The Screaming is Predictable

Photo by Sam Wheeler on Unsplash

He was born in a small southern town at the beginning of World War II. His dad worked for the railroad. His mom was a typing teacher at the local high school. He grew up in the carefully curated world of a rural southern sundown town. White men ran things. White women were feminine and subservient. Minorities were obsequious or invisible. Everyone pretended to be a straight Christian. Non-conformers left town as soon as they were old enough to.

He did pretty well for himself. Tennis player. Good student. Went to college and got a degree in accounting. Got a government job. Married the girl next door. Had 4 kids and worked slowly but steadily through the ranks. He wasn’t brilliant, but government offices are filled with people who learn how to apply the rules correctly and perform their duties adequately. It’s the sort of work that doesn’t reward intuition or genius. He wasn’t racist or sexist, of course, that would have been unprofessional, but he always thought his female or minority colleagues who excelled at their jobs were unusual and noteworthy.  

He got an MBA. His wife wrote all of his papers for him, but that probably doesn’t really matter. After all, he was a very busy man. By keeping his wife on an allowance and counting every penny, he managed to save a good bit of money. He read all the financial magazines and invested his money cautiously. It made him feel like a high roller. He could talk about “my stock portfolio.” He had a disabled son who took a lot of the parenting energy and resources. His other children turned out pretty okay, all things considered. They all disappointed him in some way, but none of them were really failures either. 

He retired, got a party and a plaque, and bought a little place in the country. He got a part time job with the local senior center, driving the van three days a week. He walks every day with his neighbor. Saturdays he takes the trash to the dump. He likes a predictable routine. It feels safe.

Then COVID19 happened.

He’s an educated man. He knows that science is real. He watches a documentary now and then. So he wears a mask to deliver meals to shut-ins and takes his temperature every day. But he doesn’t want it to be real. He’s watching his stock portfolio take a beating. His grandson’s college closed and his church switched to virtual services. Family events are cancelled. And it just doesn’t go away. He wants it to go away. He wants to be in control of things in his world, the way he used to be.

After a while, he starts to believe maybe the whole thing is being blown out of proportion. After all, he doesn’t personally know anyone who has it. His little town hasn’t seen many cases, and maybe those were really something else. He’s tired of wearing masks. He wants to see his grandkids and sit down for lunch at his favorite burger joint and get his hair cut and to watch his stock portfolio creep upwards.

He’ll vote for Trump again. Because it’s not really that bad. The media’s blowing it all out of proportion. Maintaining the status quo is more important than anything else when your world is a fragile house of cards. Even if the status quo is literally crumbling to the ground. Because if the status quo isn’t real, isn’t preserved, then what was it all about? All those years of living according to the rules, checking off the boxes and slowly accumulating the accouterments of a successful life. It has to mean something. Anything else is terrifying. Anything else is unthinkable. 

It's true that some Trump supporters and science deniers are uneducated mouth-breathing idiots. But most of them aren’t. They are just nightmarishly afraid of change and clinging desperately to the mirage of a stable and understandable past. Never mind that they world they lived in was a very narrow slice of reality. It was their slice and they lived comfortably within its rules and confines. COVID is disintegrating the walls around that world. The screaming is predictable.

Never Ever Do This Thing

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times. “Never mix business and politics.” “Keep politics off Linkedin.” “Keep your political opinions to yourself.” But here’s the deal. Politics are what I do. I’m a political activist. I’ve been a precinct chair, an event organizer, a videographer of political events, a political blogger, a grassroots organizer, a voter registrar, and a non-profit director. Politics have expanded my world and taught me more than I ever imagined when I drove to my first modest little protest in Oklahoma City 10 years ago.

• I learned how political campaigns are structured, staffed, and run.
• I learned how data analysis is used to design get-out-the-vote and voter outreach strategies.
• I learned how voter registration and elections are run.
• I learned how to run a fund-raiser.
• I learned how to seek out partner organizations to help achieve a goal.
• I’ve learned to always have the music first, the speakers second, and the marching last.
• I learned the confidence to pick up the microphone or stand in front of the news camera and speak my piece clearly and boldly.
• I learned how to evaluate candidates and campaigns to determine who has the best shot of winning and who deserves my support.
• I learned how to pick up the phone and call a gubernatorial candidate out of the blue and convince him to come halfway across the state to my event.
• I learned how much control lobbyists have over the political process, and that many politicians are completely bought and paid for by their cash, and that those politicians are pointless to talk to.
• I’ve delivered hundreds of pounds of emergency supplies across the ocean and beaten FEMA to the site.
• I’ve learned how to moderate and sustain a grassroots organization of thousands of members.
• I’ve learned who to trust for the long haul, who to partner with for the short-term, and who to avoid at all costs.
• I’ve learned when to step forward and lead and when to step back and follow.
• I’ve learned that people in positions of power are not necessarily smart or admirable.
• I’ve met my heroes and learned that they are ordinary people with ordinary weaknesses and quirks.
• I’ve cried with strangers at vigils and funerals and I’ve laughed and danced with strangers at rallies and celebrations.
• I’ve had sniper rifles pointed at my head and I’ve dared arrest in the Senate chamber and in the streets.
• I’ve seen my friends attacked by counter-protesters and dragged across the floor by the police.
• I’ve seen my convictions challenged and tested and found that they stand up to scrutiny and are worth defending.

Coincidentally, all of these things make me better at my “day job” as well. I wouldn’t be nearly as good at analyzing business processes, working with stakeholders at every level of an organization, asking the key questions, building an effective team, getting to the heart of a business problem, envisioning creative solutions, or challenging assumptions without my political experience.

So please don’t tell me to “leave politics out of it.” I could no more do that than I could leave my heart or my kidneys or my lungs out of it. It’s a package deal. And it’s a damned good deal too.