This whole election thing has gotten to me. Here in Puerto Rico, the sure bet win for the Statehood party (PNP – Partido Nuevo Progresista) candidate Pedro Roselló was basically in the bag... only the bag had a hole in it. The Puerto Rico Independence party (PIP – Partido Independentista Puertorriqueño ), fearful of moving toward statehood for Puerto Rico, whored themselves... err... pooled their votes and voted for the Commonwealth Party (PPD – Partido Popular Democrático ) candidate. As of this morning, the final results are not in, but it's looking bad for our candidate. Sigh, it's got me depressed. Do you people live on the same planet as I do? Are you blind to the way Puerto Rico has fallen apart in the last four years?
I did my part though. I did my civic duty. Laura and I were election officials and we tallied and counted and certified the results for our voting unit. We were part of the process, and it was fair as far our little corner was concerned. I trust that it was equally fair throughout the island as well.
What more could we have done?
As for the national US election, being residents of a US Commonwealth, I may not vote even though I was born there, lived my entire life there, and am an officer in the US Army Reserve. If I lived abroad in any other country, including Israel, Britain, France, Germany, Brazil etc, I would be able to vote absentee in the last state in which I resided. This would remain true even if I were never to return, nor had any intention of returning to the US. But since I live in Puerto Rico, I have no vote, no voice.
Still, I followed the US election with much interest. Puerto Rico is still governed by the mainland just as if we were a state... but we have no vote in Congress or the Senate. Was I Bushie, or was I for Kerry? I would have been one of the famous undecideds – up until Monday night, when I decided I would cast a ballot for Kerry if given the chance. I finally came to the conclusion that Kerry was just smarter, more prudent, and less of a loose canon than our current President. Kerry, in my mind, was the more respectful candidate, the more thoughtful candidate, more of a consensus builder, more a team player. Bush on the other hand, seemed to appeal to Americans' fear, fear of gays, fear of terrorists, fear of loss of religious values. I am particularly worried by his “Mission Accomplished” attitude, by his recklessness, his smugness, his bully pulpit from which he feels ordained to bring religion and government together, one nation under God. Gives me shivers.
This I decided coldly without hatred, without malice. I decided it with my mind. I drew it out and calculated pros and cons.
But there was this incongruity, something for which I was not prepared. As I watched the returns, I kept sub-consciously rooting for Bush states. There was this little voice that kept saying, “Whee!” and when a state fell Kerry's way, I felt a tiny little twinge of pain. From where do you spring to strike me, I wailed, thrashing at the dark shadows that assailed me. I have decided with my rational mind to vote for Kerry, but there was a sweetness from Bush victories.
I reflected upon my pain and joy, and it brought me back a week, a week in which the team of my youth, the St. Louis Cardinals faced off with the hapless Boston Red Sox, a team with a very long dry spell for world series titles. I said to myself, “I'm a Cardinal, but I hope the Red Sox win. They deserve it. I hope the curse ends.” I didn't really care though, I tried to convince myself, but I kept checking online and flicking to the channel to see how the Sox were doing. If I was honest with myself, I could tell my heart was rooting for the Cardinals. Every time Boston would score a run, I felt the pain, the disappointment. Come on, let's get this thing going, I would secretly hope. When the Sox clinched it in four games, my mouth said, good, but there was this dry lump there stuck in my throat. It would have been nice to have made a series out of it, gone to seven games, but hell – good for them. But my heart was crying, a little depressed for the loss of the team of my youth.
So it was last night and today with Bush and Kerry. I still say Kerry would have been a better president, but my heart keeps rooting for Bush. What the hell is it that has hijacked my subconscious?
Politics is a contest for the Strong-man. I think it secretly appeals to us. The high gentlemanly road is seldom traveled by the strong-man. The strong-man consistently beats his chest in the jungles below, battling tigers, getting bloody, and growling in surly unintelligible tones (note Bush's debate performances). He is beating up on his opponent, hitting him below the belt, attacking, attacking, attacking. The opponent traveling the high road has been waylaid by our marauder... and we cheer. Damn that son-of-a-bitch is tough. Did you see that, we whisper to each other. That fellow didn't stand a chance. Sure the low blow was ugly, and we winched feeling the pain of the high-minded fellow cupping his 'nads in his hands.
Bush won because politicos are nothing more than alpha males, strong-men who rise to the top not for their big ideas, their compassion, duty, service, high ideals, or academic vision. They get there because they defeat their opponents with clubs, and sticks, and rocks, and in any manner with whatever tool or whatever deception. It's the ultimate fighting championship in the political arena, a no holds barred, knock-down drag-out, brawl where the winner is decided by who pummeled whom into a bloody pulp. Do we kind of fear the winner a little? Do we like the winner? Does our mind tell us that this is the person we want leading the country? Or do our little monkey hearts beat faster with exhilaration as we scream and screech throwing up our arms and dancing upon the bloodied corpse of John Kerry?
We love a strong-man, it exhilarates us in ways we can't control, can't reign in, can't comprehend. And they know it, damn them.
No, my friend, the way to have good and safe government, is not to trust it all to one, but to divide it among the many, distributing to every one exactly the functions he is competent to. It is by dividing and subdividing these republics from the national one down through all its subordinations, until it ends in the administration of every man's farm by himself; by placing under every one what his own eye may superintend, that all will be done for the best.
-- Thomas Jefferson, to Joseph Cabell, 1816
Politics is not the art of the possible. It consists in choosing between the disastrous and the unpalatable.
-- John Kenneth Galbraith
While walking around the neighborhood this morning with Jaimito in his stroller: "Look, Jaimito, a helicopter."
"A copper-copper?"
"Yes, a helicopter."
"Oh, I see it. I see it," he exclaimed excitedly. "Ooo, Daddy, da' copper-copper, w' d' ting, dat go 'round, 'round 'round, 'n' it go up 'n' up." He threw his hands up in the air.
"Wow, little boy, great explanation of rotor lift. How did you know about that. You're smart, you must take after your Papa (grandpa) Jim."
I was confronted today with a misunderstanding that I didn't know how to correct. Laura's mother called to ask if Santa, the woman who helps us with our house and kids, could leave work early and help her with something. She went into this long-ass explanation of which I could not make heads or tails. “Yes, sure, it's fine with me,” I said. “No problem, I'll tell Santa.” When I went out, I chuckled with Santa that Mami Nellie needed her to run some sort of errand. I asked her if she had already explained it to her, and if she understood. Sure, she said. I chuckled, I have no idea what she wanted, but the details weren't important, I said, she could leave early to help Mami Nellie.
But I made a crucial mistake, and I could sense it immediately. I said, “No me importa.” Literally, it's not important to me, or in my mind expressing that the details weren't necessary or important. Mami Nellie needed her and that was good enough for me. The problem in Spanish, is that for some reason, that direct “No me importa.” Seems to take on this formal tone in some grand manner as if I was a king on high and I were to say, “I give little import to the suffering of you worthless peasants. No me importa.” Right after it came out of my mouth, Santa's tone changed, and I knew why.
“Ah, if my worthless life isn't of any import to you, then fine...” That's not what she said, but that was the tone, that I got back.
“But, Santa, you misunderstood. I wasn't saying...” The words were right, just that they weren't. Arrggghhh, how do I fix this? “Santa, are you offended. I didn't mean, I misspoke.” And she said, no, that it was fine, no problem, and cast her eyes down, as is done on this island. Conflict, discomfort? Just redirect, route around, don't meet it, don't acknowledge it. All happens here in what is called an indirecta, an indirect way of dealing with discomfort. It is unspoken, but for those of the same culture, clearly understood.
I got it, all right, I just couldn't figure out how to fix it.
So, I fired up my indirecta powers in Laura and explained the exchange to her. I'm going to make this culture's tricks work for me. If Santa couldn't bear to face me directly because of my offense, I must work an indirect path through someone else. Laura is the perfect vehicle. She can explain where it went wrong, why being an ethnic American makes these things all the more confusing. My Spanish is good enough, my accent neutral enough that most people would assume a much higher level of cultural comfort than prudence should dictate.
You see, Puerto Rico is extremely mono-cultural, that is, there is a large degree of cultural homogeneity. Everyone is in the club and knows the secret handshake without having to ask nor assume anyone doesn't know it. There are rules, etiquette, modes of behavior that are assumed universally.
However, if you are American, if you speak English - they can deal with that, no problem. There's an abstraction, you are clearly not from here. You are an outsider. There are different rules. Puerto Ricans get that, and adjust accordingly. It's not so tough when faced with an obvious gringo right off the boat.
My reality on the other hand, is quite different. I deal with everyone in Spanish, fluent Spanish, comfortable Spanish. The people with whom I deal in this mode, do not put on their “dealing with gringo hat” and as such will see me through their culture's eyes rather than as a foreigner. They attribute to me a cultural comfort much greater than reality.
The problem is, I'm still an ethnic American. My attitudes, my modes of thought, my manner are still American. I am direct. I don't beat around the bush. I don't shy away from argument. The indirecta is uncomfortable to me, as I find it deceptive, disingenuous. I don't roll with punches as easily. I want to punch back. I get angry more easily. To a Puerto Rican, it can become jarring. Excited speech can quickly be taken as angry speech. Try to address the point of offense to clear it up? Hah, you may as well try to dig a hole in water. They will quickly deny they are offended, not wanting to admit weakness. You press them to accept your humblest apologies for your poor words. They shrug it off, deny offense, give a quick smile, and stay offended for life. They will hang on to their offended demeanor like a life preserver and will not give it up... ever.
Misunderstandings occur not because I'm American, but because I seem like a Puerto Rican. It doesn't happen often, but I can tell immediately when it does, like a slow motion train wreck about which I can do nothing.
Luckily, I have Laura to smooth things over, to explain away my cultural faux pas as I go on about my bumbling ways, like a bull in a china shop.
Fundamentalism: Freedom from distractions
New Age: Freedom from
restrictions
Each has a drawback:
Fundamentalism: Has restrictions to true choice
New Age: Loss
of direction to distractions
Let me explain. With fundamentalism, for example, Southern Baptists or Shiite Muslims take great pains to separate men and women, the temptations of the flesh. Rigorous precepts of co-mingling, no alcohol, no dancing are enforced to allow men and women to go on with their lives without distracting temptations of the flesh. Fundamentalism has at its core a belief that the flesh is VERY weak, and must be chained up, covered, locked down and put away. The spirit soars in inverse proportion to how detained is the body.
This actually works pretty well, and isn't necessarily a terrible thing. After all, it still is an attempt at living a life of meaning and usefulness, instead of a life mired in selfish desires and self destructive behavior.
But Fundamentalism assumes weakness, and therefor never expects too much of one.
Its drawback comes when those external restrictions are removed. Without the enforcer, the jailer keeping your body locked up tight, without the imposition of rules, without a learned internal decision-making capacity, you can fall victim to excesses for which you are not prepared. Think the “preacher's son/daughter” syndrome or “Catholic school girl.”
Secondly, fundamentalism has a spirit crushing affect on those that fall ever so slightly outside its ordered confines. I've known several Mormons, both active in the faith and fallen away from it, and the commonality among them is the crushing expectation of the community. This can cause them to raise to great heights, but can just as easily drag them to deep lows. To get a divorce in the Mormon faith is one of the most unforgivable transgressions. Pre-marital sex? Drinking? Carousing? Men, failure to provide for your family? The Mormon community exacts a heavy, many times, unspoken toll on those not strong enough to keep the rules of faith.
New Age, on the other hand, is a recent phenomenon. It strives to remove restrictions from the individual. It seeks to unlock your hidden potential. Give up your petty fears, focus on the self, and you shall be free. Your guilty heart holds you back. Your fears, your past, your transgressions, your weaknesses, they all have one thing in common - they conspire to drag you down, lock you up, keep you miserable. That cannot be God's plan for you. New Age strives to unlock all the chains that bind.
It's a lovely message for those that have been beaten down, for those that feel that they have never been realized. It may be the first time that some of them have felt any self-worth. Perhaps it was a battered wife, an alcoholic, an abused child, or any of the variety of broken souls that litter the earth. New Age religion offers these people a way out, an offer of acceptance and non-judgment.
It really is a lovely message, but it has a fatal flaw as well. Excessive focus on the self causes a loss of awareness of the other. Take for example the author Richard Bach, of Jonathan Livingston Seagull fame. His recent explanation of his divorce is revealing of the pitfalls of New Age thinking.
...Leslie and I are no longer married. Soul mates, to me, don't define themselves by legal marriage. There's a learning connection that exists between those two souls. Leslie and I had that for the longest time, and then a couple of years ago, she had this startling realization. She said, "Richard, we have different goals!" I was yearning for my little adventures and looking forward to writing more books. Leslie has worked all her life long, and she wanted peace, she wanted to slow the pace, not complicate it, not speed it up. Not money, not family, no other men or other women, separated us. We wanted different futures. She was right for her. I was right for me. Finally it came time for us to make a choice. We could save the marriage and smother each other: "You can't be who you want to be." Or we could separate and save the love and respect that we had for each other. We decided the marriage was the less important. And now we're living separate lives.
Do you see the same thing I see? Lack of passion? Lack of focus? Lack of heart? Here's someone who's painted himself into a corner of denial. Look, buddy, just admit you two screwed up. You couldn't compromise. You couldn't make it work. Each was more in love with their “self” than the “other”. Examine your limitations. Learn from your failure. You've got to see where you've screwed up. You'll not learn from it if you don't see your failures in a cold clear light.
One would believe that New Age opens up an infinite variety of experience, a limitless, endless array of choices all of which are equal and none of which are right or wrong. They simply are. With little framework to define a right path or a wrong path, people may wander around without direction, without purpose, or perhaps the main purpose being self-fulfillment. Like little ants wandering around randomly looking for food, deep New Agers suddenly come upon a morsel, and being so cut off from the other, do not even have the capacity to communicate the message of what they have found. They are content to let the colony discover the morsel for themselves, for how could they be so arrogant as to assume this morsel is fit for anyone else but themselves.
Without at least some level of rigor, decisions become bland, tasteless, without risk, without price. A marriage ends because it did. We chose not to be married, and it was the right choice for us. We become so detached from each other, so free, that we may as well just float away in our own little bubble, little known to the universe, having never wanted to risk offending it with our failure.
I've always had a deep distrust for both extremes, that is, fundamentalists scare me with their rigorous intolerance for distractions and those that bring them, and New Agers scare me with their aimless free floating lack of commitment. The truth must lie somewhere in the middle, somewhere between crushing restrictions and overwhelming relativism.