The Summer of Our Discontent
Atlanta, GA
July 4, 2020
“The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary festival.”
– John Adams, July 3, 1776, the day after the Congress voted to declare independence, and the day before it actually did so.
“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day, minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”
– George Orwell, 1984
We probably should’ve listened to John Adams, and celebrated independence a couple days ago, when no one was watching. To do so today almost feels like being a Christian in the catacombs, or the Resistance in France. Given the cultural mood, we need to be on guard, and off the radar.
I’m not sure we’re still allowed to acknowledge this occasion, much less celebrate it. We certainly can’t applaud that on this date 13 sovereign states committed “treason” by seceding from their union. Or that their troops were led by a dignified Virginian who married into the Custis family, and had once served ably in the opposing army. Honoring this day, and the men who enabled it, feels like something permitted only in a Confessional…if one were still open.
After the last month, this would seem a day to be recognized in select pockets of secluded sanity, precariously preserved from the ravings of the mob. Our new cultural arbiters and official historical commissars would have us observe July 4 as if we were commemorating Wounded Knee, or Dred Scott.
Unfortunately, it does feel like there is more to commemorate than to celebrate. Many of our freedoms are gone, and those we retain are mostly tenuous, or conditional. Millions are cheering independence while being confined at home by their government. And, with the proliferation of fake money, real wars, domestic disturbance, and universal surveillance, the trend is not good. Before long, we might assume that whatever is not compulsory is prohibited.
This has been a trying year, and not just from crises and calamities the political-media-academic axis has either contrived or compounded. Obviously, the house arrests, economic decline, urban rioting, random violence, destruction of property, and the cancellation of shows and sports that would ordinarily distract us from these catastrophes has taken a toll.
Yet running beneath, or through, these cataclysms is something more ominous, and disconcerting. Till now, I’ve had trouble putting my finger on it, and still can’t quite get a handle.
But I think it has to do with the implicit lines into which we are expected to fall, and the prescribed programs we must reflexively get with. And also with the blind obedience most people pay to these societal directives, be they explicit or subliminal.
Deviation is not tolerated; critical thought is condemned. Unless you conform, you can’t converse. Those who stray are, at best, given suspicious eyes from the compliant herd. At worst, the skeptics are treated as a social pox, little better than the Revolution viewed those drowned at Nantes, or the martyrs from Compiègne.
These days, even consensus can’t curtail contention.
After the horrible killing of George Floyd, the universal reaction – from all races – was to be appalled. I read no one who thought the victim had it coming or that the assailant was justified. I heard none who didn’t find Floyd’s death inexcusable. Agreement was essentially total. All races, regions, and persuasions were unified. Everyone thought this killing was an outrage.
But, no matter. We still needed to have our consciousness raised and our “privilege” examined. Statues had to fall, facilities needed to be re-named, and holidays had to be reassessed. Like using 9/11 as an excuse to frisk grandma, the opportunists quickly advanced their ulterior agenda by tightening the screws on their real target: traditional America. And, right on cue, came the usual suspects and useful idiots.
With the guts and creativity of a Hallmark card, every media outlet, politician, corporation, college, and celebrity was quick to spout the expected talking points. They all earnestly opposed racism, diligently supported black lives, avowed diversity as “our” strength, insisted that “we” must “all” do more, etc., etc.
Brows were furrowed, upper lips were bitten, backs were patted. Knees bent, heads bowed, and fists rose. And the righteous felt better about themselves.
These courageous messages were all eerily alike and eminently predictable, as if from the same script. Among right-thinking people, the choreographed talking points took no time to spread and congeal…and to clog further thought.
This is what is weird, and disturbing. Not just what is said, but how. It’s as if a single PR firm (and the same group of lawyers) manages communication for every prominent person and institution in the country. Once approved, the heartfelt message emanates simultaneously, from every node in the matrix. Then, like dust from Vesuvius, it settles over the populace, and casts them into compliance.
As Orwell put it, he who controls the past controls the future, and who who controls the present controls the past.
But creepy as is the uniformity and propagation of acceptable opinion, I also shudder at the manner in which unapproved thoughts are being withheld. It reminds me of the scene in the movie All the President’s Men, when the reporters try to interview people, only to have doors repeatedly slammed in their faces.
“Is there something that strikes you as odd?”, asks Robert Redford, as Bob Woodward. “It’s almost as if there is a pattern to the way they’re not talking…I think it’s odd.”
I had the same realization last weekend. We had a couple over for a wine tasting. We have spent some time with them in the past, but don’t know them very well. When they arrived, they came around back.
After a couple hours together, sharing a charcuterie board and exchanging wine bottles, the husband mentioned how refreshing it was to have a normal evening, in person, without staring at people thru a computer screen. I adamantly agreed.
As we continued talking, he sheepishly said he thought the lockdowns were an over-reaction. When I concurred, he was relieved. Only after realizing our opinions were close did we feel free to continue sharing them. He then said that even with friends and family, he doesn’t risk doing so. It’s not worth the potential argument. Civil conversation is apparently not possible.
He assured that he and his wife take reasonable precaution against the virus, and do what they can to respect others’ feelings. They wear masks indoors, and try not to get too close to people. He also said he doesn’t want to seem naively complacent in the face of everyone else’s panic.
I took his point, but said that appearing less panicked would probably be good for all of us. I confessed I don’t wear masks, unless required by the owner of a place I want to go. Aside from being a potential detriment to my own health, I worry about the insidious effect they have on that of the culture.
I suggested that masks do less to block the virus than to undermine or redefine important cultural dynamics. They hinder understanding of verbal expressions, and all but eliminate detection of facial ones. Individuality is diluted, as each person becomes less recognizable, and blends further into an indecipherable mass. Whatever their health merits, the ubiquity of masks, and the eagerness with which it is being demanded, causes my blood to curdle and my spine to chill.
But manipulation and propaganda have clearly been effective. And the more they are applied, the less they will be needed. Eventually, fewer people will need to be told what they should think, and more of them will intuitively know it…even if they only nod when they hear it, while leaving their true thoughts unsaid. Fewer ideas will be exchanged and, at some point, people will wonder if they are worth having at all.
I think this subtle social pressure and self-policing of thought is a large part of the weird, unexplainable discontent that has gnawed at me the last several months. More and more people are uncomfortable questioning narratives, providing context, or adding nuance.
And I can see why. As the fringes harden, the center softens, and starts to give way. As it does, people seek safety on one side or the other, even if they are afraid to say which one. To consider various aspects of opposing arguments…or worse, to contemplate new ones…is to wander into no man’s land, and be caught in the cross-fire. Most seek safety in a trench.
All questions are now presented as binary: Yes or no. For or against. Red or Blue. Black or White.
If you give the wrong answer, your professional reputation, social standing, and even family relationships are in jeopardy. So we say what we don’t believe, assert things as contrary to what they are, or pretend they never happened. Usually, we just keep quiet. Meanwhile, the pages keep turning, till we realize we’re in the middle of a giant Kafka novel.
I don’t know how we get out. But the 4th of July seems as good a time as any to start looking for the door.
