I've got a problem and you've got to help me. It's a matter of life and death.
My father died 7 years ago from a heart attack. That's the simple explanation. The truth, however, like most things human, is a little more complex. The reality is he died from stress, stress brought on by an addiction to politics and economics, mainlined from his dealer, the omnipresent media.
From the day he retired he spent most of his time either phoning his broker, glued to the television news or stooped over the stock market pages, trying to determine the next political decision, the next consumer trend that would turn his market long shots into some windfall reality. The windfall never came of course, but that wasn't the point. He was an addict. Addicted to what I was never quite sure but win or lose, the next day you could bet he'd be at it again; wired to the world that killed him. No Country for Old Men.
I think of my dad a lot these days, hooked as I am to the YouTube universe, tuning in daily to the headlines and sound bites that for better or worse, accurately define our world. I realize too, that after listening to heretofore unheard-of prophets like Peter Schiff and Ron Paul, Gerald Celente and Jim Rogers, that my head's long been buried in the sand; no doubt avoiding that same drug addiction that did in my father; an addiction to issues perhaps beyond my understanding and certainly beyond my control.
For, despite all the incoming information, despite my growing awareness of world issues and arguments, one thing remains clear: the more I learn the less I truly understand. Government bailouts, the stimulus package, wars in Iraq and Afghanistan; nothing's simple, except for the simple-minded.
I used to be one of them. No grey areas, just black or white, my way or the highway, until I became a high school teacher and realized you can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do. More prisons and police won't stop the drug trade; more soldiers won't quash an insurgency. Smarter people than I am must have figured that out, but still, guns keep on firing. Why? Well, FedSpending.org, says the reason's simple.
Smarter people than I am want them to.
The website, with a mandate for improving government accountability, reports that more than a quarter of senators and congressmen have invested at least $196 billion of their own money in companies that do business with the Department of Defense, profiting from the war in Iraq. Forget all you've heard about freedom, terrorism and weapons of mass destruction, it's just hard to ban bombs when there's a buck to be made.
Using this as a disheartening example, there are always layers to the onion well beyond what we know; always reasons for avoiding discussions on money, politics, war or religion, at least from any standpoint of authority. Everyone has an opinion, everything's contentious, and few, if ever, are completely right or wrong.
American theologian Reinhold Niebuhr, best known for what may seem the oxymoronic study relating Christian faith to the realities of modern politics and diplomacy, perhaps said it best: "God give me the strength to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."
No small task, indeed.
Anyway . . . if you're struggling with Reinhold and still looking for certainty, perhaps you should bet on this: There are no easy answers to today's complex issues and possibly, no issues at all; just fools to be duped and money to be made. If you believe this, perhaps you're a little like me: smart enough to realize how stupid I really am. Smart enough to tune out the world's wag-the-dog media, smart enough to step back from the stock pages; in short, smarter (and hopefully healthier) than my father.
I started by saying I had a life-and-death problem, but Reinhold's supplied the solution. I think I'll stop worrying about things beyond my control, maybe go for a walk and take a deep breath. One way or another, the world that killed my father will still be here tomorrow.
Probably.
Maybe.
John Weber is a husband and father, Ryerson University Journalism grad, Communications Technology teacher, former television and radio news reporter, and the author of two books, The Point, and Letters Home.
Thanks for commenting, Connor. Geez, now you've got me thinking about my (7 years passed) father. He used to do two things a lot: gamble and argue with me. Wish he was around to tell me how wrong my opinions are.
Great article! And I'm not just blowing smoke up your dress (can I say that? ;=)
"stress brought on by an addiction to politics and economics, mainlined from his dealer, the omnipresent media." Love that line. I have nothing to say here, but love that line.
"until I became a high school teacher and realized you can't make anyone do anything they don't want to do" OH, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE! say this loud to all the parents, politicians, board members; say it loud! I was a college professor for seven years and now have my own coaching business that tells the truth and dispenses with the lies about education. Considering that we forget 80% of what we read in 24 hours, where's our high school diploma a year after we've achieved? Up in smoke, mostly. Especially if the "learner" was not interested, as you say, as I've been preaching for years. This No Student Left Behind motto is just as lame as Just Say No to drugs.
"senators and congressmen have invested at least $196 billion of their own money in companies that do business with the Department of Defense, profiting from the war in Iraq" Say it loud and say it proud, brother. People need to read some Noam Chomsky and James Loewen (Lies My Teacher Told Me).
Love your stuff. I'm your newest fan . . . literally. Keep 'em coming.
I'm new to SearchWarp, Jeff, but I'll start reading your stuff . . . seems like we've got some attitude in common. I just finished "Weapons of Mass Instruction" by John Taylor Gatto. I'll be posting my review soon (although I had to soft peddle all that I thought). Thanks for the comments . . . and please, tell me when I screw up too (I don't need the 'smoke up my dress').
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