Museum of Infamy

Jefferson Davis headed for storage.

As the arc of history lengthens, our expanding perspective on past values and behaviors reshapes current attitudes. This process of accumulating reference is continuous and slow, so slow as to be imperceptible. But social changes can happen quickly when building pressure reaches a threshold and opinions that were once widely held become untenable to a portion of the masses. 

This is happening now with the widespread toppling (or peaceful removal) of statues depicting protagonists in some of America's most obviously racist or oppressive chapters. Not everyone is happy about this and a common defense of the statues suggests they we need them to "teach history" so that it may not be repeated.

Imaginary reader Jordan Bell summarized the debate in an eloquent Facebook essay where he noted that statues may be used to "teach or educate," but their intent is to "celebrate." Given that we have many means of teaching, with statues falling low on the list of most effective methods, we should be mindful of this distinction. We need not celebrate symbols that seemed laudable at an earlier time in history, but with the benefit of reflection, we now know to be unworthy of public honor.

So like it or not, statues of historical figures who achieved popularity through acts of oppression, racism, or other unsavory deeds, are coming down. The question is, "what to do with them all?" Collectively, we are talking about thousands of works of art, all with historical significance, representing important aspects of our civil evolution, and fashioned with immense artistic skill. It is understandable why some do not wish to see these statues destroyed.

I suggest we display them in a thoughtfully curated "Museum of Infamy". 

Our state and local governments already have a great number of statues in storage (with a great number more slated for imminent arrival). They are stored and protected using tax-payer money, but are unlikely to ever again see the light of day. Collectively, they surely hold some educational value, especially if theme-based statues and artifacts could be viewed and studied with regard to a particular historical narrative. 

Perhaps such a museum could satisfy both sides of the current debate; the statues will not be glorified by public display, but will be available for viewing by those who wish to learn from them.

The Holden Spangler Effect

No one has really ever figured out a formula for happiness, but it has certainly been one of the most researched subjects in the history of civilized man. The evidence suggests that, among happy people, kindness, empathy, and goodwill toward others are all prevalent traits. Incidentally, wealth and fame correlate poorly with happiness.

Despite this evidence, recent generations of American parents, who presumably want their children to be happy, seem to commonly emphasize other areas of focus in their children’s development. Achievement, be it through academics, athletics, or some other pursuit, is the goal that I see most prominently encouraged. It seems as though at times, we mistakenly steer toward “success” as a less direct, but more appealing path to happiness.

Last week, my son graduated from middle school and, due to social distancing guidelines, the graduation festivities were partially virtual. The electronic portion of the event included a slide show honoring top academic performers, which is perfectly appropriate and earns my full support and respect. After all, academic rigor includes commitment, discipline, and self-discovery of one’s individual learning approach. Reinforcing and rewarding scholarship is a good thing.

However, I was more pleased that the school also gave an award to the student who most demonstrated kindness, empathy, and goodwill toward others. It is a stand-alone award named for Holden Spangler, an exceptionally kind-hearted boy who passed away before graduating from the same middle school. The award recognizes aspects of individual character that are less commonly touted, but perhaps more important in the pursuit of a happy, fulfilling life.

I am grateful to the Marco Forster Middle School for reinforcing the importance of empathy, and I am grateful to Holden Spangler for living a beautiful life. May his legacy of kindness continue to inspire goodwill toward others.  

What Happened to All the Ugly Kids?

I've got three teenagers, and they each have plenty of friends that I see on a regular basis. I also attend a great many school and community events such as dance recitals, concerts, athletic competitions, and awards ceremonies. At these events I have the chance to mingle with plenty of youths, including a large percentage of the student body at each school.

Other than during a pandemic, this pattern of activity in my life has been true for more than a decade, spanning from grade school, through middle school and high school. What always strikes me, at nearly every event that I attend, is that every last one of the kids I see is good looking. They have nice skin, straight white teeth, and attractive features. Sometimes, they even have good manners.

When I was growing up, we had some good looking kids in my school and my neighborhood, but they were the lucky few. Most were more or less unremarkable in appearance. But make no mistake, as imaginary readers from my hometown can attest, we had a hearty portion of kids who were, in the juvenile parlance of our time, ugly.

Interestingly, when saddled with unappealing physical features, I think many kids instinctively compensated for their superficial disadvantages and learned to make solid first impressions based on attractive elements of their character. I suspect that such aspects of personality would have become more or less permanent and likely have continued to serve the "ugly kids" well into adulthood.

In the end, I think most of us would prefer to be good looking if such a bestowment was both objective and choosable. But for sure, developing attractive features of character when physical good looks are not genetically transmitted, is a pretty good, if not better compensatory prize.

So, what happened to all the ugly kids? I'm not sure, but I bet a good portion of them grew up and benefitted greatly from the enduring aspects of a laudable character. After all, a polished surface will undoubtedly weather with age, but a foundation of internal beauty can last a lifetime.

A Straight, White, Male…

When I was working on a graduate degree in Sociology, I joked with my cohort of fellow students, all members of marginalized groups, that I was probably the only straight, white, male to ever pursue an advanced degree in a field where “inequality” is a central theme. My participation in that program shone a sometimes-harsh light on my consistent membership in the most empowered groups, at every step of my very fortunate life.

I didn’t choose to be straight, or white, or male, but like a fish that is unaware that it lives in water, I grew up oblivious to many of the subtle advantages that membership in these groups had afforded me. I was always grateful for my good health, my loving relationships, and my opportunities for education, but I was blissfully unaware of the systematic advantages that sometimes favored me more than they favored members of other groups.

I first realized these circumstances during a summer when I was offered an internship at a fairly progressive company, along with about forty other students from around the country. We were all boarded in a modern apartment complex and each paired with a roommate. Mine was a polite and soft-spoken Political Science major from Northwestern University. He was also a 6’2”, Division I football player, and he was black.

Along with a group of the other interns, he and I would often go out after work for dinner or drinks. I was flabbergasted on many occasions to observe that, in public, a great many ignorant but otherwise well-meaning people, instinctively viewed him as a threat. One time, while waiting in the lobby of a Chicago high rise in our sharpest business suits, he asked me if white women nervously clutched their purses when I entered an elevator. For dramatic effect, he had posed this question just as our elevator arrived. As we stepped in, his impact on the other passengers was unmistakably clear; two middle-aged women noted his presence, drew their purses close, and stepped subtly away. I shook my head in silent wonder as I contemplated how a lifetime of subconscious "unwelcome" signs could affect a person's attitudes and opportunities. 

On many occasions that summer, when confronted with more overt racism, my roommate and his black friends would laugh incredulously at my obvious surprise. It was the first time that I realized the palpable and enduring reality of racism in the US. They couldn't believe I hadn't noticed it before.

In the time since, I’ve thought often about what I learned that summer. It was one of the reasons that I chose to further study Sociology. But, other than making an effort to sensitize my children to subtle forms of racism, I’ve really done nothing to help. I am a white guy, silently enjoying my station, going about my daily existence, perpetually comfortable with the status quo.  In the words of the movement, I am “part of the problem”.

I don’t know the solution, but behavioral science experts agree that the first step in resolving complex problems is to “recognize” the presence of the problem. Maybe the recent unrest triggered by the murder of George Floyd will move us collectively closer to the recognition that portions of our law enforcement and justice systems harbor some long lingering biases. 

But to be clear, George Floyd is not the story. He is just the current cover of an unfinished book that opened during the era of slavery and has added a page each day since. The book depicts an epic tragedy that, hopefully, will one day climax and resolve. My question is: are we moving closer to that day, or are too many of us like fish in water, oblivious to the only environment that our empowered majority groups have ever known?

A Bird in the Hand...

I think we all know the formula, "a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush." But what is the value of "two birds on your sofa"?

I did not intend to puzzle over this today, but as you know from my recent post on mixed emotions, I have a burgeoning relationship with many of the birds that live near me. Just now, from my work space at home, I heard the familiar sound of a small feathered head banging repeatedly into a glass pane. I walked into the family room to investigate and discovered two Nightingales, closely resembling the two in the photo above, perched on my sofa. Each bore the distinct expression of a bird trying to pretend it had not just been caught in the act of eyeing my fish tank.

As I approached to open a screen and clear their path to the wild, one flew back to the kitchen and made his way outside through the sliding doors. The other, crashed into the window a couple more times, briefly hid behind the curtain, then dropped to the floor and scuttled under the sofa to hide. 

My enterprising wife, once again demonstrating her skills as a "bird-whisperer", was able to pick him up and transport him gently to the backyard where she set him free. I was greatly impressed and wished that I too could have such a close and constructive encounter with a wild animal. This of course brought the old formula to mind; was her brief episode of intimate contact, of personal interaction with nature, really only as special as an episode involving two birds in a bush?

An economist might apply the rules of resource availability and suggest that the relative scarcity of birds in the hand make them worth well more than two, relatively abundant, birds in the bush. I would concur. But I will leave the actual analysis to imaginary readers (like JD) who majored in economics and, hopefully, can derive the value of birds that sit neither in your hand nor in the bush, but on your sofa.