Game-Playing

When I was growing up, parents and teachers used to tell us “it isn’t whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game.” Honor was a higher goal than winning. Playing fair, displaying sportsmanship, generosity in winning and gallantry in losing were the goals. Adults worthy of our admiration and respect were those who modeled such behaviors.

Need I say that times have changed?

There has been a great deal written about the Shirley Sherrod fiasco, and plenty of egg for all the faces involved. A right-wing blogger and Fox News favorite, Andrew Breitbart, was evidently offended by the NAACP’s demand that the Tea Party denounce those among them who had exhibited racism. In another echo from my childhood—nah, nah, you’re a bigger one—he posted a videotape purporting to show a speech by Sherrod, an African-American employee of the Agriculture Department, in which it appeared she was sharing anti-White sentiments after receiving an award from the organization. The tape, it turned out, had been doctored—when viewed in its entirety, it was a heartfelt plea to get beyond racism of all varieties.

The elderly farmer who was the supposed object of her bigotry emerged to protest the smear; his wife told how Sherrod had actually saved their farm. Fox News, which had heavily promoted the Breitbart version, backpedaled. Before the whole story emerged, however, the Obama Administration demanded Sherrod’s resignation. No due process, no fact-checking, despite Sherrod’s long and distinguished tenure with the agency.

Let me suggest that none of this was really about accusations and denials of racism. It was about game-playing.

American politics has become so rancid, so sordid, that lying to advance one’s party is evidently considered a perfectly acceptable tactic—so acceptable that even those of us who try to follow the news and separate fact from convenient fiction find it increasingly difficult to know what is true and what isn’t.  Organizations like snopes.com and factcheck.org can help, but most of us haven’t the time to sit at our computers double-checking every “fact” uttered by self-serving politicians.

Historically, we relied upon the mainstream media to do our fact-checking. But in the mad dash for eyeballs and audience share, in the era of the 24-hour “news hole,” even the outlets trying to practice legitimate journalism too often fail to check the accuracy of the charges and countercharges that have all but entirely replaced principled policy debates.

And what about those we have elected, ostensibly to run the agencies of government? The saddest feature of contemporary politics is the wholesale abandonment of seriousness and policy expertise for game-playing.  And what an ugly game it is, where control of a day’s news cycle is more important than the destruction of a lifelong public servant’s reputation. 

It’s bad enough that these political operatives never learned the lesson that how you play the game is more important than winning or losing, but what is really depressing is that self-government has degenerated into a game to be played.

Us versus Them, Redux

When I was growing up in Anderson, Indiana, Jews were often viewed as an alien species. I can remember being asked—in all seriousness—whether Jews had tails, and whether we lived in houses, like “real people.” In addition to these innocent if disconcerting questions, I also remember being called a “dirty Jew” for the first (but not last) time, when I was in second grade.

Fast forward. I was in my late teens and in college when John F. Kennedy ran for President. I vividly recall fellow students assuring me that Catholics were stockpiling arms in the basements of their churches (presumably to be used if he lost, but that was unclear). Those with less vivid imaginations nevertheless muttered darkly about “popery” and warned that a Kennedy Presidency would mean American obedience to Rome.

America has largely moved beyond those particular bigotries, and it would be comforting to believe we’ve matured enough as a society to avoid that sort of crude stereotyping of whole groups of people.

Apparently, many of us haven’t.

Recent news articles have reported on efforts in several cities—including supposedly cosmopolitan New York—to prevent Muslim congregations from building mosques. Opponents of those building permits have characterized Muslim places of worship as “terrorist cells,” and the religion as an incubator of anti-Western, anti-democratic values. Here in Indiana, where perennial candidate Marvin Scott is running for Congress against Andre Carson, one of two Muslims serving in the U.S. House of Representatives, ugly anti-Muslim sentiments are regularly posted to Scott’s Facebook page.

Are there Muslim terrorists? Sure. There are also Catholics whose devotion to the Church trumped their American duty to report child molestation to the authorities. There are Jews who engage in “sharp” business practices. There are lazy black people, emotionally volatile women and gay pedophiles. There are also all-American Christian terrorists like Timothy McVeigh, WASP crooks like Enron’s Ken Lay, strong women like Hillary Clinton and innumerable lazy white guys and heterosexual pedophiles. Judging people on the basis of invidious stereotypes doesn’t get us very far.

One of the foundations of the American value system—embedded in our legal system and culture—is this recognition that people deserve to be judged on the basis of their individual behaviors, not on the basis of their race, religion, gender or sexual orientation.  

We are living through some very tough times right now, and it is understandable that many of us are looking for scapegoats—someone to blame for a world that seems increasingly out of our control. It is human instinct to look askance at those who are unfamiliar, who look different, who come from other places or who follow different customs. There are also genuine issues that arise when groups new to the American landscape are in the process of assimilating to that landscape.  But we dishonor the American principles of equality and fair play when we treat any community as monolithic.

 Muslims—like Protestants, Jews, Catholics and other believers and nonbelievers—are just “real people.”

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Paradigm Shift

In a recent column about urban relocation, Neil Pierce noted that “for humans, displacement from their known settings may be exceedingly painful…the psychological impact of forced removal from a familiar neighborhood is like a plant being jerked from its native soil.” He went on to acknowledge that holding neighborhoods static isn’t practical.

Of course, it isn’t just neighborhoods that cannot remain static. The whole world is in a state of flux, what scientists might call a “paradigm shift,” and the pain and discomfort that undeniable fact is causing is manifest in our communications, our economy, and especially our politics. (How else do we understand the angry and frightened voices insisting that they want “their country” back?)

Most of us do manage to handle social change and the discomfort it brings without taking to the streets or indulging in paranoid conspiracy theories. We learn to accept new technologies and discard old prejudices, and to recognize the benefits that accompany the dislocations. But even those who welcome the new paradigm need to recognize its challenges, and that is especially true for those of us who care about our cities.

Let me offer just one example. When I was a young professional, civic leadership in Indianapolis was provided by people like Tom Binford and P.E. MacAllister, people who did not hold—or want—public office. They had deep roots in this community and believed they had a civic obligation to nurture it. Many leaders were drawn from locally-owned banks and industries—enterprises that depended for their viability upon the health of their city. Whatever the benefits of globalization and nationalization, those trends have largely robbed us of the corporate headquarters and local banks from which we used to draw people committed to the civic enterprise.

Political actors and elected officials can’t fill these roles. Furthermore, elected officials are less able to be effective without the help of a cadre of civic leaders who are committed to the long-term health of the community and who are not constrained by political considerations. (Long term to a politician, understandably, is ‘until the next election.’)   

The challenge we face is to simultaneously embrace our roots and our wings: to cultivate a city with a quality of life that rewards our allegiance on the one hand, and to welcome the opportunities that come with increasing globalization on the other. To meet that challenge, we need to figure out how we will cultivate the next generation of civic leadership.

A couple of years ago, a television commercial proclaimed “This isn’t your father’s Oldsmobile.” Today, of course, it isn’t your Oldsmobile either—it is no longer manufactured, and the American auto industry no longer dominates the economy. This isn’t your father’s Indianapolis or America either. If the old saying is right, if change is the only constant, we need to do what previous generations did: accept reality and inhabit the world as it is.

Our job isn’t to whine about the inevitable—our job is to make it better.

Beam Me Up, Scotty

I should probably be ashamed to admit it, but my TIVO is set to copy episodes of Star Trek—mostly, the “Next Generation” but also the Deep Space Nine and Voyager spinoffs. I’ve watched some of these so often, I can repeat the dialogue. Verbatim. And although I like most science fiction, I vastly prefer those that—like Star Trek—depict a future more utopian than dystopian.

Which brings me to a seemingly unrelated topic: my unsolicited correspondence file.

I rarely get hate mail from readers of the Word (although I do seem to prompt the occasional bitchy post from local gay bloggers), but my columns for the Indianapolis Star generate quite a number of nasty emails and snail mail. Some of these are one-time rants about my elitism, liberalism, lack of common sense or morality and general unworthiness to occupy the planet; others are predictable messages from persistent “pen pals” who evidently believe that the fortieth time they explain to me that God doesn’t like homosexuals, a light will finally dawn and I’ll suddenly agree with them.

One of those persistent correspondents was the man I referred to in a 2009 column titled “Dear Nutjob.”  (I know—not very civil. I was steamed.) This is the guy who keeps sending me “research” proving that my son can be “cured” of his gayness. In the previous column, I vented; after receipt of his more recent correspondence, I have taken to wondering what possesses him and people like him—what leads them to insist that difference equals less than and otherness is to be feared and/or hated (or “cured”)?

It isn’t just GLBT folks who generate this response. Look around at the “teabag” folks who are constantly proclaiming that they want “their” country back. It’s not difficult to figure out who they want it back from: African-Americans, immigrants, uppity women who no longer know our place. Look at the hysterical efforts to keep Muslim-Americans from building a Mosque in lower Manhattan, and the claims that all Muslims are terrorists. How dare all these outsiders consider themselves equally American, equally entitled to civil liberties, social status and political office?

I have my own theories about what motivates all this. (You’ve probably noticed that I’m never short on theories—how valid they are is, I know, debatable.) The world is changing, and if that change isn’t really more rapid and disconcerting than ever before, the internet and the 24-hour news-hole certainly make it seem that way.

For some of us, that change is exciting, and much of it is welcome, but for others, it is profoundly destabilizing. In a way, they are all like Rip Van Winkle, waking from a 20-year sleep to confront an alien reality. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised if experiencing change that way pushes some folks over the edge. The good news is—at least, if polls are to be believed—most of the ugliness of our current public discourse is the product of us older Americans. (As I tell my students, once my generation is dead, things should improve!)   

All of which brings me back to the Starship Enterprise.

I know it is more than fiction—it’s probably an impossible fantasy—but part of me really wants to believe that we humans will eventually learn to behave the way they do on the bridge of the Enterprise, respecting and cooperating with a wide variety of human and alien comrades, and turning our combined energies to the task of exploring and understanding the mysteries of the universe.

Oh well. A girl can dream.

Defining Our Terms

Anti-tax fervor has become a defining aspect of American politics—so much so, that here in Indiana we are getting ready to enshrine a so-called “property tax cap” in the state’s Constitution. (The existing law imposing such a cap is evidently considered inadequate.)  Those of us who question the wisdom of such a measure are often accused of being “for” taxes—a clearly incomprehensible position.

Let me pose a question. What is a tax? Do we know one when we see one?

The answer begins with the simple premise that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Goods and services cost money, and that money has to come from somewhere. If the city picks up your garbage, payment comes from your taxes; if you employ a private scavenger service, you pay for pickup directly. There may be economies of scale that make the city service cheaper or there may not, but however the service is provided, it has to be paid for.

Policymakers face a series of questions. The first, and most important, is whether a service needs to be provided at all. What is the benefit to a community of garbage collection, or bus service, or libraries? Do we require police and fire services? A sports arena?

In some cases, the public benefit is obvious. If we don’t collect the garbage, we risk the public health; if we don’t provide fire protection, public safety suffers.  Of course, we could simply require that property owners buy these services on the open market; in fact, many communities used to do just that. These and other public services were “socialized”—that is, they were provided communally—because it was cheaper and more efficient to have government provide them. They didn’t suddenly become “free”—we just paid for them differently.

If we want services, we have to pay for them. Calling that payment a “user fee” or a “utility bill” doesn’t change that. We can certainly debate whether we really need a particular service—some people would be perfectly happy to dispense with massive sports stadiums, others would cheerfully do without libraries. But if we do want them—and our streets paved, our neighborhoods policed and our parks mowed—we have to pay for them.

Transparency in government is considered a good thing because it allows voters to see what their elected officials are doing, and where their money is actually going. The problem with the current anti-tax fervor is that it penalizes transparency and rewards official game-playing.  Voters’ hostility to paying taxes—coupled with their insistence on continuing to receive services—sends elected officials a clear message: lie to us.

“Cap” our taxes and find “nontax revenue sources.” Shift expenses from operating to capital budgets, so you can borrow money to cover operating expenses. Blame the federal government for service cuts. Hide the street repair money in our utility bills.

It’s more costly when we do things that way—but the payments aren’t called taxes, and evidently that’s all that counts.

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