I know, I know. I started this, and then I realized that I didn't have as much to say as I thought I did, so, well, I stopped. But Occupy Wall Street has inspired me, so here I go again. And, well, it's Occupy Wall Street, or OWS, that I want to talk about.
First and foremost, I want to be clear: I support OWS. At the end of the day, while the movement has its flaws, its message is good, and one I fundamentally support. I don't think that they're sure how to fix the problems they've identified, and, like any annoying know-it-all, I have some suggestions on that front, which I might discuss in a later post, but in general I support an opposition to the corporate structure that is causing serious problems in America. With that said, there are some criticisms that have been made. Some of them, like the "No, you have opportunity, really, there's one lucky person that worked hard and made it and I'm going to tell you their story so that I can keep up the illusion of equal opportunity, why don't you just work harder or smarter?" criticism are rather specious and have already been rebutted to death see Lemony Snicket's list, or one of the fifteen million blog entries dealing with annoying self-righteous facebook picture person for those. I don't intend to deal with them here. But there is one criticism that deserve to be taken seriously and addressed. And that's the one I'm going to deal with.
Unfortunately, this criticism is unpopular, because while it is harmful to OWS, it hits home to those who they are protesting just as hard, if not harder, so it's hard for them to use it as a defense against OWS. It was brought up by my brother, and it is, by far, the most cogent criticism of OWS that I've seen thus far. It asks a simple question. While we may be the 99 percent in the United States, worldwide we're still pretty darn well off in the grand scheme of things, globally. And historically, there's no question. Hell, historically nearly all Americans living in the 21st century are probably in the one percent. So, does that mean we should count our blessings and shut up?
This deserves thinking about. As bad as some people in this country have it, mostly it's a psychological thing. It's the knowledge of crippling debt, not the reality of starvation that confronts us. Are we a bunch of spoiled brats, whining because we didn't get the right color car for our birthday? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-JvtlB_NzI8) Didn't Jesus have a parable about not complaining when you get a fair shake if some people are getting better? (Matthew 20:1-16) So, is that it? Should OWS shut up and let things go?
I think the answer to that is both a yes and a no. I'm willing to admit up front that the people of OWS, and passive supporters like me aren't the perfect messengers. We have our own flaws, hang-ups, and injustices. We take up too much of the world's resources. We are, in many ways, hypocritical, the very undeserving rich that we're railing against. But, the messenger and the message are two different things, and the message, the problem of corporate control of American government, is one that is correct, and needs to be addressed, and if we can't address it through the motley crew that we have, then who? Are the starving people of the world going to be able to afford to march on Wall Street? Or address Washington? Organize a genuine political movement? No. They have other, more personal things to deal with.
The reality is that it's always fallen on those with a certain amount of privilege to tear privilege down. It wasn't Southern slaves that killed slavery. It was privileged free men that saw the injustice and did something about it. Without the votes of the men who had the franchise, it never would have been extended to women. The same thing is true with OWS. Are they, in fact, privileged beyond most of the world? Yes. Does that mean their cause to bring down the power of privilege is wrong or fundamentally hypocritical? I don't think so. Unfortunately, I'm not sure how self-aware that they are of this dilemma, and they definitely need to be more so, but the fact that it exists isn't a problem for the fundamentals of the message itself. The standard they are raising, the issue of corporate control of the United States has implications that impact those with far less say than those who claim to be part of the 99 percent. And this cause will help those people, too, at least as far as I can see. I wish the banner was raised in their name, and the movement needs improving in that regard, but that's not a reason to kill it. It's a reason to change it, sure. To work on it, definitely. But is it a reason to just shut up and go away? No. To the contrary, it's a reason to raise our voices louder, to speak for those suffering so greatly they don't even have a voice.
For too long, the so-called 99 percent have been speaking only for themselves. It's time for that to stop. We need to speak not only for ourselves, but for those even less fortunate than us. The one percent may be mildly inconveniencing me, but they're killing factory workers in China. The 99 percent needs to speak for the Chinese factory worker, the Taiwanese widow, the African orphan. Only then can we really claim to be fighting for justice. OWS has the makings of a positive movement, but it doesn't go nearly far enough. Yet.
I am Josh Hitch. And I am the 99 percent. But that's not important. More importantly, I am Josh Hitch, and as a human being and a citizen of the world, and as part of the 99 percent I stand for those who aren't even on the list to be counted. God bless America, and through us, the world.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
We're still here
It's May 21st at about eight o'clock in the evening, and it seems like there have been no major disappearances. The end of the world appears to have not occurred. I've had some fun with the predictions this past week, as have many people, especially on internet social networking sites. However, there have been some who have expressed an opinion that we shouldn't be having so much fun with this. That this isn't something that should be the butt of a joke. Are they right? Was I wrong to joke about the end of the world? Let's examine some of the arguments I've seen and see how they hold up.
1) Making a joke of this obscures some of the serious ramifications of these misguided beliefs. - The basis behind this one seems to come from some of the more depressing stories we've heard coming out of these predictions. There was a New York Times article about a family who stopped saving for their children's college because of their belief that, well, the world was going to end before college became a reality for them. There was another article about families who had their pets euthanized so they wouldn't suffer when they were gone. In light of tragic events like this, should we be cracking jokes? A few more enthusiastic critics have gone on to use this as a springboard for a discussion of how various religious views cause harm in general, from the gay marriage debate, to Islamic extremism, emphasizing that our reaction should be dismay and condemnation, not amusement. I disagree. The consequences are serious, that's true, but satire, comedy, and ridicule are one of the better weapons we have against absurd behavior like this. Serious and funny aren't as contradictory as people think. Comedy, after all, is merely tragedy plus time and/or distance.
2) Look, I know it seems kind of silly, but these are deeply held religious beliefs and they deserve some respect. - Coming from literally the opposite side of the spectrum from the first point, there are those who simply find it in poor taste to make fun of people's religious beliefs, regardless of how silly they seem. I kind of get this one. There are some lines that maybe we shouldn't cross. I think the reason that this one doesn't fit for me is this: they went out on a limb and posited a clear statement that could easily be proven false. You have to know that when May 21st comes and goes and everyone's still here that you'd be outside of the realm of potentially true religious belief and into the realm of "obviously really, really wrong." In addition, there's something to be said for people deserving the respect they give. The more you respect that you might be wrong, the less funny it is when you are.
3) What if they're right/Even if they get the date wrong, a Second Coming will occur and the jokes seem to be mocking God more than mocking the date. - Sure, they could have been right. And bin Laden might be enjoying 72 virgins right now. But at this point I'm nearly one hundred percent sure that one of those statements is wrong, and I'm about 99 percent on the other. But here's the thing: we make jokes about God all the time. Sermons have jokes in them, and some of them, if you really think about them, are kind of at God's expense, or at least with God as the topic. How many "gates of heaven" jokes have you heard? God can be funny.
What bothers me more about this argument, though, is that it seems to be, at base, an argument religious people use all too often. "What if you're wrong? Do you want to risk how badly my version of God is going to hurt you if you don't believe what I tell you that you need to believe?" Heck, it's been codified into a rational-sounding argument called Paschal's Wager. I say rational-sounding, because it's flawed at several levels. First, there are too many people saying the same thing. By believing in any given version of God, I'm risking that some other belief system might be right and that version might punish me. If I believe in Jesus, what's Allah going to do to me. If I believe in Allah, how can I help stop Xenu? Even within one religion, if I'm Catholic, what's going to happen with the Church of Christ's God? Enough denominations make enough contradictory claim, that I'm not sure that you can logically ensure that you're "in" with any one set of beliefs.
That's not the only problem, though. Once we start playing the "what if" game, we need to play it to its logical conclusion. What if God really hates cynical smartasses who play "what if" and specifically decided that anyone who believes simply because of Paschal's Wager is out? Just because no major religion says that doesn't make it an invalid "what if." Look, I'm a believer, but I think that "I'd better believe because God might send me to hell if I don't," is a bad reason to believe. Next post I'll go further in explaining why, and try to put the final nail in the coffin of Paschal.
1) Making a joke of this obscures some of the serious ramifications of these misguided beliefs. - The basis behind this one seems to come from some of the more depressing stories we've heard coming out of these predictions. There was a New York Times article about a family who stopped saving for their children's college because of their belief that, well, the world was going to end before college became a reality for them. There was another article about families who had their pets euthanized so they wouldn't suffer when they were gone. In light of tragic events like this, should we be cracking jokes? A few more enthusiastic critics have gone on to use this as a springboard for a discussion of how various religious views cause harm in general, from the gay marriage debate, to Islamic extremism, emphasizing that our reaction should be dismay and condemnation, not amusement. I disagree. The consequences are serious, that's true, but satire, comedy, and ridicule are one of the better weapons we have against absurd behavior like this. Serious and funny aren't as contradictory as people think. Comedy, after all, is merely tragedy plus time and/or distance.
2) Look, I know it seems kind of silly, but these are deeply held religious beliefs and they deserve some respect. - Coming from literally the opposite side of the spectrum from the first point, there are those who simply find it in poor taste to make fun of people's religious beliefs, regardless of how silly they seem. I kind of get this one. There are some lines that maybe we shouldn't cross. I think the reason that this one doesn't fit for me is this: they went out on a limb and posited a clear statement that could easily be proven false. You have to know that when May 21st comes and goes and everyone's still here that you'd be outside of the realm of potentially true religious belief and into the realm of "obviously really, really wrong." In addition, there's something to be said for people deserving the respect they give. The more you respect that you might be wrong, the less funny it is when you are.
3) What if they're right/Even if they get the date wrong, a Second Coming will occur and the jokes seem to be mocking God more than mocking the date. - Sure, they could have been right. And bin Laden might be enjoying 72 virgins right now. But at this point I'm nearly one hundred percent sure that one of those statements is wrong, and I'm about 99 percent on the other. But here's the thing: we make jokes about God all the time. Sermons have jokes in them, and some of them, if you really think about them, are kind of at God's expense, or at least with God as the topic. How many "gates of heaven" jokes have you heard? God can be funny.
What bothers me more about this argument, though, is that it seems to be, at base, an argument religious people use all too often. "What if you're wrong? Do you want to risk how badly my version of God is going to hurt you if you don't believe what I tell you that you need to believe?" Heck, it's been codified into a rational-sounding argument called Paschal's Wager. I say rational-sounding, because it's flawed at several levels. First, there are too many people saying the same thing. By believing in any given version of God, I'm risking that some other belief system might be right and that version might punish me. If I believe in Jesus, what's Allah going to do to me. If I believe in Allah, how can I help stop Xenu? Even within one religion, if I'm Catholic, what's going to happen with the Church of Christ's God? Enough denominations make enough contradictory claim, that I'm not sure that you can logically ensure that you're "in" with any one set of beliefs.
That's not the only problem, though. Once we start playing the "what if" game, we need to play it to its logical conclusion. What if God really hates cynical smartasses who play "what if" and specifically decided that anyone who believes simply because of Paschal's Wager is out? Just because no major religion says that doesn't make it an invalid "what if." Look, I'm a believer, but I think that "I'd better believe because God might send me to hell if I don't," is a bad reason to believe. Next post I'll go further in explaining why, and try to put the final nail in the coffin of Paschal.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Our common stories
Human beings are storytellers. We have been since long before we even discovered that things could be written down. If you look at prehistoric cave paintings, it's obvious that they're there to tell a story. What story, we're not sure, but some sort of story. Each society is held together partially by the stories it tells, its people bound together by a common narrative. There's even a theory of history that holds that each great civilization has a singular epic work that defines it (most of those who say this say that ours is Huck Finn).
For a long time, our stories were formed around religion. The stories helped explain the world, but they shifted and changed, and that was alright. Religion and its stories were a part of life, and as life shifted and changed, so did the stories. The Romans needed a link between themselves and Greek civilization? Well, then Troy must have had a survivor that went on an epic journey of his own. Looking at older manuscripts and newer ones it becomes clear that religious truth changed with discovery and the changing needs of life, but more importantly, it meant that the storytelling options were still out there. That new stories could still be told, and be added to the canon, but keeping the familiar characters.
Even in the Christian era, the canon was theoretically open. New stories of saints and sinners came about, and even the Biblical canon was thought to be potentially open until the Protestants and Catholics started squabbling over it, and, as a result, both of them declared the matter closed. It was that, combined with an Enlightenment perspective that saw historicity in a very different viewpoint (another topic for another day) that changed everything. Religion still had stories, but they were a set number, and they would always stay the same, now. They were written down for all time, and the book was closed.
For most civilizations, this change wasn't a huge change. After all, they had thousands of years of history to mine for identity and legend to tie their people together. For America it was different, though. We needed new stories, a new common language to bind ourselves together. We needed shared characters that we could heap new stories upon, like Hercules had been for the Greeks and Romans, and Thor and Loki had been for the Vikings.
Enter the superhero. America invented the modern superhero, but I wouldn't be the first to notice that they're really mythological heroes. Superman is America's Hercules. That's why we love the superhero more than any other nation. Because it's a common character that parents can tell their children about, and pass down. I'll be honest, if I ever have children, I'm almost as excited to tell them about a child that came to Earth from a dying world from Krypton as I am to tell them about a baby born in a manger. A few weeks ago there was a huge controversy because Superman announced in comics that he was renouncing his American citizenship to become a citizen of the world. There was an outcry because Superman is ours, he's a fundamental part of what it means to be American. But perhaps instead of being upset, we should follow his example. While we'll never stop being Americans, perhaps it's time to place that second, and be human beings first. Just another idea brought on by a crazy story.
For a long time, our stories were formed around religion. The stories helped explain the world, but they shifted and changed, and that was alright. Religion and its stories were a part of life, and as life shifted and changed, so did the stories. The Romans needed a link between themselves and Greek civilization? Well, then Troy must have had a survivor that went on an epic journey of his own. Looking at older manuscripts and newer ones it becomes clear that religious truth changed with discovery and the changing needs of life, but more importantly, it meant that the storytelling options were still out there. That new stories could still be told, and be added to the canon, but keeping the familiar characters.
Even in the Christian era, the canon was theoretically open. New stories of saints and sinners came about, and even the Biblical canon was thought to be potentially open until the Protestants and Catholics started squabbling over it, and, as a result, both of them declared the matter closed. It was that, combined with an Enlightenment perspective that saw historicity in a very different viewpoint (another topic for another day) that changed everything. Religion still had stories, but they were a set number, and they would always stay the same, now. They were written down for all time, and the book was closed.
For most civilizations, this change wasn't a huge change. After all, they had thousands of years of history to mine for identity and legend to tie their people together. For America it was different, though. We needed new stories, a new common language to bind ourselves together. We needed shared characters that we could heap new stories upon, like Hercules had been for the Greeks and Romans, and Thor and Loki had been for the Vikings.
Enter the superhero. America invented the modern superhero, but I wouldn't be the first to notice that they're really mythological heroes. Superman is America's Hercules. That's why we love the superhero more than any other nation. Because it's a common character that parents can tell their children about, and pass down. I'll be honest, if I ever have children, I'm almost as excited to tell them about a child that came to Earth from a dying world from Krypton as I am to tell them about a baby born in a manger. A few weeks ago there was a huge controversy because Superman announced in comics that he was renouncing his American citizenship to become a citizen of the world. There was an outcry because Superman is ours, he's a fundamental part of what it means to be American. But perhaps instead of being upset, we should follow his example. While we'll never stop being Americans, perhaps it's time to place that second, and be human beings first. Just another idea brought on by a crazy story.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Jesus lives for you
Christians are obsessed with the death of Jesus. Every major public prayer, especially in a church with any Calvinist roots will include a thank you to God for sending Jesus to die for us. With that exact phrasing. Rarely will God be thanked for sending Jesus to talk to us, to teach us, to live with us. And, if mention is made of Him rising again, it will be a separate item, not included in the things that He did for us. Apparently, Jesus died for us, but he rose for Himself.
But maybe I'm getting too obsessed with the phrasing of one set of extemporaneous prayers. We can't be that morbid and death focused, right? Look at your sanctuary next time you're there. How many crosses do you see? Alright, now, how many reminders of the empty tomb do you see? Look at the hymnals. How many songs reference the Cross, or Jesus's blood? Compare that to the numbers that reference his Resurrection. Less skewed, but I'm willing to bet death still trumps life.
Here's the thing: The story of Jesus is a story about life. It's about Jesus's life and our lives. It's about Him BEATING death. So why are we so focused on the middle of the story? I'm not here to say it's unimportant, and I'm not here today to talk about how this obsession has twisted our theology, I'm just here to note the incongruity. Lots of people have died. Only one of those came back. Perhaps it's time we stopped making sure everyone knows that Jesus died for them, and instead started making sure that everyone knows that Jesus lives for them.
But maybe I'm getting too obsessed with the phrasing of one set of extemporaneous prayers. We can't be that morbid and death focused, right? Look at your sanctuary next time you're there. How many crosses do you see? Alright, now, how many reminders of the empty tomb do you see? Look at the hymnals. How many songs reference the Cross, or Jesus's blood? Compare that to the numbers that reference his Resurrection. Less skewed, but I'm willing to bet death still trumps life.
Here's the thing: The story of Jesus is a story about life. It's about Jesus's life and our lives. It's about Him BEATING death. So why are we so focused on the middle of the story? I'm not here to say it's unimportant, and I'm not here today to talk about how this obsession has twisted our theology, I'm just here to note the incongruity. Lots of people have died. Only one of those came back. Perhaps it's time we stopped making sure everyone knows that Jesus died for them, and instead started making sure that everyone knows that Jesus lives for them.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
The End of an Era
On the evening of Sunday, May 1, 2011 the American people were informed that an era had ended. That Osama bin Laden, the boogeyman who had haunted our nightmare, the man whose agents we saw in the shadows every time we had boarded an airplane for nearly ten years, had been killed by members of the special forces of the US military. Upon hearing that news, to borrow a phrase from Monty Python, "There was much rejoicing."
I joined in that rejoicing. I called my parents to share the good news. I pumped my fist. I stayed up to participate in the moment. I linked to a picture of President Obama on Facebook with the caption, "Sorry it took so long to get you a copy of my birth certificate. I was too busy killing Osama bin Laden." I did this out of pride in my country and my president. In terms of celebration, mine wasn't the most demonstrative. I wasn't out in the streets. I wasn't holding a sign, or having a party. However, this wasn't a huge moment for me, personally. Osama didn't cost me nearly as much as he did those in the streets. I didn't know anyone who died on 9/11. I don't know any soldiers who died in Afghanistan or even in Iraq, which I know is only tangentially related to bin Laden's activities at best. Most of what I have lost has been minor compared to those who have lost people they loved. All I lost is a few hours at an airport now and again and perhaps his existence as a danger to my country caused me a vague sense of unease.
After the sense of jubilation lifted, however, the American people began to consider the ethical ramifications of celebrating the death of another human being. Was it right? Was it perhaps not so much a moral issue as one of taste and decorum? How does it fit with the ideals of our country? It is these questions that we now need to address. But before I address them, let me say this: whatever conclusion can be reached about the propriety of the celebration, whatever you think about it, one thing must be noted. Forty-eight hours removed from the hearing about the death of the man responsible for the deaths of thousands upon thousands of people, the man whose forces wounded our national sense of security worse than any enemy since the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, the American people are engaging in a debate on whether or not we should have celebrated. Even if it was a mistake to celebrate, even if joy at a human death is unseemly and wrong, the fact that it's take us all of TWO DAYS to take a deep breath and evaluate our actions says something about the character of the people of the United States of America. Whether we were right or wrong, the mere fact that we're taking the time to think about it and talk about it shows a depth of caring and compassion that is hard to deny.
What were we celebrating?
First and foremost, in order to evaluate the propriety of the celebration we need to think about what we are really celebrating. Almost any victory worth celebration means someone else was defeated and is suffering. When my favorite sports team wins a championship and I'm celebrating, I'm sure that to the fans of the team who just lost, my celebration feels wrong. It seems tacky. When Kentucky beat North Carolina to go to the Final Four, I was celebrating while Harrison Barnes was suffering. And the cause of my celebration and his suffering were the same. But I wasn't truly celebrating his suffering. I was celebrating Kentucky's victory. The same can be said for celebrations of military victories, there's just a different scale. And, in this case, the scale was altogether different, being the death of one man.
I believe most Americans celebrating Bin Laden's death, when you really get down to their motivations, were celebrating a fact that a significant threat to their lives, the lives of their friends and neighbors, had been removed. There are still other threats, sure, but that one was removed. It happened to be removed by the death of a particular man, but the essence of the celebration is the celebration of an American victory and the removal of a threat. It was more fundamentally a celebration of an American success than bin Laden's defeat, although the two are obviously intertwined, just like the celebration of a sports victory is intertwined with the defeat of the opponent. In that light, I find the celebration wholly justifiable. I have friends who live in New York City and Washington DC, as well as some living near other places that could be targets for Al Quaida, and I believe the death of Osama makes them safer today than they were two weeks ago. And I refuse to apologize for being happy that the death of a madman who was a threat not only to the United States, but to humanity as a whole, made my friends safer.
With that said, I'm obviously putting a whole lot of rationalizing thought there that was quite possibly not present in the initial flurry of emotion. Some of the visceral joy may clearly have been of a directly vengeful sort. Much of it may have been. I don't know, I wasn't there. But at that point, I'm quibbling over motives, not content, and it's not to me in particular to judge another's motives. In addition, even if it is a bit squicky, even if it does fall slightly short of the highest ideals of humanity, I think we can all admit that it was a simple, very human reaction, and one that, even though it may not be wholly admirable, is not completely blameworthy. We've all been caught up in a groundswell of emotion that carried us away, and while that doesn't make it right, it does make it understandable and something that ought not be judged too harshly.
Our Shared Humanity
I've had a friend or two compare this to the celebrations in the Middle East, such as some of those over 9/11 itself. Maybe there's some truth to that, although distinctions can clearly be made (the death of one mass murderer versus the death of thousands of innocents, for instance), but if there is some truth that should be drawn from it, it shouldn't be as a form of some cheap point-scoring off of those who celebrated, either the average Americans OR the average Middle Easterner, but rather as a reminder that we're all human. That the average Middle Easterner and average American are very similar, and while our circumstances and our leaders have placed us on opposite sides, that perhaps the differences don't run as deep as both of us like to imagine.
On the Daily Show last night, Jon Stewart made a point worth repeating. He indicated that for too long bin Laden and his ilk have been the face of the Middle East for Americans. Perhaps with his death, we can move past him, move past his type. We can see the people of Egypt and Tunisia fighting for their own freedom and see our brothers and sisters. Perhaps that should be the legacy of Bin Laden's death: that those who attempt to divide us fundamentally, those who view their opponents as less than human, will ultimately be defeated, and it's perhaps fitting that in death he should evoke a reaction that reminds us all of our shared humanity.
I joined in that rejoicing. I called my parents to share the good news. I pumped my fist. I stayed up to participate in the moment. I linked to a picture of President Obama on Facebook with the caption, "Sorry it took so long to get you a copy of my birth certificate. I was too busy killing Osama bin Laden." I did this out of pride in my country and my president. In terms of celebration, mine wasn't the most demonstrative. I wasn't out in the streets. I wasn't holding a sign, or having a party. However, this wasn't a huge moment for me, personally. Osama didn't cost me nearly as much as he did those in the streets. I didn't know anyone who died on 9/11. I don't know any soldiers who died in Afghanistan or even in Iraq, which I know is only tangentially related to bin Laden's activities at best. Most of what I have lost has been minor compared to those who have lost people they loved. All I lost is a few hours at an airport now and again and perhaps his existence as a danger to my country caused me a vague sense of unease.
After the sense of jubilation lifted, however, the American people began to consider the ethical ramifications of celebrating the death of another human being. Was it right? Was it perhaps not so much a moral issue as one of taste and decorum? How does it fit with the ideals of our country? It is these questions that we now need to address. But before I address them, let me say this: whatever conclusion can be reached about the propriety of the celebration, whatever you think about it, one thing must be noted. Forty-eight hours removed from the hearing about the death of the man responsible for the deaths of thousands upon thousands of people, the man whose forces wounded our national sense of security worse than any enemy since the Japanese at Pearl Harbor, the American people are engaging in a debate on whether or not we should have celebrated. Even if it was a mistake to celebrate, even if joy at a human death is unseemly and wrong, the fact that it's take us all of TWO DAYS to take a deep breath and evaluate our actions says something about the character of the people of the United States of America. Whether we were right or wrong, the mere fact that we're taking the time to think about it and talk about it shows a depth of caring and compassion that is hard to deny.
What were we celebrating?
First and foremost, in order to evaluate the propriety of the celebration we need to think about what we are really celebrating. Almost any victory worth celebration means someone else was defeated and is suffering. When my favorite sports team wins a championship and I'm celebrating, I'm sure that to the fans of the team who just lost, my celebration feels wrong. It seems tacky. When Kentucky beat North Carolina to go to the Final Four, I was celebrating while Harrison Barnes was suffering. And the cause of my celebration and his suffering were the same. But I wasn't truly celebrating his suffering. I was celebrating Kentucky's victory. The same can be said for celebrations of military victories, there's just a different scale. And, in this case, the scale was altogether different, being the death of one man.
I believe most Americans celebrating Bin Laden's death, when you really get down to their motivations, were celebrating a fact that a significant threat to their lives, the lives of their friends and neighbors, had been removed. There are still other threats, sure, but that one was removed. It happened to be removed by the death of a particular man, but the essence of the celebration is the celebration of an American victory and the removal of a threat. It was more fundamentally a celebration of an American success than bin Laden's defeat, although the two are obviously intertwined, just like the celebration of a sports victory is intertwined with the defeat of the opponent. In that light, I find the celebration wholly justifiable. I have friends who live in New York City and Washington DC, as well as some living near other places that could be targets for Al Quaida, and I believe the death of Osama makes them safer today than they were two weeks ago. And I refuse to apologize for being happy that the death of a madman who was a threat not only to the United States, but to humanity as a whole, made my friends safer.
With that said, I'm obviously putting a whole lot of rationalizing thought there that was quite possibly not present in the initial flurry of emotion. Some of the visceral joy may clearly have been of a directly vengeful sort. Much of it may have been. I don't know, I wasn't there. But at that point, I'm quibbling over motives, not content, and it's not to me in particular to judge another's motives. In addition, even if it is a bit squicky, even if it does fall slightly short of the highest ideals of humanity, I think we can all admit that it was a simple, very human reaction, and one that, even though it may not be wholly admirable, is not completely blameworthy. We've all been caught up in a groundswell of emotion that carried us away, and while that doesn't make it right, it does make it understandable and something that ought not be judged too harshly.
Our Shared Humanity
I've had a friend or two compare this to the celebrations in the Middle East, such as some of those over 9/11 itself. Maybe there's some truth to that, although distinctions can clearly be made (the death of one mass murderer versus the death of thousands of innocents, for instance), but if there is some truth that should be drawn from it, it shouldn't be as a form of some cheap point-scoring off of those who celebrated, either the average Americans OR the average Middle Easterner, but rather as a reminder that we're all human. That the average Middle Easterner and average American are very similar, and while our circumstances and our leaders have placed us on opposite sides, that perhaps the differences don't run as deep as both of us like to imagine.
On the Daily Show last night, Jon Stewart made a point worth repeating. He indicated that for too long bin Laden and his ilk have been the face of the Middle East for Americans. Perhaps with his death, we can move past him, move past his type. We can see the people of Egypt and Tunisia fighting for their own freedom and see our brothers and sisters. Perhaps that should be the legacy of Bin Laden's death: that those who attempt to divide us fundamentally, those who view their opponents as less than human, will ultimately be defeated, and it's perhaps fitting that in death he should evoke a reaction that reminds us all of our shared humanity.
Who I am and what I'm doing
I'll be honest. I don't know if anyone will read this. Part of me kind of hopes not. Another part of me really hopes someone will. Either way, that's not really the point. The point is this: I think about things better and smarter when I have to put them in writing. Set them out there so someone else will understand it. Several years ago I did some blogging, and I was a more thoughtful person for it.
I'm writing this two days removed from the death of Osama bin Laden, and the discussion concerning the response to that was something I really wanted to participate in, and it's going to be the subject of my first substantive post, so I'll save my actual opinion for that post. But here's the thing: I had no good place to put it. Not to give it the space it's worth. It deserves more attention than Facebook statuses and slogans, which is where most of the debate has taken place. More importantly, my desire to write this down reawakened my desire to write in general to put my opinion out there, even if it is to no audience. And I'd rather designate a spot where people know they are going to get my full opinion rather than put it somewhere on a social network site, which just feels like an inappropriate place for this kind of thing. Although I'm sure I'll link this there every now and again.
With that background in mind, who am I and what's the point of this project? First, my name is Josh Hitch. I'm a white male in my late twenties from Kentucky. I'm an attorney currently working as a public defender. I'm trying to be a follower of Jesus, but what that means to me and what it means to most other people might not be the same. Politically, I lean left as it is defined in the USA at this time. This is a blog designed to post my opinions on various things that I find important. It will be political at times, religious at times, delve into culture on occasion. It's not a "how my life is going" update style of blog, although sometimes something that is happened in my day or life could prompt a post, but I'll try to have a bigger point. It's not a theme blog, or a "here's something funny I found on the internet" style of blog, but again, if something funny I find on the internet evokes an opinion from me, so be it. As I said, this is an opinion blog, so it's going to get into some hairy stuff. I might tilt at a windmill or go after a sacred cow now and again. If you're easily offended by something like that, you might want to turn away right now.
I'm calling it "Thoughts from the slope" after that area in the swimming pool between the deep end and shallow end. As I said from the top, part of what I'm doing here is using the process of putting my opinions in words to sort out my own issues. These aren't always going to be deeply held beliefs, well-formed opinions with extensive research. I can't call them deep. But I'm going to try not to be shallow, either. I'm going to try to think things through as thoroughly as possible, and I'm taking this little project somewhat seriously, probably more seriously than one guy's silly opinion blog deserves to be taken. I mean, for the love of goodness, I've written four paragraphs just trying to explain what I'm doing. So, here goes nothing. Stay tuned for the first substantive post concerning the death of Osama bin Laden and the national reaction to it.
I'm writing this two days removed from the death of Osama bin Laden, and the discussion concerning the response to that was something I really wanted to participate in, and it's going to be the subject of my first substantive post, so I'll save my actual opinion for that post. But here's the thing: I had no good place to put it. Not to give it the space it's worth. It deserves more attention than Facebook statuses and slogans, which is where most of the debate has taken place. More importantly, my desire to write this down reawakened my desire to write in general to put my opinion out there, even if it is to no audience. And I'd rather designate a spot where people know they are going to get my full opinion rather than put it somewhere on a social network site, which just feels like an inappropriate place for this kind of thing. Although I'm sure I'll link this there every now and again.
With that background in mind, who am I and what's the point of this project? First, my name is Josh Hitch. I'm a white male in my late twenties from Kentucky. I'm an attorney currently working as a public defender. I'm trying to be a follower of Jesus, but what that means to me and what it means to most other people might not be the same. Politically, I lean left as it is defined in the USA at this time. This is a blog designed to post my opinions on various things that I find important. It will be political at times, religious at times, delve into culture on occasion. It's not a "how my life is going" update style of blog, although sometimes something that is happened in my day or life could prompt a post, but I'll try to have a bigger point. It's not a theme blog, or a "here's something funny I found on the internet" style of blog, but again, if something funny I find on the internet evokes an opinion from me, so be it. As I said, this is an opinion blog, so it's going to get into some hairy stuff. I might tilt at a windmill or go after a sacred cow now and again. If you're easily offended by something like that, you might want to turn away right now.
I'm calling it "Thoughts from the slope" after that area in the swimming pool between the deep end and shallow end. As I said from the top, part of what I'm doing here is using the process of putting my opinions in words to sort out my own issues. These aren't always going to be deeply held beliefs, well-formed opinions with extensive research. I can't call them deep. But I'm going to try not to be shallow, either. I'm going to try to think things through as thoroughly as possible, and I'm taking this little project somewhat seriously, probably more seriously than one guy's silly opinion blog deserves to be taken. I mean, for the love of goodness, I've written four paragraphs just trying to explain what I'm doing. So, here goes nothing. Stay tuned for the first substantive post concerning the death of Osama bin Laden and the national reaction to it.
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