Apprehension Trumps
By Charles E. Kraus
Malcolm Gladwell called it the tipping point. My mother called it the final straw. Now we are calling it the Trump Administration.
I cast my first Presidential vote in 1964, so I've come to expect a kind of pre-inaugural anticipation, new administration and all. But this time it's different. No anticipation. Apprehension prevails.
From time to time, when the economy is bad, when we’ve begun or prolonged or intensified yet another war, when a ravaging disease such as HIV threatens, when something big enough to qualify as actual breaking news occurs, I wonder if my personal trip line has finally been crossed. If I'm impacted enough to respond in a serious, meaningful way. Is the event so disruptive that my reaction will be more demonstrative than shaking my head and shouting at the screen.
My daughter will be in the Capitol on January 21. Where will I be?
Some of us have never experienced a tipping point. We've made decisions, but not disruptive ones. We've gotten married, become parents, gone off to work – lived lives in the prescribed sequence, traveling the kind of existence that a GPS might recommend. Logical, direct, uninspired.
We've acquired houses and families. Financial commitments. Parental responsibilities, and workplace obligations . We are, or feel we are, locked into our lives. As the political system disassembles, we observe, maybe even bitch about the decline in government accountability and civic decency. From just past nowhere, zealots reveal themselves and threaten to out maneuver reasonableness. This is happening on our watch, but who has the time to do anything more than click a petition, send a letter or make a donation?
When does the country turn so unsettling, unhinged and potentially damning to our children that we are obligated to act? And if we feel inclined to do so, to take action, what does that mean? Describe it please. Define meaningful. To me and more importantly, to yourself.
A great many years ago I knew a couple, two law students whose lives consisted of study and work, work and study. Comfortably middle class, and though this was during the Vietnam War era, a time when many young people marched and protested, my friends were far too involved in their personal development to do more than pay lip service to civic issues.
In May 1970, National Guardsmen shot and killed four Kent State students during a protest against bombings in Cambodia. There were no cable news operations, no instant internet alerts. If CBS, NBC or ABC told the public about a breaking news story, the networks meant a serious, consequential event had occurred. People stopped what they were doing and listened or watched.
My friends were highly focused. Disciplined. They'd regimented their lives, adhering to a schedule that would not distract from studying for the bar exam. External events were on hold.
I believe the classical station was broadcasting nondescript background music when the interruption came. An announcer broken into the program to report that four Kent State students had been shot and killed during a protest. My friends heard this and continued studying. Several days later, The New Mexico National Guard bayoneted 11 students. These and similar events lead to the country's only nationwide campus strike. Hundred of colleges and universities shut down. Four million students participated. Including my friends.
Five days after the Kent State murders, 100,000 people showed up in our nation’s capitol to demonstrate against the Guard’s brutality, and against the war. My friends closed their text books, altered their plans, got into their car and drove to DC. They'd had enough. The country turned against the war. A collective tipping point had been reached.
The current issues are about another kind of war, a war against common sense, reasonableness and decency.
