As I've been submerged in school and lab lately, I hadn't yet had time to put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard?) and lay out the precise panic attack I had when I read about the extent geographic ignorance of "young Americans" (18 to 24 year-olds [we'll skip the panic I also had upon reading that I, at 25, am apparently no longer a "young American"]), according to an extensive survey by the National Geographic Society.
To type the full extent of my despair would fill the internet with useless blather. But, to sum my reaction in a few short steps:
1. disbelief
2. rage
3. numb, pitiful acceptance.
Wouldn't you, after all, react in a similar manner after hearing that 48% of young Americans think India is a majority Muslim country? Or that 70% of young Americans can't point to Israel or Iran on a map? Stop and think about this small, significant finding buried in the survey: these folks weren't asked to name (or worse, spell) the names of relevant leaders like Ehud Olmert or Mahmoud Ahmadinejad; they weren't asked about capital cities, relevant economic zones, or infrastructure; there weren't historical references such as the Yom Kippur War or the Iranian Revolution of 1979 to list and describe; no mention of the Knesset or Council of Guardians; no factoids about Golda Meir being one of the first female prime ministers in the world... These people were merely asked if they could point out Israel or Iran on a map.
And nearly three-quarters of them couldn't?!
There are other messes to sort through. Besides ignorance regarding the locales of Israel and Iran, folks were unable to identify or point out other in-the-news-lately countries like Indonesia, the Sudan, and Iraq. Hell, states like New York and Louisiana were also apparently a bit too much to ask! Thirty percent think the U.S. population lies somewhere between 1 and 2 billion. Only fourteen percent believe it's essential to know another language. And a vast majority don't think geographic knowledge is at all valuable!
Since when is it dispensible to know about the West Bank and Gaza? And since when is it unimportant to know that Indonesia is the world's largest Muslim country? And since when is it okay to go around stating that English is the most widely spoken language in the world?
I'm far from innoncent on this front. I don't speak another language (though I think and persistently state that it's valuable to do so), and I've only a sad "passing familiarity" with many aspects of global policy, politics, and economics. But, I'm disturbed by the right to ignorance that folks even only a year younger than me apparently cling to with relish and sadistic delight. I've always found geography to be a valuable and necessary tool to make the connections that no one else will make for me - to understand the links between southern Sudan and the Lord's Resistance Army campaign in northern Uganda; to see for myself the Partition of India and Pakistan, and later India's assistance in Bangladeshi independence from Pakistan; the three-way tug-of-war for Kashmir between India, China, and Pakistan; the reason South Koreans are willing to cut off their fingers in protest of a sovereignty duel with Japan over a few rocks in the Asian fishing industry's persistent boom territory, the Sea of Japan; the Tamil Tiger rebellion in Sri Lanka; the Danube floods in Europe; the melting Greenland ice cap; Canadian sovereignty over Arctic Ocean shipping routes... the list goes on and on.
But, when did it suddenly become okay to shut oneself off from these events? When did ignorance shift from being a detestable product of yesteryear's sociopolitical inequality to an essential fad? When did parents stop telling their children that vibrant, flourishing democratic societies are sustained not by the elected caretakers, but by an informed, intelligent electorate? When did we begin to think that it's okay to make decisions based on only half the facts, or none at all? When these people vote, if they vote at all, are they going to know how events in Riyadh, Port Harcourt, Baghdad, Caracas, and Edmonton affect the price of gas we pump into our tanks? Are they going to ask how such a situation developed in the first place? Are they even a little curious? Just a bit?
I hope I'm not the only person even a little concerned by this latest trend towards ignorance and ill-information supplanting reason and informed decisions. Don't folks know that ill-informed actions damage democratic societies almost as much as complete inaction? Surely this connection isn't particularly difficult to make. I make this statement not to mock those scratching their heads still on the Ehud Olmert thing above, but to reveal my simple litmus for such matters as ignorance vs. intelligence: I am not a particularly bright individual. It takes only a few minutes of conversation with me face-to-face for such a cold, hard fact to emerge. But, being not-particularly-bright has this advantage: I can see the connection between knowledge of the world around me and the vital importance of informed, well-reasoned decisions in a democratic society. And, if I, as a not-particularly-bright individual, can see it, then you can see it. All of you.
And if I can find New York or Maputo on a map, then so can you.
Roughly a decade ago, I set about to pen down a personal statement of morality. I don't precisely recall the motivations... though, at this point, I'm willing to chuck it up to yet-another-transcendental-journey-in-which-I-listlessly-contemplate, a recurring theme of some of my more isolated teen-aged years (along with severe acne). But, as opposed to most of the self-loathing self-propaganda my hormone-imbalanced mind churned out during this time period, I notably made enough headway on my moral role in what I've seen to be a world increasingly indifferent or outright hostile to goodness, caring, and individual responsibility. I examined my own past, and attempted to decipher, from fragments of my own poor memory and anecdotes from relatives, what life has been for me - what my role, in this world, ultimately is.
I penned down somewhere the first draft of my personal credo (draft: "I am not, but I want to be." now: Non sum, sed ero.), and coined the phrase that I've often secreted at parties, inducing guffaws in others, though it's said with sincerity: "Life, to me, is simply a series of morally-defining moments."
Usually, the next five seconds consist of a series of blank stares, followed by a few slow smiles (you know - the kind that start in one corner of the mouth, just testing the water... then, the other corner joins in and the lips themselves spring into action, with stuttered and subdued laughter hot on their trail). Some also roll their eyes, as if to drive home the point: "He can't possibly be serious."
Unfortunately, I am. While I can't speak for the rest of you, I look back on my 25 years and see simply a list of moments in which I'm given the opportunity to Do the Right Thing. The opportunities themselves are rather infrequent. Typically, only five or ten happen within a given year. I don't remember them all (nor do I need to), so I might be overlooking some events. But, many stick out prominently in my mind. They're situations in which, as they're occurring, I don't recognize them: "Ah, this is a Morally-Defining Moment!" It simply unfolds before me, and I either do the right thing, or do the not-right thing.
Not wrong, per se. Just not-right. Sure, I could easily do wrong by doing the opposite of right; but, not-right speaks to indifference or inaction, just as damaging (if not more so) than doing the wrong thing in a Morally-Defining Moment.
And, for some reason, I've done more not-right things in my Morally-Defining Moments than wrong things. I'm not sure what the score is for "doing right" vs. "doing wrong/not-right," though. I usually don't keep score there. I've an intuition, though, that I've unfortunately chosen to do not-right more often than I've chosen right. And, usually, it's doing not-right that persists in my mind, and leads me to define myself as a person.
"Are you a good person, James?"
Of course not. It's what we do in our Morally-Defining Moments that determines whether or not one is "a good person." And, by my intuitive scoreboard, I've done not-right more often than I've done right. But, there's the persistent hope of self-improvement that keeps me going... the realization that, though many past Morally-Defining Moments have ended abysmally in regards to my ability to step up to the plate and do the right thing, there will be future Morally-Defining Moments. I won't see them coming, and I can in no way practice for them; but, I remain optimistic that (somehow) I will redeem myself in the future. That next time, I both can and will do better. Do right.
I'm not exactly sure what drives me in regards to the Morally-Defining Moments and my performances in them. An event occurs, I act in it, and I immediately recognize
1. that a Morally-Defining Moment has occurred, and
2. that I acted in one of three ways: right, wrong, or not-right.
It's those not-right outcomes which plague me the most. I spend much time after-the-fact thinking about what-should-have-been. What I should have done to Make Things Right. It's particularly plaguing when a not-right response on my part follows what should be times of personal triumph, of cause for celebration, or an end to trying times. But, despite any percieved personal triumphs, my subsequent not-right actions remind me of What Really Counts: my actions in the Morally-Defining Moment.
Today, for example, I was on my way to the bus stop to go home after a long day at school. As the near-desertion of this weblog has no doubt made clear, I've had a lot of long days at school lately. The past few weeks have been trying, though the end is near as my final quarter for my first year (and all the crushing first-year responsibilities) come to a close. I've accomplished much, but have been virtually cut off from the friendships, relationships, and the outside world. International events are heard in transit, on the radio. Friends leave telephone messages and e-mails of concern, which generally go unanswered. I kiss Zach good-bye each morning while he's still sound asleep, and kiss him good-night each night hours after he's already fallen asleep. But, today, I'd had a day of small triumphs: I'd chosen a thesis lab and began collaborating with my soon-to-be-PI on potential projects to define my Ph.D. work; I'd made headway on a class project involving karyotyping a sample of my own blood, and had verified that I do indeed have 46 chromosomes (including X and Y); a scheduling error on a colleague's part let me sleep in until 7:00AM and spend a little extra time with Zach; I accomplished much in lab; my tax refund check from the IRS arrived; my Mother's Day shopping finished early; and I'd managed to get caught up (or nearly so) in two of my classes. It was a good day, as I walked home to the bus stop along south Lake Union.
There's a small park along the south end of the lake where a number of Canadian geese roost and raise their young. This time of year, different family groups spend their days in the park with their 4-6 chicks (baby geese, whatever), waddling to-and-fro and pecking at the ground. The young ones grow rapidly, and two family groups have chicks growing their adult feathers and shedding their darkening down layers. They're quite a sight to behold: ma and pa surrounding yellow-to-tan chicks, who gleefully scurry across the green grass, chriping with innocent gusto. While I'm sure my cat would love to sink her teeth into a few of them, I'd contented myself with several thoughts:
1. my cat is miles away
2. no human could harm such a peaceful, cohesive family life... a simplicity of existence worthy of envy and emulation.
So, I was beyond shocked when a threesome of twentysomething guys had cornered two families of geese and chicks in a parking lot near the park and were generally terrorizing them. As I approached, one family (two parents, two older chicks) managed to ram their way through the three young men, who had tried to surround the birds. The fleeing family made it back into the park, and joined a collection of goose and duck families under a large willow tree. In the remaining family, both parents attempted to surround their six chicks and shield them from the three men, who were gleefully hooting, hollering, and attacking the parents. The confused chicks were in a frenzy, running between and under their parents (occasionally being caught underfoot), and crowing madly.
I, on the other end of the lot, took a few long moments to comprehend what was going on. I was passing south of them, rouding the lake and heading up, and kept asking myself: "What are they doing?... Why are they doing that?" My mind worked slowly, assessing the situation. Sure, I wanted them to stop... but, I had no idea what to do. All three guys were around my size, though two appeared more bulky and muscular, and were doing a much better job of both terrorizing the birds and cornering them in the parking lot. The third, with half his hair three times longer than the rest (a reverse mullet, if you will), carefully combed over his face with cream and hair gel, was generally uncoordinated; the parental birds persistently attempted to escape with their chicks through the large gaps he sometimes left unguarded.
I began to round the lake as I analyzed their movements, and tried to think of something - something - to get them away. I noticed another pedestrian, a heavyset woman, talking on her mobile and gazing ferociously at them. She was out for blood. Sometime during my stares at her, during my unconscious desire for her to get off her phone and bark orders at my sad, indecisive face, the geese parents managed to break through the weakest link (the uncoordinated buffoon with carefully-sculpted girl's hair), and the parents, wings spread, pushed their chicks towards the willow (and a wall of honking adults and chicks). The two stronger guys slowly, maliciously pursued, cursing at their other uncoordinated companion. He cursed back and skipped ahead into a crowd of ducks, grasping a duckling and offering it to his friends instead.
The duckling howled, but its cries were drowned out by the heavyset woman, who had, by this time, shoved past my frozen form, and ran to the parking lot, shouting a number of obscenities in their direction and revealing their Trump card: she'd called the police, and they were on their way.
I was amazed at her display. She stood far enough away to make a run for it (to a busy street nearby) should they have come after her, and kept her hand on her phone. She showed no fear, scaring them away from the crowd of fowl. The uncoordinated one attempted a meager reply: "We only wanted to play..." But, the three of them made a hasty exit upon seeing the small crowd of other pedestrians - myself included - who had gathered near the park. The woman walked back past me, triumphant. The geese gathered together under the willow, and the released duckling returned to its frantic mother.
Only then did it hit me: this was a Morally-Defining Moment. That woman did the right thing, defending the purity of instinctive cohesion and innocence of life - standing up for the little guy, the Natural Order of Things. I, dumb as Lot's wife overlooking Sodom, had done little more than act a scarecrow - only drawing out marginally-suitable insults ("Hey, small dicks! Why don't you pick on somebody your own size!") after this woman had done much more than insult their sperm counts. She had done right; and I had done not-right. Again.
I was crushed. Another Morally-Defining Moment had slipped through, and I had not only failed another test, but I had failed to oppose that-which-is-wrong and uphold that-which-is-good. My mind drowned in disappointment and rage. My anger at myself translated into anger at the men my age who had taken sadistic delight in the suffering and panic of lives which, by our comprehensions of cognition, could not even percieve the injustices of the terrors they were confronted with in the parking lot by the willow tree. They - the geese and ducks - were absorbed by instinct, while their tormentors, fully aware of right-and-wrong, had traded in potential trascendental peace for instant spiteful delights. My larynx wanted to cough up long-overdue insults, a blur of slurs, scorns, spats, and insults that would leave them in tears. I imagined chasing them away, or seeing them tremble with both embarrassment and horror at the comprehension of their shallow, empty lives. I also cursed myself, my own inaction (the act of doing not-right) in this latest Morally-Defining Moment. My hesitations which, when juxtaposed with the heavyset woman's quick and smart actions, left me feeling impotent, as helpless as one of those chicks.
Numbly, I walked on to the bus stop, as a cold breeze blew across Lake Union, sweeping the weeping willow's hangings over the fowl colony. Chicks gathered around their protecting parents as I somberly boarded the bus.
When I got off at the stop closest to my apartment, I ducked into a convenience store and bought a candy bar, thinking that such an empty gesture of self-indulgence might, somehow, make me feel better. "They're just geese, after all," I thought to myself. "They've already forgotten what's happened... and those guys are probably at home by now sniffing aerosol cans." I partially contented myself with my own silly perception of karma... that, though those young men got away, they'll lead empty shells-of-lives that will leave them crying themselves to sleep each night - that they'll someday regret the people they've become. I also attempted to content myself with my constant hope: that, next time, I'll do right. At least, I might.
At the door, my cat greeted me with an impatient meow. She'd been alone all day, and wanted some attention. I picked her up and cradled her in one arm, pulling the candy bar from my pocket using my free hand.
As I sat down, I lamented out loud:
"Well, kitty... I suppose I failed again."
"Meow," she replied.
The candy bar tasted like sawdust.