Fast Food Insanity

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In the past couple of weeks, social networking has fueled a brouhaha over the fast food chain Chick –fil –A and the owner’s public stance opposing same-sex marriage. The company has donated large sums of money to groups opposing same-sex marriage, based on the owner’s interpretations of Christian doctrine.

In response, liberal groups organized a boycott of the company, while conservatives planned an appreciation day, in hopes of boosting the company’s sales. Conservatives positioned their event as a “free speech” issue, claiming that liberal activists were trying to deny the company owners Constitutionally guaranteed freedom of speech and religion by boycotting the company.

The claim is patently absurd, although many on the left would be only too happy to deny free-speech rights to conservatives. Of course, conservatives are equally ready to permanently gag the left. No one active in politics can remember that we’re Americans first and political ideologues second. Since both sides of the debate are equally rabid and ridiculous, I won’t address the absurdities they’ve been spouting.

My issue about this entire debate comes from the political arena. Various elected officials in different cities and states have taken sides in the debate over the company and its activities. The mayors of Boston and Chicago announced that they would actively oppose any attempts to open either corporate-owned stores or franchises in their cities. New York City Council Speaker Christine Quinn originally supported these kinds of stances, but she later revised her comments, indicating that she is only siding with New York University students who are petitioning to close the only location in New York City, which is on the NYU campus.

I read a brilliantly worded Op-Ed on the New York Times by Steve Salbu titled “Let Chick-fil-A Fly Free.” Mr. Salbu’s essay argued that political figures have no business trying to keep Chick-fil-A from opening new stores in their cites, and he argues that attempts to do so are violations of citizens’ rights by these elected officials. That is, he positions his argument to say that an elected official who uses the office to suppress a business is making a choice for all the citizens, when citizens should be allowed to “vote” on the issue by either supporting or boycotting the company. His comments echo Mayor Bloomberg of New York, who said that he opposes the company’s stance but that it has a right to run its business as it sees fit.

While I think there are some holes to this argument, I agree with Mr. Salbu that citizens will vote on this issue, either by giving this company money or taking their custom elsewhere. Ironically, this isn’t the first time that Chick-fil-A has donated money to groups opposing gay rights. And, it won’t be the last. What is notable this time is that a wider portion of Americans is aware of the issue and is taking a stance. In the past, only members of the LGBTQ community and its closest allies were aware of Chick-fil-A’s business practices. In the long run, that suggests that companies like Chick-fil-A are on the losing end of history.

The Artist and the Abyss

Nietzsche said if you stare into the abyss too long, the abyss stares back into you. That statement is especially true for artists, and I believe that all great artists – painters, sculptors, poets, novelists, photographers and so forth - often stare into the abyss. The abyss is the human condition, the human soul, the human experience. Artists look into the deepest, darkest part of the human soul or human nature, and they reflect back what they see through their art. The best art works like a mirror, showing us what we truly are as human beings. When a work of art touches upon truth, it’s because the artist successfully stared into the abyss and captured a moment that is universal to humanity. Those seeing this artwork see something internal, as if the artwork is a mirror to the person’s mind and soul. The artwork gets inside that person, showing her or him a truth that perhaps wasn’t understood until she or he saw that work of art.

I am not talking about the flawed concept that humanity has something common, a shared “human nature,” because I think that idea has been thoroughly debunked. To me, the concept of  “human nature” is, at its root, the thing that makes us all animals. That is, I think the only thing that is universally true for all humans is the thing that makes us animals. We all need food, water and shelter to survive, but that’s something that can be said for every species on the planet, whether animal or plant. Each being needs certain conditions to be met in order to survive, so “human nature” doesn’t raise us above the other animals. Instead, it marks us as another living being, but not one that is special or superior to the others.

No, what marks human beings as unique among the natural world is our craving for truth and our attempts to demonstrate “truth” through art. The catch here is that “truth” is a fraught concept, one that is constructed culturally and may change over time. I don’t believe in universal truths, which is the idea that something is always true regardless of location or cultural mores. Instead, I believe that truth is a cultural concept, an idea that only exists within its cultural moment. Truth, to me, is as flexible and variable as “right” and “wrong.” All three concepts are cultural constructs. That is, someone in Omaha may think that it’s wrong to steal food from a grocery store. In another time and place, that act of theft would be condoned (or perhaps celebrated) if the culture surrounding the act had different social values. The idea that “human nature” means that certain things are always right and other things are always wrong is at the heart of every war over religion or politics. The mistaken belief that “we’re right and they’re wrong, so we must conquer and free them from their wrong ways of thinking” has brought more horror and tragedy to the world than we can possibly understand.

To me, an artistic truth is the closest we get to a shared “human nature” or “common human condition.” That is, artistic truths frighten us because great art can transcend its cultural moment and touch us across time. That’s because the artist has to grapple with the abyss. By staring into the abyss, she or he has faced down the deepest, darkest parts of the human psyche, and she or he has also stared in the bright, full sunlight of humankind’s most beautiful aspirations. These events occur every time the artist created new piece of art. If the artist is successful at staring into the abyss, she or he will create a great work that touches many people, a work that withstands the cultural shifts and reaches across the things that divide us from one another. But each attempt to look into the abyss risks the artist's soul, her or his creativity and perhaps even the artist’s very life. For if the artist grapples with the abyss and loses that battle, no art is created. In this instance, the artist may well go mad like Ernest Hemingway did.

Each time the artist approaches the abyss, she or he sends up a silent, secret prayer - “Please let me create something truly worthy this time. Let this experience bring forth a work of art that can withstand the tests of time and transcend my cultural moment. And, if I don't survive this interaction with the abyss, then please grant me enough time and sanity to finish this work of art. If the abyss should win, let this final work of art stand as a witness to my struggle with the abyss, a monument to the creative endeavor.”

American society often cuts its funding for artistic endeavors when economic times are tough, and our current moment in history is no exception. However, we fail to recognize the importance of artistic endeavor, particularly at moments of great social change. American society is facing economic and social pressures that will reshape our nation, changes that will shape and change what America stands for, for all time. Funding artistic endeavors is crucial to understanding exactly what we face and how it may shape us. Without artists gazing into the abyss for us, without their efforts to envision the best and worst possible outcomes of our present challenges, we won’t know which path to choose. Art shows us what we are and what we can be, both the good and the bad. Without artists gazing into what could be possible, we are walking along a dark path unguided.

Reflections on The Anniversary

My memories of 9/11 revolve around fear, but not fear for myself. At the time of the attacks, we were living in Seattle and Jen worked in the Columbia Tower, the tallest building on the West Coast. We were getting ready for work and had the news on, where we heard about the Twin Towers. We headed to work, and I remember wishing Jen worked in any other location that day. She arrived at the building to find it was closed to everyone. She returned home and watched the broadcasts, while I attempted to go about my work as if nothing had happened.

I also remember, selfishly, worrying about a trip we had planned. The year 2001 marked a turning point for us. Jen had finished her bachelor's degree in 2000, and we were becoming more financially stable. The year before, we took our first real vacation as a couple. It was a trip to Tucson, our old stomping grounds, for a writers' conference and to visit my family. I didn't really attend the conference events, but we did catch up with family and revisit our favorite spots in Tucson.

In September 2001, we were scheduled to take our second couple's vacation, this time to San Francisco. Our flight was scheduled to leave Seattle the morning of September 15th, and we wondered if our trip would be canceled, due to the grounding of all commercial U.S. flights. We had already paid for our tickets, hotel and other expenses, and none of our travel plans could be canceled for a refund. Given how tight money still was for us, canceling that trip would have been a huge financial hit.

Fortunately, domestic flights resumed in time for our trip. And, somehow, we managed to get on our scheduled flight without mishap. The flight from Sea-Tac to San Francisco scheduled just before ours was canceled, because planes and crews still hadn't arrived in Seattle for all the scheduled flights. And, the flight immediately after ours was also canceled. But, our flight left without incident, although far fewer people were aboard than the airline expected.

People couldn't believe we traveled by plane only a few days after the attacks. But, when I think back on it, that trip to San Francisco was the best vacation we've ever taken. Perhaps we were more aware of our surroundings because of the attacks. Or, maybe we were simply relishing being alive, which imprinted the memories of the things we did and saw more deeply. Whatever the reason, we absorbed the atmosphere of San Francisco more thoroughly than we have any other place we've visited.

We traveled fearlessly around an unfamiliar city, walking through neighborhoods that were less-than-tourist-friendly as if we belonged there. We trekked the city's transit system, navigating it remarkably well for two people who hadn't used it before. We tried new foods, even though neither of us is usually an adventurous eater. On that trip, we experienced a new city in a spirit of discovery and joy that I've never encountered before or since. I think everyone wants to have that kind of experience when they travel, but most of us return from our vacations slightly let down, as if the trip wasn't the sensory extravaganza we had dreamt about.

Perhaps that is the true lesson I've learned from the horrors of 9/11. Each day, each moment is one to be savored, to be experienced as fully as I can. That's easier said than done, of course. But as we start a new, post-9/11 decade, I vow to consciously engage all of my senses so I can more fully experience the world around me. Each day, I will tell those I love how much they mean to me. If 9/11 has taught us nothing else, at least I've learned that tomorrow may not come.

Tradition and History

I was searching for a topic for today’s blog post. I thought about the next post in my series on leadership but I’d like to reserve that for Wednesdays, if possible. I think writing on that topic too frequently may become too dull for my readers. In my search for a subject, I looked over my list of topics and general areas of interest. I decided to write about genealogy today. Specifically, I thought I’d explore why I’m the family historian.

Admittedly, I’m a rather odd choice for the role of family historian. First, I’m a lesbian, which probably has my very religious ancestors spinning in their graves. Then, I don’t have children to teach about the family’s history. Most of the people who are doing family research have children and grandchildren, and they want to leave their descendants a sense of who they are in connection to the past. Since I don’t have children, I have no immediate descendants with whom to share my knowledge. And, I don’t have an obvious successor who may pick up this work and move forward with it, as is often the case for other genealogists.

Then too, my age is a bit of an oddity in the field. As I mentioned above, most genealogists are older with children and grandchildren. I know some historical and genealogical societies are disbanding because they cannot attract newer, younger members. These groups are watching their founding members die and no one is stepping in to carry on the work. Rather than battle the inevitable, those groups are simply giving in and closing their doors. I shudder to think of the knowledge being lost because of the lack of interest.

None of that, however, explains why I’m the family researcher. I could psychoanalyze myself and say it’s because I was raised mostly as an only child and want to feel a connection to my larger family. Or, I could link my interest in family history to being a writer. My interest in historical fiction suggests that family history research may be a fruitful place to find inspiration for characters and stories to tell.

I could also chalk up the genealogy interest as a search for other “queer” relatives as a way to explain my own present. And, by “queer” I mean the current usage of “gay or lesbian” as well as the traditional meaning of “odd, unusual and different.” For most of my life, I’ve been an oddball in a family of eccentrics. And, as the only lesbian in my generation in the family, I’m interested in finding other people in the family tree who might explain the source of my genetics. I suppose I could be an anomaly in our family history, the lone member of a minority. But, I sincerely doubt that is the case. I’m certain others shared my attraction for the same-sex but they probably conformed to societal standards, married and had children. So, locating them may be a challenge.

None of those possibilities fully explains why I’m doing research on my family. I think my quest for knowledge is influenced by all of those factors. But, those reasons don’t fully explain why I’m doing the research. And, while I would like to articulate a reason for my interest, I can’t exactly explain why family history draws me. All I know is researching my family’s roots is as compelling to me as writing is. That is, I may get frustrated with the research, just as I do with my writing. I may storm around and swear I won’t research anymore, just as I often insist I’ll stop writing. But, something always drives me to pick up a pen and write. And, something always drives me to dig back into the archives in an attempt to understand my origins. I can’t explain either compulsion. All I can do is hope that both will eventually reward my efforts.