Lessons from Gilligan's Island

 Maybe you’ve seen the bumper sticker: “Even on Gilligan’s Island they listened to the professor, not the millionaire.” Someone has invoked characters from the iconic TV series to comment on the administration’s seeming paucity of scientific knowledge. If you’re going to play around with a classic, you’d better remember there might be other lessons to be learned from the “uncharted desert isle.”

The millionaire (and his wife), the professor, the movie star, and the farm girl were all kept safe by veterans.

While the actress always looked good, she didn’t contribute much—on the other hand, she didn’t threaten to leave the island if she didn’t get her way.

The professor, who improved the quality of life on the island in so many ways, still couldn’t fix the boat.

The millionaire was always generous, and the beneficiaries of his largess were too smart to call him evil or demand he stop making money.

Even with a movie star, an Ivy-leaguer, and an academic in their number, most of the work was done by an old guy, a Midwesterner, and a former boy scout.

Echoes From the Playground

 We’ve moved from Ohio back to Texas. We bought a house we saw only on the internet and drove 1,200 miles from Worthington to Austin in two days—at our age and in the midst of a pandemic (insert shout-outs to safety minded Tru-Hilton hotels). Our route took us through southwest Ohio, Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, and northeast Texas. We ate at drive-through restaurants and never took breaks to “stretch our legs” in roadside stores or malls. But we did have to stop for gas and other issues (delicacy forbids giving details).

I admit feeling apprehensive in a convenience store in Tennessee. Stepping in, I realized I was the only masked person in the store. Would they imagine I had come to rob the place and call the sheriff? Or would they grab their squirrel guns? I shouldn’t have worried. The scornful looks from the clerks and other customers told me they knew I was just another foolish Yankee who believed in “the plandemic.” (A term used by conspiracy theorists who claim the Coronavirus crisis is designed to make money for drug companies, or to undermine the Trump presidency.)

 As it happens, from the time we crossed the Ohio River until we reached the outskirts of Dallas, I recall only signs and bumper stickers supporting the current resident of the White House; and not a few homemade banners and billboards celebrating his successes, not to mention the F-150s flying flags declaring, “Keep America Great.” One might imagine the absence of masks to somehow be connected. But pursuing that issue would be digressing. And I don’t digress.

But I will ask why some people resist wearing the masks. There seems to be ample evidence they help prevent us being infected or infecting others.

Why are some people refusing to wear masks?

Is it a matter of rejecting science? Are these folks along I-40 mocked (chastised) in those smug signs that say (among other things), “In this house we believe…science is real…?” (Any day now I expect “…the media is unbiased…” to be added to the list. But I digress. Oops.) I suppose a legacy of the Scopes Trial has been the perception of the scientifically vacuous South. Has the presence of Duke, Vanderbilt, and Rice meant nothing? Sure, some of those good old boys in that store might insist the earth is only 10,000 years old, but they know enough science to know a NASCAR doesn’t run on regular. And don’t forget that sad note in Bobbie Gentry’s “Ode to Billy Joe,” recalling how “… there was a virus going ‘round, Papa caught it and he died….” Any Southerner who listens to oldies radio knows viruses kill!

So is it regional? Why does Costco (based in Seattle) require customers to wear masks while Sam’s Club (based in Arkansas) “suggests” customers wear masks? Why do leaders in Southern states insist schools must resume in-person classes (at the same schools so many of these leaders claim are ineffective)? Much as I’d like to argue the rebellion against masks is regional, I admit I saw many maskless faces back in Columbus, especially amongst the bright young folks on the OSU campus (the positivity rate among students being tested for COVID-19 hovers around 4%, well above the national average). Ultimately, the issue might not be where people live but among whom they live; if wearing a mask earns the scorn of those we wish to impress, we will skip the mask no matter how dangerous not wearing it might be. Perhaps this is why Dr. Andrew Fauchi encourages Americans to set a good example by wearing masks: he hopes people will chose to be leaders, not followers.

Is not wearing a mask foolish bravado? A friend had furniture delivered to her home; the driver had no mask. When she mentioned his maskless condition, the driver said, “The virus? I’m not afraid of that thing.” I thought an appropriate response would have been, “That’s only fair, ‘cause it’s not afraid of you. It will get right up your nose.” It seems like the unmasked can display such courage only if they don’t have parents or grandparents or, as we now know, children who might be vulnerable, only if they have health insurance to pay for a four-to-six week stay in the hospital, only if they can stand to lose their jobs, only if their spouses don’t mind quarantining, risking their jobs, and their own health. Still, in a world where people smoke despite warnings, ride motorcycles without helmets, wear plaids with stripes, there will be those who go maskless because they believe “it” can’t happen to them. But, of course, just as there will be smokers who develop lung cancer, helmetless riders who have head injuries, and sartorially impaired who never have second dates, there will be those who eschew masks and contract COVID-19. Real bravery faces criticism and defies peer pressure by acting responsibly for the sake of others—and ourselves. And that isn’t foolish.

In the end, people aren’t wearing masks because they don’t want to. Encourage them to wear masks by saying, “Not everything is about you;” and they’re likely to respond, “I’ve never heard anything so silly in my entire life.” Consider this analogy. In the United States at least one in ten pregnant women still drinks alcohol, despite its link to birth defects related to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. And expectant mothers in the US aren’t the worst offenders; Ireland, Denmark, and the UK have rates of 60%, 46%, and 41%, respectively. The prevalence of FAS in those countries follows the same pattern. Women in these countries, with their government sponsored health care programs, cannot claim ignorance about the risk. In the much of the world, any woman picking up a bottle of beer can read a warning like this from the European Alcohol Policy Alliance, “Drinking any alcohol can harm your unborn baby.” Still, they drink.

Should I show a little compassion because such women are obviously addicted? Addiction is real, but on that scale? My seventy-five-year-old grandfather developed polyps on his vocal cords and was told he had to quit smoking. Though he had been “rolling his own” since he was a teenager, he never smoked again. I’m sure the temptation to light-up was great but the desire to keep living was greater (he did live, dying just short of his 101^st birthday). Addictions can be beaten. Surely, most of the women who continue to drink alcohol while pregnant don’t stop because they don’t want to.

No matter the excuse, people who won’t wear masks are barefaced narcissists. Usually, their excuses are shallow: “my glasses fog up,” “I can’t breathe with a mask on,” or “the mask hurts my ears.” Of course, sometimes the excuses are lofty. An Ohio politician won’t wear a mask because he claims it is an offense against God since we are made in God’s image. By no means do I wish to deny that humankind reflects the imago dei, but that politician is spouting bad theology. (Orthodox theology does not interpret “the image of God” in physical terms; rather, it suggests we humans, like God, possess intelligence, creativity, will, a capacity for relationships, and a moral sense. But I digre… you know.)

In short, individuals who won’t wear a mask are standing with fists on their hips, as they would have on the playground, and saying to the government, to the medical establishment, to the community at large, “You’re not the boss of me.” Though, should they get sick, they will certainly expect the government, the medical establishment, and the community to have a bed ready.

On Not Honking If You Love Jesus

         We have some friends who live in another state (i.e., not Ohio). A few days ago, they told me about a church near their home. Like so many congregations across the nation, this church has found an alternative way to meet during the pandemic. While many churches are broadcasting their services on the internet using programs like Zoom or YouTube, this church has created a drive-in sanctuary: Church members gather in their cars on the church parking lot while music and sermons are broadcast via a loudspeaker. I’m sure there are other churches doing this, but I don’t know where they are. A local church here in Ohio invites members to the parking lot while services are broadcast on short-range radio, but that’s not the same—if you aren’t near the church and your radio isn’t tuned to the right frequency, you will miss the service. You’re not forced to “attend.”

But this really caught my attention: “Apparently,” my friend said, “if the people like what they’re hearing, instead of saying, ‘Amen,’ they honk their horns.” Sure, I remember the old bumper sticker, "Honk, If You Love Jesus!" But I wonder.

If my friends could hear the service and the horns a couple blocks away, I’m guessing they were even louder near the church. As I think of people around that church, I imagine first-responders or ER personnel, who have worked through a hectic Saturday night, trying to get a little sleep; or maybe a parent who stayed up all night caring for a sick child, a child who finally settled into sleep, allowing the parent a moment to nap in a nearby chair. As the hearty choruses of “Amens” blared on Sunday morning, the prospect of sleep abandoned these people and anyone else who just wanted to sleep in after a tense week of trying to stay on top of the workload while trying to stay well.  And, of course, anyone tuned-in to the internet to hear messages from their own pastors found those messages interrupted by the honking.

While 99% of churches (unscientific estimate) have tried to keep their members healthy and have demonstrated empathy for those facing the COVID-crisis, some have undermined the church’s reputation by unloving statements and uncaring foolishness. Regrettably, the one percent (unscientific estimate) have received 75% (unscientific estimate) of the headlines. (Now be honest: you’ve seen more stories of ministers and churches being foolish during the pandemic than you’ve seen stories of churches and ministers modeling good sense.)

When the great isolation is over—and it will be over some day—people will remember the selfish, insensitive behavior of church leaders long after they’ve forgotten being unable to dash into the local Kroger or HEB without a mask. It’s time for responsible church leaders to remember the future. Can anyone say, “Amen” (or flash your headlights)?

 

 

Talking Star Trek...

         Long, long ago, in a living room far, far away…I watched Star Trek. I was a fan, though I doubt I realized I was watching television history in the making. I remember when Leonard Nimoy (“Mr. Spock”) did a voiceover announcement to say the show had been renewed despite a threatened cancellation. The subsequent iterations of the Star Trek franchise never won my devotion like the first: No one would ever be quite like Kirk, Spock, Bones, Uhura, etc. Captain Picard, doubtless, had a certain appeal, but the man put up with Wesley Crusher, for pity’s sake.  Looking back, I remember some great quotes, some spoken on The Enterprise, some on the hostile planets the away teams visited. Here are some I recall and lessons they teach.

 

“I canna change the laws of physics,” Lt. Cmdr. Montgomery Scott. The chief engineer kept The Enterprise going, even when it was severely damaged. He could do remarkable things; but he understood some things were beyond his control. We sometimes exhaust ourselves raging against the unchangeable: An action taken that cannot be reversed, words spoken that cannot be called back, the onslaught of the bad habits of a lifetime. Though we yearn to control our circumstances, sometimes we can’t.

 

“…to boldly go where no man has gone before…” Capt. James Kirk, describing the Enterprise’s five-year mission, repeated at the beginning of most episodes. Those words hint at great adventure, the kind of adventure seemingly no longer possible in our world. But I include these words because of the fuss and bother they caused. First, there is that pesky split infinitive “to boldly go.” It reportedly outraged English teachers across the nation because the statement violated the rule against splitting an infinitive; Kirk (and Picard after him) should have said, “to go boldly.” But there is no such rule. Grammarians, borrowing from the rules of Latin, attempted to impose the rule on English, but it doesn’t fit. It reminds us that sometimes those who tells us, “you can’t do that,” are just wrong. But the second objection to the description of the mission is more subtle. Kirk’s words were declared to be sexist. (Picard would say, “to boldly go where no one has gone before,” ignoring the grammar fanatics while defusing the feminists’ objections.) It doesn’t matter that “man” has been used to refer to both genders for centuries, it doesn’t matter that fully 90% of those hearing Kirk’s words would never think he was imagining only males on the five-year-mission; it doesn’t matter that Communications Officer Uhura (who took the com from time to time), Nurse Chapel, and Yeoman Rand were key members of the team, valued by their coworkers, indispensable in some of the stories, the words were offensive. Nor, of course, does it matter if writers have to do a bit of linguistic gymnastics to avoid seeming to exclude women from recognition for their accomplishments. If we want to communicate today, we’ll do it.

 

“I do not approve. I understand,” Spock. The Enterprise is visiting a planet where war has been reduced to a deadly computer game in which millions of virtual casualties are replaced by flesh-and-blood individuals and, then, humanely killed in “disintegration stations” so the “civilization” might live on. After one of the planet’s leaders explains this approach to war, the ever-logical Vulcan comments, “There is a certain scientific logic about it.” The leader, misunderstanding Spock’s intention, says, “I’m glad you approve.” But Spock replies, “I do not approve. I understand.”

With just a little tweaking, the statement becomes, “I do not agree. I understand.” It is the height of arrogance to insist that understanding must mean agreement, or that disagreement implies misunderstanding, yet that’s how some think. Ideally, America should be a place where honest disagreement can occur without violence and name-calling. Instead, we face a situation where disagreement inspires hatred. If I disagree with your progressive politics, I must be stupid, bigoted, or evil. If I disagree with your conservative politics, I must be stupid (always a good starting place), un-American, or immoral. In such a climate, work toward compromise is impossible. Note to politicians and voters on planets everywhere: To ask for understanding is fair, to demand agreement is despotism.

 

“Dammit, Jim, I’m a doctor not an engineer,” Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy. The statement appears in several forms during the series: “I’m a doctor…not a bricklayer…not a torpedo technician…not a physicist…not an escalator (honest)…not an officer of the line.” Anyway, you get the point.

While McCoy may have been covering himself in case of failure, the statement is a reminder that the smartest, most educated of us have limitations. There’s no shame in admitting we don’t have all the answers. We sometimes need help in sorting out problems. Such help may come from family, friends, clergy, or specialists we seek out. “Bones” could often do more than he thought he could do, but he had really imaginative writers. The rest of us may need help.

 

Captain Kirk made two statements that are especially relevant today: “. . . the prejudices people feel about each other often disappear when they get to know each other” and “Leave bigotry in your quarters; there’s no room for it on the bridge.”

Racism is a problem in our nation. There’s no denying that; but there’s also no denying movement toward eliminating racism has been made. Only those with a political agenda will deny that. Will racism ever be eradicated? I don’t know. Maybe it’s significant the multi-ethic, multi-species crew of The Enterprise still faced racism in the 23^rd century.

Whites, Blacks, and Asians have worked alongside each other for at least half a century. I had a Black supervisor in a job I held briefly in the late 1960s; during the next decade I worked in a large department store with an African-American manager (the same decade in which I was reprimanded for recommending a Black woman for a position at another store). Race doesn’t limit opportunities like it once did. Obviously, more needs to be done. But denying the advances won’t help the cause.

Terms like “white privilege” don’t help either. It’s a notion impossible to quantify. Look at how many “people of color” (another unhelpful phrase) are in positions of leadership they would have never held in 1920 or even 1970. During the past two decades a large school district in Ohio has had as its superintendent a Black female, a white man (who was openly gay), and another Black female. That would have been unimaginable when I was a fearful first-grader stepping into a classroom the first time.

I’m sure the opportunity to work with people of varied races and ethnicities has helped change our attitude toward people who don’t look like us. But it’s never going to change everyone. Some of us will always harbor bigotry in our quarters, at home. The best we can do is attempt to make sure the bigotry has no opportunity to be manifested “on the bridge,” in the workplace, in the awarding of scholarships, in infrastructure improvements, etc. Since governments can’t change hearts, it’s all we can do. All we can do…?

Recently, I’ve heard smart people “pooh-pooh” the old notion that spiritual transformation is the only hope for dealing with bigotry, racism. Suggesting changed hearts must precede changed attitudes is dismissed as hopelessly old-fashioned, evangelical even, though it was once a mainstay of Christians from every tribe. We will never return to the days of the sawdust trail, but maybe there are elements of that old message we need to hear again.

 

“Beam me up, Scotty,” usually Kirk, seeking to return to The Enterprise from a planet surface. This may be the most popular and ubiquitous quote. I saw a variation on a Tee-Shirt just before the 2016 elections. It said, “Beam me up, Scotty, there’s no intelligent life down here.” Even those who’ve never seen Star Trek have an idea of the phrase’s meaning.

Anyone who has waited in a noisy airport for a flight, in order to sit on an overheated plane, in a too small seat next to a too large stranger might welcome the idea of transporting instantaneously from one place to another, even if it did mean having one’s “atom’s scattered back and forth across space.”

Ah, but here’s the thing. Those with time to pour over Star Trek scripts tell us that, like Casablanca’s “Play it again, Sam,” it was never said. Ever.

From now until November, we’re going to hear all kinds of statements attributed to both candidates and their supporters. Unfairly, I believe, we will hear outrageous statements linked to a single evangelical but contorted to be the view of all evangelicals. As much fun as it might be to use such quotes as ammunition against the other side, be sure the words were said in the first place and, if they were said, whether the speaker represents the candidate, a group, or only him-or-herself.

 

           “Live long and prosper.”

Thinking About a Four-Year-Old Question, Part 3

Of the three reasons I’m suggesting why evangelicals may have chosen to vote for Donald Trump in 2016, the following may be the most puzzling. Yet, it is at once the most understandable. Again, why did some evangelicals vote for Trump?

Conviction. While some evangelicals voted for Trump simply to vote against Clinton, holding their noses, others voted for him because they believed him to be the best candidate for the job, perhaps even God’s man. Some have drawn an analogy from Israel’s history. About 537 BCE, the Persian king Cyrus allowed the exiled Jews in Babylon to return home and rebuild the temple destroyed seventy years before. Since the return from exile had been prophesied, the pagan king was regarded as an instrument for accomplishing God’s will. In the same way, Donald Trump—an unbeliever in this scenario—becomes a Cyrus-like figure who unwittingly accomplishes God’s will. Perhaps this explains why some evangelical leaders (Franklin Graham and Eric Metaxas, for example) insist those who oppose Trump are demonic, in league with Satan.

Other evangelicals, however, believe Trump is a Christian, albeit a “baby Christian” who is apt to take missteps in his daily life. He is still learning what it means to be a follower of Christ. He needs the counsel of wiser Christians and the prayers of all Christians.

The Christian tradition speaks of “justification” and “sanctification.” The former speaks of the new status one has upon trusting Christ. Justified believers are forgiven and have entered a new relationship with God, a relationship in which God is known as a Father rather than as a Judge. If justification speaks of God’s work at the beginning of the Christian’s pilgrimage, sanctification speaks of God’s work in the Christian’s ongoing pilgrimage. Although not all Christians agree on the dynamics of sanctification, most believe God’s goal is to produce Christians whose attitudes and lives more perfectly mirror the character of Christ.  My own tradition reminds us: though a believer becomes a saint in an instant (justification), it takes time to become saintly (sanctification). If Trump is on the initial steps of his pilgrimage, we shouldn’t expect him to be a Jimmy Carter. But shouldn’t we expect to eventually see a new Donald Trump?

We all need God’s grace. C. S. Lewis, like all mature Christians, knew “… breaking the power sin and embracing the power of good … require the grace of God.” (McGrath, If I Had Lunch with C. S. Lewis). We should all be grateful God is so gracious.

But recognizing we all need God’s grace and that new believers, indeed all believers, may fail to exhibit Christlike character does not mean we should ignore those failures (or celebrate them).  A new believer might express racist attitudes in words and actions, in part, out of sheer habit. Any pastor worthy of the title will balance patience and correction, counseling in a way that avoids heaping shame on the neophyte while challenging the tyro to demonstrate Christ’s transforming power, power that reshapes our most ingrained thinking. Such reshaped thinking recognizes all are valuable to God and, thus, all should be valuable to us. Of course, those with a pastoral role in Trump’s life know he is resistant to correction and seemingly unacquainted with shame. They know any attempt to correct and challenge him will usually mobilize his vengeful digits.

In addition to insisting Trump is a believer, Franklin Graham suggests the president’s economic policies have benefited the church. A robust economy means tithers (those who give at least 10% of either their gross or net income) are able to give more, and more churches may be built. On the whole, that perception seems correct. However, only 10-25% of members in the average congregation are tithers, and older church members are more likely to be tithers than younger church members. Most new churches are built (or planted) in communities to reach young families; new churches funded by the generosity of older members of established congregations. According to a Pew Research survey, almost 60% of voters under the age of twenty-nine supported Clinton in the 2016 election.  Clinton’s support among those between thirty and forty-nine was just over 50%. As it happens, these age-groups are also less likely to attend church, making them the targets of church-planting activities. Now, if this group already has a bias against Trump, already has been unimpressed with or indifferent to the church’s message, how will the conspicuous support given to Trump by some evangelical leaders make that message more palatable?

Generally, today’s younger Americans are less tolerant of racism than previous generations (this, however, does not require racism to be age-related). Again, how will a perceived evangelical endorsement of a seemingly racist president be received by those whom the new churches are attempting to reach?

Put simply, a Trump presidency probably shouldn’t be made a key to your neighborhood evangelistic outreach.

Actually, it doesn’t matter if Donald Trump is a true believer or not (well, it does, but hang with me). Trump’s words and actions do not benefit the cause of Christ. It would be best if those so prominent in evangelicalism were to take a step back and say, “We will pray for the president, we will counsel the president, but we will not be myopic cheerleaders.”

Billy Graham—who, until his death in 2018, met every president since 1947—came to believe he had been guilty of “crossing the line” in his relationships with these powerful men, allowing himself to be too uncritical, failing to acknowledge their evident flaws. We can only guess what the elder Graham would say about his son’s support of Trump. Moreover, in his final years, Graham seemed less ready to echo conservative shibboleths—he questioned the justice of the death penalty, for example—and came to see the church needs both evangelists and prophets.

As a man, Donald Trump needs to hear the evangelists’ message about salvation, their call to repentance and humble trust; as the leader of a nation like the United States, he should heed to prophets who challenge his arrogance and insensitivity. Such prophets would tell the president that making America great again cannot mean going back to a time that never was, nor to a time the poor were left to fend for themselves, and certainly not to a time when racial and gender injustice were accepted norms. Such prophets would tell him that only by being better than it was can America be great. I have little hope he will hear them.

But whether he heeds their words or not, whether he tweets his outrage at their temerity or not, the evangelists must continue to plead, the prophets must continue to protest.

This November, American voters will once again face a choice. Most likely that choice will be between Donald Trump (the likelihood of his party abandoning a winner being small) and Joe Biden (Kanye West’s run for the office being unlikely to succeed, despite the appeal of having a “born again” Christian in the White House, with Kim Kardashian as first lady).

Evangelical voters especially must still their minds as they weigh the options. Though both candidates will likely depend on fear to persuade voters to choose them, evangelical voters—all voters, in fact—must not be motivated by fear. Though both candidates will likely demonize their opponent and his supporters, evangelical voters—all voters, in fact—should not be motivated by hate.

For the past quarter-century at least, some evangelical voters have looked to Washington to provide what might be termed as the salvation of the nation, when the nation will not only be great again but “Christian” again. I’ve long believed using that adjective, “Christian," to describe the nation has always been misleading, true at first glance, perhaps, but ultimately illusory. At best, the nation had a thin veneer of Christianity; scratch that veneer and a secular nation is revealed. Perhaps being cooped up by the Great Isolation has made me cynical, but I think most of us will admit Christians have had some bad press the past few months. Some was deserved, some undeserved.

Evangelicals may have had many reasons to vote for Donald Trump, but surely the worst reason was the dream he would bring greater Christian influence to bear on the nation. Perhaps, it’s time to realize the lives of individual Christians who are filled with love for others offer the greatest hope for the changes our nation needs.

 When evangelicals go to the polls this November their choices should be directed by careful thought, even if that thoughtful choice is to vote for a flawed candidate (there won’t be any other), even if that thoughtful choice is to vote for a so-called third-party candidate, thus sending a message to both parties that it’s time for a change; and, perhaps, even if that thoughtful choice is to “take a fast from politics.”

 

Thinking About a Four-Year-Old Question, Part 2

A 2018 Pew Research Center report raises several questions about the 2016 election: Why did 28% of Hispanic voters vote for the man who promised to build a wall along our nation’s southern border? Why did almost 40% of women voters vote for a man who boasted he could molest a woman and get away with it, thereby exempting themselves from helping elect the first woman president? Why did some 57% of white voters from mainline churches (denominations usually associated with liberal social policies) vote for Trump? At the same time, why did the majority of white Roman Catholics voters vote for Trump? (Indeed, why did 20% of voters who self-identify as atheist or agnostic vote for the Republican?) And, finally, why did about 77% of evangelical voters support a man so flawed morally? Even though 16% American evangelicals voted for Clinton, millions of others sat out the election, not voting at all. I find each of these questions interesting, but clearly the evangelical vote has generated the greatest ire. I’m not a sociologist or statistician but I listen to people. Here’s are two of the three reasons I think evangelicals voted for Trump.  (In case you’re wondering 71% of Jews voted for Clinton, fewer than voted for Gore, Kerry, and Obama in 2008.)

Why did evangelicals vote for Donald Trump?

 

Frustration. A few months before the 2016 election, my friend Brian posted a sentiment I’m sure resonated with lots of voters: “Two-hundred million people in this country and these are the two they come up with!” Certainly fair-minded voters on the left can understand why some might have hesitated to vote for a woman who (along with her husband) seems no less committed to making money than Trump; hesitated to vote for a woman who has such obvious disdain for ordinary people, like wives who bake cookies or owners of small businesses who wonder if those businesses will fail if they are asked to help pay for one more government program; hesitated to vote for a woman who deflected scrutiny by simply saying, “I do not recall,” knowing they wouldn’t be allowed to use the same tactic should their financial dealings or failure to follow protocol be under investigation. Lest you think I’ve been unfair to Clinton, remember progressive journalist Van Jones acknowledges both Trump and Clinton were flawed candidates. He wrote, “You put Hillary Clinton up against Donald Trump, I’m scared by the choice no matter what you do.”

I’ve no doubt Jones, a former member of President Obama’s administration, faithfully voted for Clinton, but he seems to have wished the party he ardently supports had offered a different choice. Voters like Franklin Graham may have enthusiastically voted for Trump, later joining the evangelist’s son in claiming God put Trump in office. But other evangelical voters, as Christianity Today’s Mark Galli suggests, “held their noses” as they voted for Trump.

Fear. Donald Trump appealed to our worst instincts.

In fairness, both Republicans and Democrats have used fear; indeed, perhaps all political parties have included fear and panic in their arsenals. In 1800, Thomas Jefferson’s opponents hinted the Deist would confiscate the nation’s Bibles if he was elected. (He was elected and attended church services often while in office.) A friend who was teaching sixth grade in an Alabama public school in 1968 recalled how his black students told him they were afraid Nixon would “put poison in our food.”

But few have been as skilled as Trump in using fear. Molly Ball, in an Atlantic article appearing two months before the election, wrote, “Trump is a master of fear, invoking it in concrete and abstract ways, summoning and validating it. More than most politicians, he grasps and channels the fear coursing through the electorate. And if Trump still stands a chance to win in November, fear could be the key.” (https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/ archive/2016/09/donald-trump-and-the-politics-of-fear/498116/)

While I’m not ready to join those saying, “Let’s just open the borders; we have room for everyone,” I do not believe the majority of those circumventing the immigration rules were criminals before they crossed the border; they are simply looking for better lives. Yet Trump cast the majority of those coming from Mexico as being drug-addicts or “rapists;” adding, only as an afterthought, that there might be “some . . . good people” amongst those slipping illegally into the country. No wonder we hear of Latino workers being confronted by non-Latinos demanding to see their “papers.” Anyone who sounds even a little like Ricardo Montalban is to be watched very carefully (if he’s not an out-and-out thief, he might be a conman trying to sell you a trip to an island where your fantasies come true).

Those you fear are unlikely to become those you love. Any politician who depends on fear is not creating community or attempting to make America great again. Still, when you're afraid, your reason may flee and you may make bad choices. (More to come)

 

Tiger, tiger coughing . . .

In early April, a tiger in the Bronx zoo was diagnosed with COVID-19. To pass the time, I am offering you some exercises in imagination.

--Assuming you have been charged with infecting the tiger, explain how you were close enough to cough into the tiger’s face, how you survived, and why you weren’t wearing your mask.

--Assuming you are a zookeeper, describe your feelings when your supervisor told you to put a swab up the tiger’s nose.

--Assuming you are the tiger, describe how you wear your mask without your glasses fogging up.

At last report, Nadia (the tiger) was recovering along with several other big cats who were also infected by a zookeeper who showed no symptoms. The cats are consulting with the firm of Python, Hyena, and Jackal about a possible lawsuit.