Many decades ago, I shoplifted a book, just for the hell of it. I do not remember the title (maybe Lady Chatterley’s Lover?) but do remember the thrill of stashing it under my shirt and walking out of the store. I was not apprehended. I returned the book the next day and never made that mistake again.
We all make mistakes. Who hasn’t done something a little wrong and gotten away with it? Perhaps a stupid move, a minor indiscretion, or a thoughtless comment. Or more likely a sin of omission — walking by someone in need. These are relatively small infractions, and Life closes over them. But some mistakes are in a different category and need to be addressed. The bottom line: some actions — and non-actions — have dire consequences.
This country has made a mistake, a big one, and the consequences are piling up. A partial list of harm that has transpired in just the last few weeks: the possibly permanent damage to our democracy and the balance of power in our government; the life-threatening effects on people in need, both here and abroad; the gutting of agencies responsible for social, educational, environmental, and scientific research programs (“gutting” is a sharp, decisive gerund: a gutted animal does not survive); the dangerous unraveling of our economy; the careening of foreign policy, perhaps into conflict; the purging of military leaders who might restrain the regime; the threats to free speech. All of this amounts to a crisis.
But I am facing a crisis within. The dizzying barrage of government misdeeds has pummeled me into a state that I have never before experienced. I have certainly witnessed terrible public events, such as wars I vehemently opposed, but I was always reassured by a sense that this is America, where certain values endure regardless of administration. Stalin and Hitler were over there; our legacy protected us, I thought.
The current chaos has generated confusion and a kind of paralysis. I find myself avoiding the news for a time to preserve some sense of peace, then pouncing on it feverishly to catch up on the latest atrocity. I am not apathetic; I am exhausted. In a profound sense, I have lost my integrity. Where do I stand?
I taught middle school for two decades. I especially enjoyed that age group, 11 to 14, because it is that stage in life when most of us are beginning to define ourselves, declare our identities, state our priorities, and haltingly decide what we stand for. Of course, many young people just stay within their parents’ realm of influence and have no greater ambition than to copy them, but a significant segment come into their own definitions of themselves. It was good to witness this happening.
Another pivotal stage for some is college, where the greater freedom, the distance from home, the all-night bull sessions give people a chance to find purpose and dedicate themselves to certain causes. Adulthood, however, finds many of us in the narrow confines of making a living and losing focus and energy for those causes.
Then there is retirement, when people have more time to go back to those issues and priorities. Many on the Cape are at that point, and I have one foot in that circle.
So, where do I stand? I am a child again. The bully has entered the playground. He has messed with the little kids but not yet bothered me directly. (He has disassembled all the equipment and cowed the teachers and the principal.) But my turn will surely come.
How do I respond to the meanness and maintain my sense of self? I must avoid joining the increasingly coarse discourse (our president calling a federal judge a “lunatic” and a journalist a “sleazebag”). Cynicism is also a ready trap, as is conspiratorial thinking. I must strive to invest in empathy, even as it has been downgraded as a virtue by some. I must find courage. I must speak up for basic decency. I might have to sacrifice comfort to take a stand. When self meets society, character is on display.
It is all a muddle: How can we go on with our normal lives? How can we not?
