The Lunatic Fringe in the Middle

§ 2:   Choose one – (a) (a) (a)

There are some things in life we get to choose, and some things we don’t. Well, okay, there’s a lot of things we don’t. Way more that we don’t. Okay, most of life is spent dealing with choices we didn’t make.

I am male. I did not choose that.

I am “white”. I did not choose that.

I am American. I did not choose that.

I am Italian, Irish, and a Yankee as well. All choices made for me by the circumstances of my birth. I also grew up Catholic, Democrat, and blue collar (not surprising considering my ethnic background and Great Lakes area environment). As many do, I adopted my family ways in most aspects of life. I was an altar boy. I rooted for Kennedys. I did basically whatever my folks did until I was old enough to understand and question things for myself and begin to learn which choices I could make and which I couldn’t.

Well, I couldn’t change the fact that I was a white male. I couldn’t change my height. I could change my weight and appearance (to some degree). Health is a choice we can often make. Appearance is always a choice we can make at some level.

I was raised a Catholic, like both of my parents’ families. I went to Catholic schools and played in the church sports leagues. When I got older I learned more about other faiths. At first I questioned everything, tried to read everything and understand all the other faiths. In the end, I still considered myself basically Catholic, but I have a much better understanding of the world and other religions.

The biggest choice I could make is my behavior. Everything I am, everything I want, everything I do is affected by my behavior – my attitude, and the way I treat others.

I was born in the “sexist 50s”. That does not make me sexist. Treating women badly would do it, or if I actually believed any of that sexist crap, that would do it. Also, the bible’s language tells me to include women when I say ‘man’ or ‘men’ or ‘mankind’, as well as every race. As I choose to believe the more objective truth, I don’t feel that I’m sexist. I’m cynical, because so many women seem to feel that’s impossible, but still, not sexist.

Likewise, I am not racist because I am white. I can’t look back at my ancestry and find racial atrocities to feel ashamed and guilty for. I can’t read the news without being incensed by racial issues. I can’t justify the oppression of anyone in this country. I did not choose to be American, but I can choose the way I interpret the Declaration, the Constitution, and the Bill of Rights. Maybe Washington and Jefferson had slaves, but Lincoln changed that, and I can see this as proof to me that “all men are created equal”.

I choose to view racism and the concept of racial superiority or inferiority as immature, childish jealousies and fears, not deserving of serious consideration. I can’t make people believe that. All I can do is act on my beliefs and try not to step on any toes.

That’s not easy, since I am probably the single worst demographic type in the U.S. today. Single, white, male, no kids, over 40, middle class suburban childhood. There are few that will try to believe that I am not racist, sexist, capitalist, bigoted or whatever they’re mad at or want to blame for their ills. Well, I didn’t cause those problems, and I can’t help if I’m being punished for them.

As for politics, I inherited my dad’s. I think that’s fairly common for baby boomers and their folks alike. Politics, like religion, are often rooted in family tradition and social level. In general, the rich have usually been conservative and the poor (most predictably) demanding change (liberals). Nowadays, people have more opportunity to be informed than ever, and yet many still cling to political heritages. Choosing a political position can be tough, but it is still a choice, not an inheritance. Sooner or later, everyone must learn to evaluate their choice of political sides objectively, if only to confirm their opinions. I found, in time, that I did share most of my parent’s beliefs and opinions. Over the years, they came to agree with many of my differing thoughts. I learned that they were really more middle of the road than outright Democrat. And the same went for most of our neighbors, Republicans alike. It seemed to me, early on, that both parties were so extreme, the average person had to choose whichever would help them, personally.

Traditionally Democrats have represented workers, and Republicans, the employers. It is very difficult for the voter to break the custom and vote the other party. Both parties are presented in an “only one will do” manner. I think most people would rather have all the information on an issue before they vote on it. We don’t expect that at all. We are used to the polarization of the ‘two party’ system. We expect to hear only the extreme aspects of the story from both sides. Sadly, we vote on many issues based on what will hurt us the least, not what will solve the problem best. Through all of this there remains a cynical sense of futility, the feeling that the average citizen can’t make political choices, that their vote is meaningless.

Well, my friends, wake up!!! Politics and government, behavior and integrity – all are choices that we make and unless we demand real facts and full participation in the process, we punt our rights to anyone who sees a way to profit from them.

You can choose, too. We can all choose.

©2000 Pegwood Arts. All Rights Reserved.
 

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The Lunatic Fringe in the Middle

§ 1    So You Call It ….Freedom? Did It Come With A Manual?

Everybody in America knows the word.

Everybody in America knows for sure that they deserve it.

They know they must protect it. They must fight for it.
They even know that they must defend everybody’s right to have it.

A great many of them just don’t know what the heck it REALLY is.

I, mean, what is freedom, really?

Without flying into existentialism, dogma, or spiritualism, I’m just going to go out on a limb here and say that it all starts with our understanding of the word ‘free’.

Regardless of what a dictionary might say (I won’t bother to quote one, so look it up yourself!!), there are three colloquial uses or understandings of the same word here.

What “free” means depends on what’s going on with someone at the time. If you are oriented towards money or possessions, “free” means something for nothing. If you’re feeling oppressed, “free” means the lack of restrictions or barriers. If you are the type of person that cherishes creativity and accomplishment or ambition, “free” likely means an open field of opportunity.

I’m going to shake that tiny branch I’m hanging from and say that the monetary use of the word is one of our many English conundrums. I have no desire to count how many words we use to mean several things. So let’s forget about this version of the word. Likewise, the idea that one requires freedom to create implies that there is some restriction present already, meaning the artist feels creatively oppressed. So really, I believe, only the oppressive definition of the word “free” actually applies.

That, I fear, is where all the arguments start. (And the wars!)

Freedom, as a concept, is not quite as simple and one-sided as people would like to think. The idea that freedom is it’s own separate thing to covet and win has caused more death and destruction than anything our technology or pollution could ever do. The very idea that freedom is a philosophical opinion, to be applied as we see fit, is, by itself, so bogus it has to be the most embarrassing axiom in all of creation.

The TRUTH about “freedom” (the state of being free), is that it is not a belief – IT IS A LAW OF PHYSICS. It is, in fact, no more variable than the Laws of Gravity and Action/Reaction. Something must give in every case, or disaster will occur.

Consider this, if you will:

Let’s say I walked up to you, out of nowhere, a total stranger, and hit you over the head with a baseball bat.

Now, I think we both agree that’s a rotten thing to do, but why?

You, see, if I walk up with the idea that I’m free to swing my bat anywhere I darn well please, this impacts greatly on your right to live a baseball-bat impairment-free life. This also means that you would have the similar right to drop a grand piano on my head. These expressions of freedom all dance around the same issue – what rights we believe we have.

Logic alone dictates that one cannot be free from injury, and yet, free to do harm. If you feel you have the right to kill, then you surrender the right to live. You are only free to live as long as all agree they have no right to kill. To harm someone intentionally is to deny the other side of the “freedom” coin:

Responsibility.

Without responsibility, freedom does not work at all. To be truly free from being hurt, everyone must believe that they have no right to injure. The two ideas are as simple and permanently connected as they could possibly be.

You cannot separate freedom from responsibility. If you do so for the sake of an endeavor, you have left no choice for those whose freedom you have abridged. They must conclude that, if they are not free from your abuse, they must be free to abuse you in return. If they cannot have safety from you, you cannot have safety from them. This is the most basic level of human survivalism. This is also, historically, humanity’s biggest stumbling block.

This is the Paradox of “Freedom”.

Knowledge, ethics, and self-discipline are the tools that enable the Paradox to work.
To wit:

• To study and learn to understand the past of your art or skill will give you more freedom to create and improve, having the vocabulary to use and create with, in addition to your own imagination and perspective.
• To refrain from embellishing a business deal unfairly will inevitably protect you from an angry client suing you over a lie.
• To curtail a voluntary freedom, such as turning your cell-phone off in a theater, will guarantee that you will not be ushered out for disturbing the audience during the show.

So if you’re concerned about a particular “freedom”, ask yourself if you’d like that done to you. If you wouldn’t, then give it a miss. Then you will unravel the paradox of freedom and be given the greatest power that humanity has to wield honorably in the name of justice.

Respect.

 
©2000 Pegwood Arts. All Rights Reserved.
 

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The Lunatic Fringe in the Middle

ii.:   Forward

I should note, for the record, that I am an average person, with dreams and aspirations as lofty as any, and immediate needs as meager as all. I can identify with all humans on one level – the right to exist, free of abuse, containment, and undue seizures or bias. These are the foundations, (albeit re-phrased) of the basic rights set forth in all the documents drafted by America’s founders. The wording of these documents is, in most cases, general enough as to be applied in greater scope as people become more enlightened. Some issues, such as slavery, were initially allowed in, and had to be amended when the nation, as a whole figured out what was wrong. (Too bad it took several generations and a civil war to just fix the paper on that one!) Similarly, including women’s participation in the voting process was a detail not stated expressly in the Constitution, but one which the language does not in any way deny. The absolute sexism of the day had to be overcome.

Even now, we have yet to see, as a nation, the true, boundless aspect of those words penned on hemp, and finally parchment, over 200 years ago. Merely substitute “human beings”, for “man”, and the words, as if magically, apply to everyone. There’s no need to state any further definition or interpretation. Perceiving the main body of works from this point of view instantly points out the contradictions that may occur, such as the issue of slavery, (which should never have been there) and omissions in common practice, such as women’s right to vote, (which should never have been in question, and should not have required a constitutional amendment). These antiquated notions are but clinging vestiges of the politics of the past, of dollars invested. It was men with power, putting off “just this little bit” of humanity so as to protect their investments. (Nuclear weapons ring any bells,here?) They are, more importantly, proof that our government has always been vulnerable to special interests, fear of invasion, and unscrupulous behavior on the part of it’s members. All of this has occurred here, in spite of the fact that ours is the first nation on earth founded on the premise that the citizens are in control of the whole process.

This is not like 600 years ago, when a Lord or landowner could butter up the king, or all the dukes on the way up if he had to, and end up “owning” your land, now suddenly demanding taxes or your life. We were set up specifically to avoid that problem. Today, the problem exists as much as ever, with political and corporate groups constantly dogging the government for favors at every level, throwing barrels of money at every congressman they can, hoping one of them will bite, and using their influence to write, change or “get around” a law that affects their business. There is one very important difference.

This time we have let this happen.

Henry David Thoreau’s “Essay on Civil Disobedience” was, at the time, a call to honor for all Americans. It dealt mainly with the issues of slavery and taxes. He was really big on the whole tax thing. It took up a major part of the essay. The only other big problem he mentions at any length is slavery. He was vehemently against it as a concept, and he saw inclusion of it in the Constitution as an absolute outrage,in every way. When it came to taxes, though, Thoreau had mixed feelings. He pretty much objected to owing taxes to the state just because you are alive and you live here. He persistently avoided and outright refused to pay most taxes on many occasions (and if not for generous friends, would have spent more than one night in jail for it), but curiously, he had no problem paying the highway tax. The logic binding is the idea that a government should only tax for what they need to do for the citizens, as decided by the citizens themselves. He saw no problem with supporting education, but he preferred to help in that area with his expertise rather than his pocketbook. In any case, freedom from unfair taxation was one of the basic reasons for the inception of this country, and Thoreau was proper to point out the inequities of the government in that area. His work still stands today, merely inserting “racism” or “bias” for “slavery”, “U.S.A.” for “Massachusetts” and the politician of your choice for “Daniel Webster”. You can leave the rest pretty much intact, and you will be amazed to discover how relevant it still is in today’s society. There is a catch, though.

Thoreau wrote at a time when the nation was new and still getting its legs. The spirit of the revolution was still alive, as evidenced by the war with Mexico (which Thoreau was completely against). The danger of the new government falling into old feudal ways had a foreboding nearness to it. This is what caused Thoreau to write his call to civil defiance. His views mirror the protesters’ cries against the Vietnam war, the anguish of the Civil Rights Movement, and – unheard in most of society (ignored today as well) – the tax burden on the low income citizen. His plea for integrity and law-breaking was meant in only that way. Fight the bad laws by breaking them. This idea, sadly, has taken on a vastly different meaning.

Americans nowadays are cynically resigned to the concept that they cannot win, politically, in any way, and must live with whatever the “fat cats” in the government want to do to them. Since they think the fight is unwinnable, they take out their frustration on each other, exercising their right to “Civil Disobedience” in such patriotic ways as parking in handicapped spaces, weaving in and out of traffic at will, writing checks in the cash only line, and calling 911 for directions.

What follows is a series of essays on modern times. I hope you agree.

If not, at least you’re thinking, for Pete’s sake!!!

 
©2000 Pegwood Arts. All Rights Reserved.
 

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The Lunatic Fringe in the Middle

i.:   The Story of ‘b’

‘Cousin B’ (which is long for ‘B’) was born on St. Swithins Day in 1957 to loving mom, ‘M’, and dad, ‘R’. A normal kid growing up on Detroit’s East side, ‘B’ attended elementary school at “Our Lady of the Holy Paddle” and went on to graduate from the prestigious “East-by-Northeast Catholic” High in ‘75 (where he had been awarded a Curling Scholarship).

Later, he went on to midnight studies at Harvard and Yale, ostensibly by breaking into classrooms, libraries and professor’s offices. (Although he holds no degree from these fine schools, the photos and copied record books have proven quite profitable.)

Then, one momentous weekend in 1977, a bizarre turn of events unfolded.

Cousin ‘B’, already on the fourth day of a macrobiotic diet, had waited a long time for tickets to this matinee Red Wings hockey game, and he wasn’t about to miss it.

So it’s midway through the first period when the guy behind him decides to light up a smoke. As the man innocently reaches for his beer, his cigarette brushes Cousin ‘B’s hair, startling him to his feet.

Just as Nick Libett’s slap shot from the point was being deflected.

Did you know that if a puck hits you just right, you won’t need stitches?

Well, they gave him a free beer and a program, and Eddie Giacomin gave him an autograph. The team doctor said he would be OK, and just take him home to rest, which his friends eventually did.

After the “Kiss/Mahogany Rush” concert in Toledo. (On reflection, many later say, the day-old Orange Julius and Lime vodka was, maybe not a good idea after all.) The zombified Cousin ‘B’ appeared to come back to life momentarily, but a broken guitar thrown from the stage soon put a stop to all that.

They gave him a free beer and a program and the box office manager gave him her phone number. The Tour Manager said he would be OK if his friends just took him home to get some rest, which they eventually did.

When the after-hours Hamtramck coffee house open-mic was over.

In later years, friends who were there have claimed that he caught a falling pitcher of beer in mid-air while sound asleep, without spilling a drop, and then, waking briefly, he took the stage. After reciting two original poems, he proceeded to play Mozart’s Magic Flute Variations on a borrowed guitar, oblivious of the fact that he neither played guitar or had ever heard the song.

Afterwards, as he lay sleeping peacefully in the back seat, they finished breakfast and took him home. He went immediately to bed.

For three days.

When he awoke, like an epiphany, Cousin ‘B’ knew his true calling.

He would play lead guitar for the Detroit Red Wings.

Or he would be the #1 goalie for Motown.

The details were still a bit sketchy, but he was on to something.

Actually, the team, and the NHL, for that matter, were very kind about the whole thing and even recommended some competent psychiatrists.

Sadly, even greater disappointment lay in store at Hitsville, USA.

After settling out of court and paying for the skate marks in the studio floor, Cousin ‘B’ embarked on a nationwide search for enlightenment, playing guitar in various ice rinks and being arrested at various music stores.

Finally, after years of searching, Cousin ‘B’ found himself at the most difficult point in his journey, and he ended up where all those lost souls go when they can’t decide whether to hold a guitar or a hockey stick.

Kalamazoo.

There, by the Ball Family Marker in the old Cemetery, bathed in the same moonlight as Orville Gibson’s original guitar factory, Cousin ‘B’ became entranced, and soon visited by two spirits.

No less than the allstar goalie, Terry Sawchuk, and the French master of jazz guitar, Django Rheinhardt, sat before him. As he stood, dumbfounded, Django rose to his feet and walked across, gently rounding the graves between them. As he reached a few yards distance, he began to raise his hand.

“You idiot!”, the gypsy guitarist sputtered in his thick French accent. “Sacre bleu, any one knows you don’t play guitar for a hockey team! What are you, stupid or something?”

Cousin ‘B’ just stared blankly.

“Just a second there, pal.” Terry follows the path over to them.

“I think I know what’s wrong.”

Suddenly the ex-Red Wing goaltender produced a glowing goalie stick from thin air and gave Cousin ‘B’ a good whack to the noggin.

“There. He was just one head shot short!”

Metaphysically, that is. In reality, the pure shock of it startled Cousin ‘B’ so much that he simply fell back and lightly conked his head on the unmistakable gravestone of the inventor of the ball bearing. After a short woozy spell, his head cleared and he stood before the two greats he admired.

“I knew you just needed one more good whack to set you right”, Terry added. “You’ll be OK.”

“I’m so embarrassed”, ‘B’ muttered back. “I’ve been a stark raving lunatic for three years.”

Terry drops the stick. “You’ll be fine. You just got a little mixed up. Shake it off. You can’t be afraid to laugh at yourself.”

“And remember, treat everyone like family, like a cousin”, Django adds as they begin to float away. “We’re all cousins. You’re just like everybody else. We’re all the same. We all need to learn, to think, to laugh and cry.”

So they faded back into eternity, and the ticket for sleeping in the cemetery was only $50.

And to this day, Cousin ‘B’ remains at large, wandering in pursuit of those lofty ideals. You may see him in your town, playing goalie for some pick-up game that’s short a netminder at the last minute, or singing “Twisted” at a jam session in some little honky-tonk. Or maybe, in the wee hours, you’ll see his blanket-clad form escorted from a local cemetery.

To this day, he works tirelessly to defend the middle ground. Occasionally, he shares his music and insights with the public. As long as you learn, think, laugh or cry, the first joke’s on him.

 
©2000 Pegwood Arts. All Rights Reserved.
 

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