MAY 31, 2020 – Instead of Netflix over the last three evenings, my wife and I have watched “Riots in the Street,” starring . . . people in the streets. Fortunately, thanks to Governor Walz’s leadership, last night ended differently from the previous two. Exhausted by the ongoing crisis, my wife retired early. I stayed up to watch another episode of The Medicis and Florentine intrigue, murder, and good ol’ plague. Eventually, however, spent by the stress and strain of “Riots in the Street,” I too surrendered.
I slumbered well. (My wife has yet to appear and report.) Waking with the bright sunshine, I smiled. A bright new day was following a night free of destruction. When I tiptoed downstairs and out onto our back porch, I discovered my laptop had been left there inadvertently overnight. No theft, no vandalism. Our little corner of the world was still safe and secure.
While waiting for the coffee maker to do its thing, I glanced at headlines. Soon my head was in chaos. Each story screamed “FLASHPOINT!” in the unfolding story of human dysfunctionality. My early optimism yielded to pessimism.
I poured the java and asked myself . . .
“What were the all-consuming stories six months ago? Huh?—Can’t quite hear you. Climate change?! Come on. You can do better than that! Try again. You’ve got a minute—50 seconds beyond your usual attention span . . . on your mark, get set, GO! . . . waiting, waiting, waiting . . .
“‘Trump’s impeachment’? BINGO! Your prize: a free mail-in ballot! . . . But don’t forget the extra postage.”
One thing leads to another . . .
“Speaking of ballots, let’s leap ahead to November 4—exactly six months from now. What do you suppose will command your 10-second attention span then? And in the meantime, how many crises and flashpoints will have grabbed your eyeballs, your eardrums? How many fresh flowers will be found in front of Cup Foods on Minnehaha Avenue in Minneapolis—the site of George Floyd’s death?” (As it turns out, Cup Foods is owned by a client of mine—a classic “hard-working-done-well-for-himself” immigrant-now-committed American, who was friends with Floyd.)
I now realize that much of the chaos within my perception of the world is caused by the disturbed perceptions of other people in the world. And I can’t escape them any more easily than I can change them!
But I see something else: I’m exhausted by extremes. I’m thoroughly a moderate; so much so, that like the monks in Lost Horizons by James Hilton, “I’m moderate even in my moderation.”
The problem is that the country’s center—however large in numbers—has lost its clout and ground. Since before Newt Gingrich, Karl Rove, and others—but accelerated by their cynical genius—rightwing extremists have doggedly advanced a 40-year plan to victory. America’s Original Sin, meanwhile, remains our potentially fatal congenital defect. In reaction, leftists erupt—effective in making noise but unable, unwilling to understand how the world they would change truly operates.
Please, reader, tell: how does a moderate moderate avoid extreme pessimism? Perhaps by extreme moderation?
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© 2020 by Eric Nilsson
