Laura Ingraham of Fox news started a wildfire when she claimed that immigrants are “destroying the America we love”. Let’s take a look at this statement, and a look at Trump’s supporters. First of all, who is “we” in Ingraham’s statement? I’m an immigrant. I love America. I love its inclusiveness and ethnic diversity. I love that it’s constantly re-inventing itself. The America I love is not static and unchanging; it’s dynamic. Yet she seems to want to hark back to some sort of carved-in-stone version of America. Norman Rockwell’s view is but one nostalgia-suffused view of the great country. It is not a comprehensive view of all America. This leads us, inevitably, to an analysis of Trump and the hidden agenda of supposedly traditional values, which is, I have to admit, convincing at some levels. Let’s look at what is being conveyed, here, by the images. First: Trump presents as a family man who has successful children – something every parent wants for their children. The subtext is that he knows how to raise children who can succeed within the existing system. It’s true. He is, at the moment, the system, and he makes sure those children of his will succeed. And this desire for children to grow up and be successful is what powers so many parents to go into debt for private schools and colleges and extra curricular programs. It’s a powerful force in the US. Many parents buy into it. This has a shadow side. Parents are terrified that their children might grow up to be something they can’t be proud of, and so these fearful parents look at the poor, at the unsuccessful, at minorities, and say, “See, they don’t know how to raise kids. They’re the problem.” And a myth is born, all the more damaging because it’s not clearly articulated. The problem really, is fear. Parents are afraid their children’s lives will be blighted, somehow, by changes they cannot predict. So Trump supporters look at Liberals who raise their children in sometimes rather laisser-faire ways and they say, “Nope. That’s not right. Liberals are the problem.” It’s a viewpoint I have some sympathy with. I’ve worked with disturbed adolescents and seen some very inadequate parenting from those whom one might have expected to know better. Some “liberal” parents haven’t a clue how to raise their kids, and wind up sending entitled, out-of-control kids into a school system that’s already stretched. Some of those parents are branded as liberals when they are, in fact, nothing of the sort. At the same time, on the other end of the socio-economic scale poor families often have insufficient time or resources and their children are sometimes poorly socialized for school. But it does not follow that the parents are the problem, when poverty might be the major factor. Trump supporters are afraid their own children might be tainted by this perceived lack of discipline, and so fail to succeed. Similarly with abortion. The supporters of the restrictions on abortion and planned parenthood are, I’d suggest, not so much in favor of babies’ lives as afraid that if things are made ‘easy’ then their children will be out there having sex with everyone they feel like, getting pregnant – and they’ll be beyond any parental control. Fear again. A powerful fear. What parent of a teenager hasn’t had that fear? Who can blame them? America’s children are, at times, out of control. School shootings can attest in part to that. It all looks pretty grim. And that’s part of the reason that the Trump policy of separating immigrant families at the border has had so little push back from his own supporters, people who so often tout ‘family values’ and ‘Christian values’, people who, often, are extremely good at raising dutiful children. Those immigrant families are not people to them. Instead they present an imagined threat to the stability of their own families, and so should be punished. These poor people are, after all, said to be manipulating the situation, using their children, to get into our country. Once here their uncontrolled children will wreak mayhem in our schools, of course. Well, that’s the fear. Ordinary kids will have to learn Spanish to be in class with these immigrants - and such similar strange logic – and this is all part of the fear that somehow life will now be harder for the children of Trump supporters. If I’ve learned anything in my life it’s that the single most contentious issue for anyone to bring up is how kids ’should’ be raised. Any time you want to start an argument with anyone, just criticize the way they or their family treat their kids. Guaranteed conflict, right there. Trump has played into this hidden agenda of fear, fear for our children’s future. It’s the same fear that sends immigrants to our borders. They want a better chance for their children, too. They’re afraid, too. And they meet fear, our fear, which we project onto them. We see them as the problem. And so we have an evil myth that liberals and immigrants are ‘the problem’. It’s convenient. It’s not accurate. If you want to see what’s truly undermining our civil society then look no further than the internet, at the kids immersed in violent video games, confused and jangled by pornography. They’ll spend hours a day glued to their computers and imbibe those images, while they shrug off whatever is taught at school. And when their inner lives clash too badly with the strange outer realities there are always drugs to turn to.
The trouble with Facebook is... I find myself not watching videos because if they're over 2 minutes they're too long (or so I tell myself). I don't read long posts as often or as carefully as I should. I click 'like' on cat pictures even though I'm not that interested in cats, but, what the heck, they're cute. If we translate this to my website, this page right here, I should presumably follow my own example. I should not even be writing this. I should just post a picture of a cute animal. Thus part of my world, my psyche, is reduced to snapshots, scenes glimpsed from a car window. Now, this is not to ignore the power of FB. The march against Separating Families (ICE) was well represented. It was important, moving to see, and validating for us all. Yet a march is a serious thing, taking time, some commitment, some effort. Watching 30 seconds of it here takes nothing at all. So, where do you want to spend your life?
If you've been following my articles on inspiredworldmagazine.com you might like to check out inspiredparenting.com when it debuts on September 1st. Just so you know I haven't been totally inert this summer.......
...is a time to relax enjoy the warm weather (finally). It's also a time to plan ahead. This Fall I'll be giving some workshops you may be interested in. • On September 11, 18, and 25 I'll be giving a series of talks about the Grimm Brothers' Tales - and revealing that the original versions are very different from the ones Disney fed us. What do the earlier versions tell us? Could it be that they have deeper lessons than Disney dreamed of? This will be at Fox Hill retirement community, Westwood, MA. The talks starts at 2:30. • On November 5th at St. Susanna's church, Dedham, from 7 to 9pm I'll be leading a discussion about Dante's Divine Comedy - the poem everyone's heard of but few of us have read. The emphasis will be on the psychological insights the poem provides. • On November 10 stating at 2pm I'll be in Marblehead at 80 Main Street, where I'll be running a workshop and encouraging writers of all kinds to use writing prompts and visualization techniques to liberate their creativity. More details will follow. But this way you can mark your calendars in advance. Other activities haven't been finalized yet.
Tuning Out the Noise A while back we were at a neighborhood party with Zoe (5). It was a pretty noisy gathering, with all the adults jabbering away in a room with a decided echo to it. I could barely comprehend what the woman in front of me was saying, and she had the voice of a parade ground sergeant-major. As I turned to see what Zoe was up to I noticed that she was sitting on a chair talking quietly, with absolute clarity, with a small boy who was holding a stuffed toy squirrel. They seemed to be discussing different types of toys. I leaned down and discovered that they were actually speaking very softly, and yet they had no trouble hearing and being heard. How did they manage it? I asked my chatty lady if she knew, and she laughed and said something about ‘selective attention’. And that set me thinking. How is it that these children had the gift of tuning out all the noise, all the stuff that meant nothing to them? I would have expected them to be yelling too, under the circumstances, but they weren’t. Not at all. Perhaps we all need to learn how to tune out more of the ‘noise’ in our lives so we can concentrate on the real communication. Perhaps we once had that ability but we forgot about it, or ignored it. Perhaps we might want to learn how to find those quiet moments in the heart of our days. Reprinted from Inspiredworldmagazine.com
As I walked back from the Anti-ICE rally on Boston Common I came across seven young men, wearing face masks, dressed in black, being shouted at by two women who had no hesitation in pronouncing them fascists. They seemed eager to get away. Around the corner were about 50,000 peace-loving anti-fascists. So I had to ask: what makes a fascist? The answer is, as with most things, rather basic. People become what they are taught to be. Raise a child in an intolerant, negative, disempowered household and what do you get? An intolerant, destructive kid who yearns to have some tiny scrap of power. In fact, a budding far right kid. It's almost always as simple as that. We know that abused kids grow up to be abusers. We also know how hard it can be to change that mind set. And this is where the right wing gets it so wrong. More prisons and draconian laws do not make us "safe". Investing in children, with love, care, decent housing, and good education really does make for a safe society. But to do that requires social services, support for mothers, health care, social security and above all education. These are all things the present government has attacked. The current inhumane and revolting policy of separating immigrant families is simply the logical continuation of the ideology already in place within the rule-makers. Kids don't matter. Families don't matter. I say to those rule-makers, have you thought about what this will mean for your own children's world?
I don't know about you, but every day my news feed and Facebook pages seem deluged with the bad news about our governing party's cruel and callous actions. This is good - it keeps me and people like me aware. This is also bad - it makes us angry, nervous and irritable. But what do we do? Protests are planned for this Saturday to resist the immigration madness we seem to have descended into, but I can't see that joining a lot of angry people will actually do much good, aside from creating more anger. This president doesn't seem to listen. In fact he loves angry responses. It gives him the opportunity to tell everyone how right and good he thinks he is. Perhaps the best we can do is non-violent quiet protest. Alas, it didn't work for the Dalai Lama when he had to flee Tibet, and when his followers were massacred. This, my friends, looks as if it'll be a long, slow, ghastly campaign to restore democracy.
The other day I reconnected with a friend I’d not heard from in years. It was a great pleasure to chat, and we began to compare notes on people we’d known and what they’d been up to. Several acquaintances had moved on to impressive careers. Some were prominent in government, some in professional spheres. But, we said – think of the strain of that kind of life! Some had written books. A couple had written books but, alas, not had them published. Well, it’s a tough world, being a writer. One was a prolific poet. How wonderful – but there’s no money in that life. One had thrown over a promising academic career to be a used car salesman. One had suffered a nervous collapse; one had given it all up in disgust, which could have been the same thing. Several had died in various ways that were unexpected and vaguely shocking. One claimed by drugs, one killed while reporting in Iraq. And so on. And as we talked I began to see that we all, every single one of us, tend to have many conflicting needs as we think about our friends. We want them to have done well, but not so well that we feel diminished. We’d like them to excel, but are much happier if they do so in ways we expect, so we can say, “Yes, she was always going to do something good in that arena”. That way it feels as if we predicted it, and so we’re just as wise and important as they are, even if we’re not quite so much in the public eye. The ones who fell by the wayside we can pity – and yet that’s not the same as compassion. Pity lets us feel slightly superior as we survey the failings of others. So, some have no children (what a pity!) and some have too many (What a stress! What a difficulty! How do they manage?) It allows us to feel that no one got it right – except perhaps ourselves. And yet, that’s not a selfish thought. Perhaps we have, in fact, got it “right” or right enough for who we are. There’s no point in being a huge success if it leaves you feeling empty. And there’s no value in a life of privation if it doesn’t allow you whatever it is you need and are willing to sacrifice physical well-being to get. Comparisons are never easy, and sometimes not helpful. We don’t all have to be heroes, let alone Superheroes. We need to be who we are. And we need to love others, no matter how well or poorly we think they’re doing.
I've been relatively quiet here recently. And there's a reason. I've been publishing stories on Inspiredworldmagazine.com Take a look and see what you think. You can search me by name. If you were ever in one of my Therapeutic Uses of Writing classes (you know who you are!) you could take a look at my longer story: "So" published in 12 parts in the same magazine. It could help to jump start your creative energies! I copied that one to this site as well. Just scroll down. The other pieces are very short 'flash fiction' which you're sure to enjoy. My aim in all this is to get word out to those who might need to hear what I have to say, so please forgive me any redundancies.
Lessons Learned by Allan Hunter Gardens I’m not much of a gardener. I have a small slightly scruffy yard – which is a step up from the place I lived previously. There the yard was overshadowed by a large, sprawling locust tree under which nothing would grow. When the tree had to be taken down I discovered that, in fact, nothing at all could grow on that barren urban soil – except Locust trees. So you can imagine my delight when spring came along and my present garden erupted in patches of blue flowers I had not planted, and a neglected Azalea produced vast quantities of blossoms. The kids (aged 3 and 5) also enjoyed it. And they showed their enthusiasm by wanting to pick as many of the blue flowers as they could, so they could make ‘flower soup’ as they called it, in a pink plastic pail. I could feel myself wince. This was the garden, for goodness sakes, this was Nature doing its thing and we should not be picking it or trampling it. I wanted to tell them to leave the flowers alone. I was surprised by the strength of my reaction. So I took a deep breath. It was then that I recalled my own feelings about gardens and flowers. I remembered going on a walk with my parents when I was quite young and finding a huge field entirely full of what I think were cowslips, bright yellow flowers on stems about eight inches tall. I picked them freely and presented them, proudly, to my mother. What she was going to do with an armful of yellow flowers I did not consider. We were a long walk from home, and the cowslips wilted badly along the way. I don’t think any of them made it back to the vase on the dining room table. I recalled another memory, of the bike track we kids had made among the trees of Mrs. Hobdell’s garden. Her woodland paradise became a racetrack, and the daffodils probably never recovered. Or the time we drove a go-kart around my uncle Roger’s field where he and his service buddies played soccer every Sunday in Fall. We tore up the turf with our wild side-ways skids. No one had told us not to. No one punished us. We were just being kids. And that was when I looked up at the girls, picking flowers and reaching up for the azalea blossoms, stepping in all the muddiest parts of the garden, and saw the beauty of the moment. As far as I’m concerned from now on they can pick all the flowers they want. [from: Inspiredworldmagazine.com]