Last night in class, one of my students asked me if I was aware that Topeka, Kansas had decriminalized domestic violence, to save the cost of prosecution.
Who was it that decried a society in which people know “the cost of everything and the value of nothing?” How insane has criminal justice policy become when we spend upwards of 40 billion dollars every year on a drug war to (ostensibly) prevent people from harming themselves, but we won’t spend money to prosecute people who harm others?
What do these examples say about our cultural norms? One possibility: our puritan impulses to insure that our neighbors are behaving “morally” drive policies from blue laws to censorship to alcohol and drug prohibition; while a still-lingering sexism convinces us that a man sometimes has to “assert authority” over his wife? (Never mind that men can also be the victims of domestic violence).
Social priorities really come into focus when money is tight.
Yesterday I had a major birthday, and such milestones are occasions for considering “the meaning of it all” (a question that my husband insists on answering with “42”–a response no one understands unless they’ve read “Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.”)
My children surprised me with a party (shocked me, actually), and as I was hugging good friends and relatives, I was forcibly reminded that, in the end, what matters most is those human connections. Not to be maudlin, but it’s love that makes our lives worthwhile.
Yesterday, messages from my Facebook friends and from family and friends at the surprise party reminded me once again that no matter how screwed up the world is, if we’re lucky, we each have the opportunity to create an island of sorts–a place that may not be found on any map, but that is nevertheless a haven and a retreat, a place where we can enjoy the company of the people who are important to us.
I’ve been very lucky, and I’m so grateful for my family and friends. I’ll undoubtedly keep bitching about dumb policies and inadequate/hateful/corrupt public servants and all the other things I complain about on this blog, but I really do recognize how incredibly fortunate I am when it comes to the things that matter most.
I noticed a letter to the editor this morning that sounded a familiar theme. The writer dismissed the Occupy Wall Street demonstrators, characterizing them as whiners wanting handouts, and ended by lecturing them to take “personal responsibility.” Clearly, in his view, “personal responsibility” means taking care of oneself and not expecting anyone else to lend a hand.
There’s a lot wrong with this diatribe–ironically, the major complaint of the OWS protests is the distortion of our social structures that makes it difficult, if not impossible, for many people to exercise that sort of personal responsibility–but for some reason, I was struck by the fact that we rarely hear anyone explain what they believe is involved in taking personal responsibility.
At a minimum, personal responsibility is understood as taking care of oneself. (In this sense, it always reminds me of the 15th Century English poor law that prohibited giving alms to the “sturdy beggar.”) In America, the able-bodied are expected to work. But doesn’t personal responsibility also include a responsibility to work for a system where work is available?
In other words, doesn’t personal responsibility entail responsibility for our communities? And if it doesn’t, how are we different from the “state of nature” described by Hobbes as “nasty, brutish and short.” This nation’s founders were heavily influenced by John Locke’s theory of the social contract; surely that contract demands a measure of social responsibility of our citizens.
This morning’s letter-writer uses “personal responsibility” much as the English used to use the phrase “I’m all right, Jack.” In other words, I’ve got mine and I expect you to get yours, and if you can’t, tough. Don’t whine to me.
I think that is a crabbed, unsatisfactory and ultimately self-defeating definition of personal responsibility. I believe the correct interpretation of responsibility is that I have a duty not just to take care of myself and my family, but to contribute to my community: to work for good government, to assist those who are less fortunate, and to work with others to create a society where all people have an equal opportunity to be personally responsible.
When we participate in the ideological babble that substitutes for civic discourse these days, we really need to define our terms.
We are in New York for a long weekend, and last night, my husband, son and I went to see the Broadway musical version of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. We’d loved the movie when it came out in the early 90s…a poignant, funny depiction of life from the perspective of three Australian drag queens.
The show was full of energy–with fabulous consumes, special effects and good music. The audience clearly loved it; there was lots of laughter and a standing ovation. But it was no longer the bittersweet portrayal of nonconformity that I remembered.
The world has changed a lot in the last 15 years, and as much as I use this space to complain about our increasingly bizarre political class, our gilded age economics and our collective historical amnesia, much of that change should be applauded.
When I first saw Priscilla, a lot of people still equated “gay” with “drag queen.” And those who were drag queens were objects of scorn within what a friend of mine called the “straight” gay community. The violence encountered by the protagonists was pretty common, and the notion that each of us should be free to be whatever it is we are was not part of the culture’s messaging.
As we were walking back to my son’s apartment, we talked about the cultural shift that made Priscilla resonate so differently a mere fifteen years later. While homophobia is still present and violence not nearly as rare as it should be, we have seen a sea change–especially in cities. (Rural and small-town America is a different story, although even there, things are better.) And it isn’t just better for the GLBT community; it is better for women and other minorities. When I was growing up, all the social messages I received defined a woman’s role very narrowly; women weren’t lawyers or college professors unless they were too unattractive to find a husband, and our worth was judged largely on how successful that husband was and how well our children turned out. Most of the African-Americans I met were servants, and if I knew anyone who was Hispanic or Muslim, I was unaware of it.
I’m approaching a very big birthday, and I’ve been mulling over the challenges and lessons that come with getting old. But living a long time also gives you a perspective that isn’t available to young people. From my perspective (which is clearly not shared by a whole lot of people), the cultural shifts during my lifetime have been primarily positive.
Constructing a society that celebrates our individuality and enables personal autonomy is a good thing, even if it makes an occasional Broadway show seem like a period piece.
A friend of mine emailed me this morning to share one of those internet “jokes” that make the rounds. He was astonished–and disheartened–to think that the relative who’d forwarded it evidently agreed with what might loosely be called its “message.”
On opening the attachment, the first thing I saw in large letters was “What a dumbass!”
In slightly smaller type, the text went on: “The problem with public housing is that the residents are not the owners. The people that live in the property did not work for it, but were loaned the property from the true owners, the taxpayers. Because of this, the residents do not have the “pride of ownership” that comes with the hard work necessary to earn the money to purchase the items.”
Following a couple more paragraphs of this were posted pictures of the President in the White House, with his feet up–a pose that evidently demonstrated his lack of pride and his usurpation of the premises from the “rightful” owners.
Let’s deconstruct this. Not only is the premise both incorrect and stupid–plenty of renters show a lot more respect for property than many “owners” (and plenty of “owners” are for all intents and purposes renting their homes from their mortgage holders)–but a President who won an overwhelming majority of both the popular and electoral vote is as “rightful” as a White House occupant gets.
But those are just factual objections. What is most distasteful is the obvious racism–the implicit message is that renter=black person=person who doesn’t respect property=illegitimate President. And what is even more irritating is the strong likelihood that the people who forwarded this particular bit of bilge would indignantly deny any racist intent–indeed, they probably don’t admit it even to themselves.
I think the only way to combat this ugly underbelly of what passes for political discourse is to call it what it is. When people of good will receive this sort of unAmerican bilge, we need to respond to the sender. We need to ask “why would you forward something like this to me?” And when the sender protests that their animus to this President is based upon “policy differences,” we need to press them on precisely what those policy differences are, and why they justify a portrayal that focuses upon the race of the President rather than on the failings of his policy proposals.
When we fail to respond, we enable the ongoing denial of racial motivation. It’s no different than remaining silent when someone tells a “joke” about “kikes” or “wops” or “spades.” If we don’t make clear that such labels are offensive–and not at all funny–we are complicit. If we simply hit the delete button, and don’t respond, we are equally complicit.
It’s time to talk back. We probably won’t convince the senders–they have demonstrated their obtuseness–but we may at least make them think twice before forwarding the next one.
