Don’t Build a Wall When You Need a Bridge
by
Justine Nicholas
by Justine Nicholas
DIGG THIS
In the wake
of Don Imus’s trial by firing, I’ve noticed a particularly disturbing
phenomenon. It’s not new, and it often surfaces after a public figure
or institution commits a gaffe or has a painful or humiliating experience.
I’ve noticed
it in both the private discussions and public denunciations of the
radio shock jock. The loudest and shrillest cries, as one might
expect, have called for Imus’s head, at least metaphorically speaking.
However, I have heard a few people make some not-so-metaphorical
proposals to damage The Don. Nearly all such demands for Imus’s
demise involve name-calling or worse.
Why am I disturbed
about such things? Well, if the history of the human race should
teach us anything, it’s that mimicking or reflecting the behavior
or attitudes – sometimes with a worse version of the same of those
we ostracize or punish rarely does anything to change the behavior
of whomever we demonize. And in reacting in such ways to behavior
that we don’t like, we diminish ourselves.
The result
is that distrust and hostility increase, which further removes from
our grasp any chance that the situations we don't like can be resolved
fairly and satisfactorily. So continues a futile circle of mutual
disrespect.
Whether we
use words or bombs to assault each other, the impetus and effects
are, in the end, the same: violence, and more of it. Sometimes the
conflagrations leave thousands of people killed or injured, as when
Bush and his cronies attacked Iraq in response to the incidents
of 9/11, even though no connection has ever been established between
that country and the destruction of the World Trade Center. But
more often, the result is more suspicion and hostility between individuals
or groups of people, as seems to be happening in the wake of Don
Imus’s infamous broadcast and some of the reaction to it. Either
way, people who have been debased, or feel they have been so, by
someone else go out and try to debase whoever committed the transgression,
or who is believed to have done so.
Morally, I
find no difference between the situations I’ve just described and
those of the Vietnam-era protesters who burned down ROTC buildings
to protest the war, the people who expressed their wish that John
Hinckley had a better aim when he shot Ronald Reagan or the religious
fundamentalists who murder abortion doctors to protest abortion.
The only differences, really, are in the scope and venues of the
spiritual violence that people, institutions or nations commit against
each other.
Another unfortunate
development of such incidents is that they foster and exacerbate
an "us-against-them" mentality on both sides. According
to such a worldview, if you condemned someone for burning down your
college’s ROTC building, you really wanted Nixon to send more American
boys to die in a futile and illegal war. If you didn’t wish that
Reagan had been bumped off, you favored an expansion of the corporate-military
welfare state. Denouncing the killers of abortion doctors is denouncing
the unborns’ right to life, or – gasp – God himself.
And, by that
same strange tautology, if you don’t call for Imus’s head on a stick,
you’re racist and misogynistic. You are thus ignoring a long history
and litany of abuses and outrages and either hiding behind your
privilege or trying to win the favor of those who are believed to
have it. Or so this way of epistemological train goes.
History, whether
it happened 60 minutes or 60 centuries ago, does not become a well
from which to draw wisdom. Instead, the past – whatever interpretation
of it someone believes – becomes nothing but a rationale for retaliation.
"So-and-so did such-and-such," is the mantra for those
who are more interested in venting anger than in trying to make
a situation better. Such scenarios illustrate what George Santayana
wrote: "Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it."
And so the
cycle of hatred and violence continues. In some way, I believe,
what Imus said and the way self-appointed leaders reacted to it
is a symptom, however minute, of an addiction to spiritual violence
into which too many of those who are entrusted with power or influence
fall. Nearly all of the behavior on all sides is unconscious; the
actors are simply repeating the lines they’ve internalized.
However, in
the wake of Imus’s banishment, as in the aftermath of 9/11 and other
incidents, I have also heard calmer, saner voices. Those tend not
to be as media-friendly as the ones who call for spiritual violence,
but as long as they are present, there is hope, I think. Among them
are some friends of mine who are writers and artists and who all
denounced the public tarring and feathering of Imus. Two of them
thought that sanctions against Imus would have been much more effective
and given him more incentive (as if he doesn’t already have a considerable
amount) to think about his words and their effect, or even to explain
what he, as a comic, does.
As people who
live for and by their creative expression, these friends of mine
are naturally concerned about what Imus’s firing says about our
freedom of expression, or lack of it. But even more important, I
think, is that they recognize that the human spirit needs opportunities
to reflect and grow, and that no progress is possible without either.
"We should
build bridges, not walls," declares one of those friends, a
painter.
He has a point.
Walls do not help people or countries to grow or prosper. But bridges
can. It seems that demagogues end up building walls. On the other
hand, people like my artist-friends want to make connections. So,
in retrospect, I’m not so surprised that the painter should say:
"Walls aren’t good for business. But bridges are."
The
ones who essentially intimidated Les Moonves into firing Imus are,
I believe, building a wall for which Imus, however unwittingly,
laid the foundation. I hope to replace it. Bridges really are better
for business. And, in my opinion, they look better.
April
16, 2007
Justine
Nicholas [send her mail]
teaches English at the City University of New York.
Copyright
© 2007 LewRockwell.com
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Nicholas Archives
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