer hearing his inquisitive and caring voice.

    I met Dan Riordan first by phone when he called to tell me that the English and Philosophy Department at UW-Stout wished to do a phone interview with me. He was personable and inviting even on the phone. That interview went well because I would receive a second phone call inviting me to come to Menomonie, WI to interview in person for a tenure track position in their Technical Communication program, which was housed, not that surprisingly, in an English Department. The fact that Philosophy and English were in the same department was an entirely different matter. I drove to Menomonie from Houghton, MI, about a 6 hour drive, and found my hotel. I was invited to have dinner with Dan, Mary, and Dr. Bruce Maylath, the program director, that evening. When I arrived at Dan’s amazing home, I was treated to something I had never witnessed. Their house was perched on a bluff overlooking Lake Menomin, and high in a tree over the bank was a nest of bald eagles with two or three eaglets. This was an incredible site to behold, and I learned that the male bald eagle takes as much time in the nest as the female. The baby eaglets are not merely as majestic as they will grow to be, but they are certainly vocal. That evening was the beginning of a relationship that has changed who I am, how I manage my profession, and, perhaps more importantly, how I manage my life.

    Dan Riordan was an exceptionally talented individual, and that went far beyond the phenomenal example he was in the classroom. He had this inquisitive nature that found interest and beauty in almost everything. He background was in American Literature, but he became one of the pre-eminent individuals to work toward making Technical Communication what it was, not only for the University of Wisconsin-Stout, but also as a field of study. Through his textbook, his involvement in the Society of Technical Communication (STC) or the Council for the Programs in Technical and Scientific Communication (CPTSC), there Dan was changing our profession and the way we were understood as a discipline. And yet his more prominent role, for me and scores of students he served as a professor and advisor, was that of mentor. Dan was never too busy to listen, to assist, to question, and to ponder with anyone who came to his door. At the end of a semester, he would often take his students in mass to either a pizza place or even The Buck to socialize and reflect on their learning during the previous semester. As the faculty advisor to the Student Chapter of STC, he would regularly help students see beyond their classes to what the world beyond Menomonie might hold. What was more significant he did with a graciousness and enthusiasm that only Dan could do.

    When he moved from the classroom to work specifically with the Society of Teaching and Learning (SOTL), he now offered his kind, gentle manner, and yet with strong expectations typical of him, to get us to become better scholars and more effective professors. It was during that time that I believe many others at Stout learned how astounding Dan Riordan really was. During his time at Stout he had weathered many changes, but he never seemed to lose focus of what he believed we were able to, or should, do. When I first got to Stout, I was ABD, not something I would suggest for anyone, but it was necessary for be mostly because of health issues (for those who do not know that acronym it means all-but-dissertation). As I struggled in a new TT position, Dan had a gentle, firm, and supportive way of making sure I had my work done. There used to be a nice eating place on campus called the Heritage Room. Dan would meet me there for lunch once a week to check in and see how I was doing. Those lunches were about physical as well as psychological/emotional sustenance. He knew I had run afoul of our college dean and that was not a pleasant position. He provided both an ear as I worried and advice in how I could manage that plague that was affecting every aspect of my being. When I had emergency surgery in Eau Claire at the end of one semester, he was at my bedside seeing if I needed anything and again providing needed assurance that I had a colleague who would be there regardless the need. 

    Before what would be my last year at Stout, and after a particularly difficult meeting with the same dean, Dan shepherded me through that last stressful year. That fall, Dan would lose his closest colleague, Clark, to the same cancer that would eventually claim him, but he provided incredible support when at the gathering following Clark’s service when he asked me to sit next to him as we were across from my nemesis. He helped me be involved in a conversation that I was pretty petrified of joining. Dan saw the potential in people and he zeroed in on how to assist them long before they realized what he was doing. That was his nature. While he would tower above most in any room he entered, it was not his height that drew you into his realm. While you would most certainly notice this tall, slender, and bearded man, it was his charm and personality that would bowl you over. He noticed everyone and everything, and he had a way of making you feel like the only person on earth when he spoke with you. He was passionate about teaching and teaching others about it. He was an avid reader and his interests were both varied and voluminous. Whenever I was blessed to come to the house, which was always a treat, he would be almost giddy at times as he explained his newest discovery about something. He was not selfish in what he learned or what he knew; he wanted to share and bring others along on his journey, and yet he never forced you to come along. Instead, he made the journey so inviting, to say no would be ludicrous. Even after I left Stout and moved to Pennsylvania, he never left me. He would call from time to time or I would call him. His emails were always uplifting and supportive. Whenever I went back to care for Lydia, which was often, we would find a time to share coffee, a piece of chocolate, and stories about the program I was creating at Bloomsburg. He would, as always, ask inquisitively about the progress, the decisions, and other things I was doing. I still can hear his simple way . . . “Oh,” he would exclaim with his baritone/bass voice finding a tenor range. Then he would smile and follow with, “Tell me more,” much like a grandfather interested in his grandchild’s newest interest. When a new wine bar opened in Menomonie, we would meet there. His amazing photography decorated the walls of this new establishment. At one point, he took the time to come and visit me in Bloomsburg as an outside consultant. He met with my students, attended my classes, and then offered incredible support and insight about the best way to continue to develop things where I still am. When I finally got all the pieces through the University Curriculum Committee, I think he was as happy as I was. He would both tell me through email and on the phone how happy and proud he was. He was a mentor’s mentor. He was that person you could depend on, the one who had your back. His loyalty was something to behold. 

    Perhaps it was the last journey he took that was his most profound mentoring. When he was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, he did not shy away from what would happen. In fact, he tackled it with incredible strength and an almost throw-caution-to-the-wind abandon. He blogged regularly; he photographed more attentively; he took trips; and he shared his process. If he was frightened, and he was, he never let it stop him. In fact, he shared all the thoughts, emotions, and options that confronted him. He stared right back at them and moved forward. Never once did I see him or hear in his voice or emails a sense of why me? Poor me or anything that seemed to act as if he had been dealt a shitty hand. Instead, the professor, the pedagogical genius, the mentor came to the front and he wanted to merely do what he had always done. Help others more than himself. He mastered wall climbing; he offered more opportunities for others to learn, and that same affable, “aw shucks,” demeanor stayed strong as he was determined to move toward an end in the best way possible. The last time I saw him was in January, the winter before he passed. At this point, he knew he had run the race as long and successfully as he could. He knew it was now a time to prepare in a different way, but even then he was gracious as I came to visit him in the same living room I had first met him. He was moving slower and it was more painful, but he was as gracious as ever. We spoke about what it meant to have done all the things he had done. He had no regrets and he still was interested in how I was doing. We chatted about a wide range of things as was usual, but this time, there was a difference. It was as if he was preparing all of us for the inevitable, but not in a sad, somber, or pitiful way. Instead, he wanted to celebrate a relationship we had established. He wanted to make sure I was alright. It was just like him, teaching me one last time. As I left that day, we stood, I in the driveway and he on the steps. It was icy so he did not venture onto the slippery sloped drive. Instead he stood on the steps and as I turned to say goodbye, that wry, wistful smile was there. I folded my hands as if to pray and I merely said,  “thank you, Dan, I love you. And I will miss you.” My eyes welled up in tears, as they are now. He nodded. I spoke with him by phone once more after that visit.

    It is difficult to believe that it has already been three years. During this time of remote teaching, I have thought of him. As my students have struggled and I have worked with some of them through FaceTime, or even in person as possible, as I have spent hours on the phone, texting, or emailing, I am reminded that it is Dan who first got me to think about the rhetoric of technology. I can imagine him how pondering and coming up with all sorts of ways to help both our colleagues and students in this unprecedented time in the academy. Dan loved nature, everything about it. He loved art and music. When I was first a college student, I was introduced to Mannheim Steamroller through Fresh Aire III. This song is built around a cricket, hence its title, and its chirping as a metronome. Dan, thank you for being the mentor, exemplar, and life-changing man you were. What you need to know, and I hope you are smiling, is this. You still are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. 

    Thank you as always for reading.

    Michael