My Alien America

In 2018, I posted a piece taking as its thesis “Every American dies in a country alien to that in which they were born.” This month I find myself looking down the barrel of my own idea. I have lived one of the fifty-year intervals I described.

What has changed since 1973?

Most importantly, the Cold War is over. It is difficult to remember, even for those of us who there, how it formed the backdrop for all of American politics and culture. The immediacy that we could all die in a few hours never entirely went away. The first question every American politician had to face was “What are you going to do about the Commies?” The world was a game in which we, as a nation, were either winning or losing. My children know nothing of this feeling, which I view as definite improvement.

Once the Cold War ended, the Culture Wars became the focus of American politics, and here too the landscape is vastly different. In 1973, the idea that women could be something besides wives and mothers had barely any traction. The idea of same-sex marriage was inconceivable. America was far more Christian—even the hippies had become Jesus Freaks. In all these things, people voted with their feet, one by one, until what looked eternal slowly became voluntary, and then a minority position.

America is cleaner now. The rivers are cleaner. Los Angeles is not regularly under a blanket of smog. The bison, the eagle, the wolf, have renewed their numbers. Over the interval, environmental issues have zeroed in to the one overwhelming problem of global climate change.

The economy is different. The closing Dow Jones for 1973 was 1031. For 2022, it was 33,147. Forty-four years ago 22% of the American labor force worked in manufacturing, in 2021 9% did. By contrast, in 1970, 2.7% percent of the economy came from the finance industry. At the end of 2022, it was 7.6%. Solid objects have given way to numbers. In the midst of this, the real median income rose from $26,509 to $37,522. Somehow, we find a way to grow richer—yet it is still not enough for everyone.

You may be reading this on a hyperpowerful little computer you carry around in your pocket. In this way, at least, life in 2023 is a science fiction vision of 1973. Fifty years ago music was LPs or reel-to-reel, microwave ovens were cutting edge, and computers large and used exclusively by government agencies and major corporations. Digital calculators were available, but expensive. Now we live in a wealth of silicon, putting ourselves in almost constant contact with one another. Events around the world can be followed in real time.. The effect is complex, and of ambiguous value, but undeniably breathtaking.

The quietest, but most important changes are demographic. The U.S. population has risen by roughly 40%, from 211 million to 333 million. At the same time, the median age climbed from 28.1 to 38.8. We are more numerous, and older. In 1970, whites made up 83.5% of the population, Blacks 11.1% , and everyone else 5.7%. Now Hispanics number 18.7% and Asians 6.2% (including South Asians, a community that barely existed when I was born). All this makes for tectonic effect.

This is my America, the one I have watched happen over my years. Is it alien to me?

You can’t pick your age. It gets handed to you. Yet, having been handed this age, I feel blessed. I feel blessed to have witnessed the fall of the Soviet Empire. I feel blessed to have witnessed the coming of LGBT+ rights. I feel blessed to have lived through the heady days of the 90s prosperity. Many bad things happened, I know. But I was able to witness a small piece of the Unprecedented Era, a time equal to the Axial Age, or greater, in its importance to human history, here in this most crucial of nations. It may that this is the zenith of human prosperity and freedom–and I got to be there. I got to live it. For that, I am profoundly grateful.

I don’t know how much more America I will get to watch. Another twenty-five years, or a little more. May they be good days. May this nation, and this world, pick the right path, the path of peace and justice. I pray that every day. I will keep watching, in anticipation.

The Contradictions of Nationalism

Had a brush this week on social media with Hindutva-style Indian nationalists. Didn’t press the issue because, frankly, those guys are crazy, and you want as little attention from them as possible. All power to the likes of Dr. Audrey Truschke for pushing back against them, fighting the good fight.

Once, in Japan, I encountered a similar nationalist in a small town train station. He was dressed in monk’s robes, he was screaming through a loudspeaker about the 9/11 attacks (which he favored) and the results of World War II (which he was against). A bunch of his acolytes rushed out and tried to ask me, the foreigner, a bunch of questions. In Japanese fashion, I refused to acknowledge they were there, until they got discouraged and left.

Right here in the U.S. are the equivalents of these gentlemen, eager to push Church and State together, desperate to stomp “CRT” into the ground. All over the world, in every nation, you find a manifestation of this tendency, of sports fandom turned to an ultimate vileness.

But the real irony is:

What is the wonder of Japan? Mono no aware, the ability read all of the human experience in the turning of the autumn leaves.

What is the wonder of India? Multiplicity, the ability to add to add, the sight of unity in diversity and vice versa.

What is the wonder of the United States? Endless invention, the Gyro Gearloose way of making new things, of new ways of being, the creation of Unprecedentedness.

The nationalist urge, the desire to set a boot on the throat of all other humanity, misses the real treasures. It’s a form of blasphemy. At its worst we have the Nazis, who never saw the true genius of the Deutsche Volk, the beauty of Beethoven and Goethe, threw it aside in favor of bloody fantasies of murder.

Nationalism betrays everything for which it claims to stand.

May the followers of Hindutva be stymied. May God stop the arms of all the violent men. May understanding flow over like a fountain, and the beauties of the nations be realized in truth.

A Fantasy of the Electoral College

I’ll tell you what I’d like to see tomorrow. I don’t think it’s going to happen, but I would love to see:

At 1PM tomorrow, Mike Pence starts reading. “The nine electors of the state of Alabama cast their votes–“

One Democratic representative and one Democratic senator stand up and say “Mr. Vice President, we wish to contest the votes from the state of Alabama.”

With much confusion, the houses of Congress withdraw for debate. The Democrats accuse the state of Alabama of operating their election in an illicit manner, using the same arguments the GOP is using to attack the six “disputed” states, exposing them as ludicrous .Of course, it goes nowhere. The houses don’t even use the allotted two hours for debate before they vote to accept the electoral votes of Alabama, and return to the counting.

Mike Pence starts reading “The three electors of the state of Alaska cast their votes–“

And one Democratic representative and senator say “”Mr. Vice President, we wish to contest the votes from the state of Alaska.”

It all goes around again. The houses withdraw to debate. The Democrats use the same ridiculous arguments. The congress assembled votes to accept the votes from Alaska, then return to the counting.

Mike Pence starts reading “The eleven electors of the state of Arizona cast their votes for–”

Before Ted Cruz can even get his mouth open, the same Democratic representative and senator pipe up and contest the votes. The houses withdraw. The Democrats are more savage than they have been, slicing the Republican complaints to ribbons. Not even all the GOP protestors vote against accepting the votes. Everyone’s getting tired. Is this going to go on for a full hundred hours?

The houses come back to their collective assembly. Mike Pence, his voice audibly trembling, says “The six electors of the state of Arkansas–”

The Democratic congressional caucus stares across at their Republican colleagues. It is evident that the former will go on with this until the latter stand down.

Josh Hawley waves his hands in surrender.

Vice President Pence finishes his sentence. The six electoral votes of Arkansas and all the rest, go uncontested. Joseph Biden of Delaware is elected president and Kamala Harris of California elected vice president.

Donald Trump: Thoughts After Four Years

When I was young, Donald Trump was in the funny pages, in Bloom County and Doonesbury. He fit right in. He was a comics character, a punchline, a caricature of himself.

So what does a punchline do when he becomes President?

During the interval between Trump’s election and his inauguration, I considered many scenarios. I wondered if Trump might clash with the Congressional GOP leadership, in case that his ego might interfere with what they wanted to get done. That did not happen, because it turned out—after failing to get rid of Obamacare and then cutting taxes—they didn’t really have anything they wanted to get done. They were more than happy to go along with Trump’s whims, because at least that filled the void. The two entities got along just peachy.

Trump busied himself assembling applause lines. From The Wall to the Space Force to his manly dealings with Kim Jong-un and such, Trump’s presidency has always been about images. Cause and effect are not allowed to interfere. Trump leads a whimsical quest for applause.

Any objective observer, the hypothetical Martian anthropologist, would have said that he was not a politician. He was an entertainer with a schtick. If he loses on Election Day as it now looks like he will, it will be because enough people got sick of that shtick.

But here’s the problem: this wasn’t just a shtick. This was power, power to affect people’s lives. Which it did. The children in cages at the border are proof of this.

There was a book titled Amusing Ourselves To Death, published circa 1989, by one Neil Postman. His thesis was that Americans were losing the ability to take things seriously, to engage in rational discussion of rational action. Trump is the ultimate data point in support of this idea.

It all comes back to Reality TV. When “The Real World” began on MTV, the cry went up that it was all fake, all carefully cut away to appear real. But the allure is too strong. We too easily suspend our disbelief. Reality TV rose to popularity, and it gave Trump his natural home.

Trump represents the victory of stories over problem solving, of editing over reality. As a nation, we cannot afford this. Our problems are reaching critical mass.

I don’t want Joe Biden to be president. The Democratic Party overwhelmingly rejected Joe Biden for the presidency, twice, for very good reasons. But I would rather have a mediocre president who is at least pursuing rational action to a man whose entire life negates the very idea.

To Whom It May Concern: A Grievance

There was a time in this country, not so long ago, when the structure of generations made sense. To wit:

Elderly people were veterans of the Second World War. From the tumult of their youth and the prosperity of their prime, they enjoyed the serenity of the golden Autumn of their years.

Middle-aged people had made the Nineteen-Sixties. Grappling with consequences of that era’s hedonism, they at the same time attempted to uphold its ideals while raising families and coming to responsibility.

Young people were those who grew up in the shadow of the Sixties, dealing with the wreckage of the new freedoms yet attempting to live out the promise that went before them.

This was a most vibrant arrangement, rich in sociological and narrative promise, and it bore much fruit for the republic. The collapse of the Soviet Union and the television program “Twin Peaks”, to give two examples.

But recently, it has come to my attention that the situation has changed.

Now, increasingly, Elderly people are those of Sixties, leading to, for instance, the spectacle of septuagenarian rock stars shuffling on stage in a grotesque parody of their salad days. Meanwhile their children have been forced into Middle Age, burdening them with responsibilities for which they were in no way adequately prepared.

Whereas the World War II generation is, by and large, deceased.

I don’t know when this change occurred. I don’t know who authorized it. I certainly wasn’t consulted. nor was anyone I know. Frankly, the entire situation is a disgrace, and it has gone on long enough. I intend to lodge a complaint. Manifestos and petitions must be pursued. I demand redress of grievance. Let no mistake be made: the country will be restored to the state it should be, and all made well again.

Epigram #8

The point of the United States of America is to tackle the future.

The Electric Independence Day Card

(Written AD MMVIII, 232nd year of American Independence. George W. Bush, President of the Republic, and gasoline at four dollars the gallon.)

The night after Peak Oil, I met Nixon by the Union Station Metro stop. He was wearing a dust-tinged blue suit and trying to hail a cab.

“I’ve got to get down to the Mall,” he was mumbling when I found him. “I can calm the situation. I reach out to people. I reached out to those goddamned war protestors, but they were too bitter. I can’t stand bitter people. Where the hell is a goddamned taxi?”

“There aren’t any more taxis, Dick. There’s no more oil.”

“What? Those damned Saudis won’t cough up more oil? Goddammit, we’ll send in the Marines and take it from them!”

“Dick, the Saudis are dead. They sent us all their oil and they died.”

“Hmm. Well, let’s walk then.”

Flag Day Post: Why I Do Not Pledge

On Tuesday, our youngest child participated in Crossing the Bridge, the Girl Scout ritual of advancement. At the beginning of the ceremony, as at all Scouting ceremonies, a color guard brought in the Flag. All stood. I stood.

Then all, led by the girls, recited the Pledge of Allegiance. I did not. I do not pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, nor to the country for which it stands.

What is a country?

A country is a geographic perimeter, a line in the earth. On one side of the line certain things are instituted, on the other they are not. The earth itself is indistingushed. The line is entirely mental, even when it is marked by warning signs and border crossings. Within that perimeter are parameters: parameters of law, of capital, of economic condition.

A country is an assemblage of officials, both elected and appointed. There are tens of thousand who guide their days, and receive their livelihoods, by and from concrete entities representing the United States of America. Those men and women who act with a certain insignia on their sleeves may be said to be the fingers of the United States.

A country is a habit of thought.

In the early stages of the Battle of Trafalgar, Nelson ordered the signal ENGLAND EXPECTS THAT EVERY MAN WILL DO HIS DUTY. He believed this statement would create a praxis, that it would cause his sailors to act in a certain manner. Two hundred years earlier, this would not have been the case. In the St Crispin’s Day speech, Shakespeare places in King Harry’s mouth many things to inspire his troops. Love of country is not among them. England makes no appearance as an entity, only as a location. In the interval between the two statements, the nation-state appeared. People, mostly in Europe, began thinking there was a “country” to which they belonged, and that this
“country” was a self-evident reality. They acquired those habits of thought, the associations, the words and names to be invoked towards action.

What is my country?

I am an American, a citizen of the United States of America. I was born within the boundaries of the United States, child of two citizens of that country. My grandparents and great-grandparents were likewise citizens of the United States, and now in turn my children.

To be an American is a fascinating thing. Of course, all countries and all peoples are fascinating. But the United States of America is a unique object, in current history, in all of human history. In many ways, the U.S.A. is the age encapsulated. I was born into the richest and most powerful nation in the world, rich and powerful in a way that no nation has ever been, in ways that no nation has ever before had the capability. The Unprecedented Era is the product of the United States, like a Model T or a Zenith television.

I live within the perimeter of the United States. I exist under its laws, under the authority of its officials. More importantly, I act out its habits. The Fourth of July is no ordinary day for me, nor is the first Tuesday in November. I feel a personal resonance with the Revolution and the Civil War, and can imagine those actions in landscapes I know. The generations of my family match the arcs of American history. I can find a place for my loved ones and myself in those events.

I will not say the Pledge of Allegiance because it is unnecessary. The United States of America has my connection; it has no need of my allegiance. I cannot escape my country. If my country does right, I shall, within my power, try to aid it. If my country does wrong, I shall, within my power, try to stymie it. For I am an American, and I believe alongside Abraham Lincoln that it is not so important for God to be on our side as we to be on God’s.

It may be that we are in the last years of the nation-state, that the improved communication & transportation technologies that enabled its birth are undermining and will finally eliminate the concept. It will join the empire and the monarchy in the past. One could make the case that my refusal to say the Pledge is evidence of that decline even within me. But not yet. The words, the flag—I know them. If I forbear the habit of the Pledge, it is in practice of other, more important American habits. That is where I find myself, at the point in history in which I exist, and from there I shall continue in my small way.

The Three Imperatives

Went down to the Boston Public Library for the first time since the renovations. There are now two cafes, plus a sit-down restaurant, in the building. It got me to thinking that in our day Americans demand three things of all public venues:

-Refreshments, particularly coffee
-Video screens (displaying something, it doesn’t matter what)
-Wifi

If you don’t have those three, forget it. Americans aren’t interested. Malls, rest stops, libraries, college campuses, churches–all must have them.

I do not wish to see the modern funeral parlor.

(Lest I seem too grumpy, let me add the renovations turned out very nice, greatly mollifying the harsh Brutalist interior of the new wing. Also, I had a quite toothsome lunch in the new cafe)

Alien Americas

Each generation of Americans dies in a country alien to that into which it was born.

Every fifty years, to arbitrarily pick a round figure, sees a new America.