Looking into Each Other's Eyes: Violence, Sport, and Home

I like football. It's not my favorite sport. I much prefer baseball because it is more nuanced in its play, the strategy more evident, the competitive match-ups right out there for all to behold. And, most of all, I like it because you can see the player's eyes.

I never played football, so I don't know what it's like "in the trenches." That's where they say the game is won or lost. It is where men weighing about 300 pounds play smash mouth, pounding each other to the turf, grabbing each other illegally and avoiding a penalty almost every play. It is where vicious, hard-hitting linemen vie against each other, striving to open a hole in the line where the fleet-of-foot back can gracefully dance through and run for daylight. Or it is where those lineman hold off the incoming defenders to give the quarterback time to launch the perfect spiral downfield to the streaking receiver. It can be beautiful or brutal. It can be elegant or awful. And, helmets and masks being what they are, you can rarely see the player's eyes.

We should make no mistake about the current debate over domestic violence and the National
Football League. This is not fundamentally about football and its violent play. It is not about forms of corporal punishment appropriate for disciplining children (although I don't want to hear a single argument defending punishments that leave welts on the backs of four-year old children). It is not about the vastly underreported culture of violence inside the homes of America. It is not about the simmering climate of distrust in our urban centers where teenagers live in fear of those sworn to protect them.

All of these are in the mix, of course, but none of this will be addressed until we look each other in the eyes and start being honest about our violent society.

Memories of Hope in My Junk Mail

The other day I opened my mailbox and found only one piece of mail--a letter from George McGovern, the Democratic candidate for president in 1972. I chuckled, wondering how my life had come to this. It was 40 years ago that McGovern burrowed into my soul with his quixotic campaign to end the war in Vietnam and embrace principles of social justice cherished by college students like myself. And now here he is again, and in my mailbox no less.

Lest you be unduly impressed that I should be receiving a letter from George McGovern, I must quickly acknowledge that it was only a mass mailing encouraging folks to give money to Democratic and social justice causes.

I can remember a time when I thought it would be cool to be wanted only for my money. Now the worst has happened--I have no money but there are computers out there that think I do, and those computers are connected to devices that call me every day, send me emails every day, and mail me letters every day. I don't think he licked the stamp, but the letter from McGovern was of that type.

I am willing to be forgiving of George, however, because there was a time when he embodied things I deeply believed and he gave me hope that a peaceful world was within view. The letter in my mailbox made me mostly sad, awash as we are in perhaps the worst election tactics in many years, arguably ever. It does not seem that we have come much closer to those dreams we dared dream.

For those reading this who don't know much about the election of 1972, this Wikipedia link is a pretty good overview. What follows here is a brief summary of what it was all about, followed by a brief summary of why I care and why the envelope in my mailbox was a kind of postal epiphany for me.

Why Everyone Should Care: The election of 1972 must be traced to Southeast Asia where communist incursions in the 1950's began to make it a battleground for America's Cold War foreign policy to stop the spread of communism around the world. By the 1960's American escalation of an unwinnable guerilla war in Vietnam was sapping the country's resources, killed over 58,000 U.S. soldiers, and left the country rioting in the streets. The incumbent president, Richard M. Nixon, had campaigned in 1968 with the pledge that he had a secret plan to end the war.

Four years later, with no reasonable plan in view, Senator George McGovern, a soft-spoken history professor from South Dakota, took advantage of new populist rules forged during the tumultuous 1968 Democratic Convention, and an enthusiastic coalition of college students, traditional liberals, and ethnic minorities, to capture the nomination. His election campaign was plagued with missteps, lack of enthusiasm on the part of the traditional Democratic base, and a well-oiled Nixon reelection effort that managed to dispel allegations of ethical misconduct. Two years later that would bring Nixon down in the swirl of scandals usually collected under the term "Watergate."

But it was too late for McGovern. He was thumped with the worst loss in American history, winning only the state of Massachusetts and the District of Columbia. We all should care, even today, why that happened.

Why I Still Care:  In 1968 I cast my first vote for president of the United States, having become a naturalized U.S. citizen just three years before. I was a student in a small sectarian college in southern Iowa, not particularly sophisticated in politics or history, and an opponent of the war to the extent one can oppose war in small colleges in southern Iowa. I had thought it through and voted for Richard Nixon and his secret plan to win the war in Vietnam. 

My bad. 

I had to wait four years to do penance but then, married and in seminary, I engaged for the first time in grass roots American politics. We met in small groups, organizing to take over the caucuses used by local politicians to control the presidential nominating process. We bushwhacked our caucus by flooding it with new activists and taking control from the establishment politicos for whom this gathering had always been perfunctory. We swarmed Kansas City's Union Station late into the evening when McGovern's whistle stop campaign train stopped for a brief rally. We handed out brochures, made phone calls, talked to our friends and family, and felt connected to the democratic process. It was exhilarating. 

Then, on the night of November 7, 1972, we watched our television screens with dismay as our youthful dreams were swept away in an avalanche of votes across the nation. We all should care, even today, why that happened.

When I opened my mailbox this past week to find only George McGovern's request for funds I was struck by how it seemed like a metaphor for our time. The political process that seemed so inclusive and invigorating is now overcome with deserving cynicism. The belief that our voice and votes matter is riddled with scorn by those who now, aided by a shameful Supreme Court decision, use their mind-boggling wealth to buy elections from right under our feet. Many people understandably ask, "What's the point?". And now, refusing to learn the lessons of history, we wage unjustified, unfunded, and unbridled wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. There are a host of things--ethnicity, poverty, women's issues, misguided budget priorities, among others--that still feel burdensome all these years later.

I'm glad George McGovern dropped me a note. It reminded me of when I was young and dreaming big dreams. In retrospect, despite that thrashing at the polls, we have seen that he was mostly right back in 1972. Knowing that helps.

But it's not enough. 

Ashley Care and the Pursuit of Peace

A bit more than three months ago I became a grandfather for the first time. If you've experienced it yourself you know that it is a life-changing event, transforming your viewpoint and reordering your priorities.

Obiously, some of my impressions about such things have found their way here, even though this blog is not intended to be a family diary in perpetuity or a gallery of beautiful baby pictures. (I'm not saying that such things aren't highly desirable, so for cute kid pictures and new parent musings just skedaddle over to Brian and Lyda's blog.)

However, my purpose here is to try to weave life experiences and reflections into insights that connect to the values in my mission statement. In that spirit I want to tell you about something significant that begins today and promises to be a challenging but immensely satisfying slice of my life.

My daughter-in-law Lyda has finished her maternity leave and now returns to her classroom to fulfill her teaching contract. When the school year ends she plans to stay at home with Ashley full-time. However, between then and now there is a nine week bridge of time that needs to be covered. Brian and Lyda have asked if I would be willing to care for Ashley during that time.

I am sincere when I say that I was honored to be asked and know that it was a statement of ultimate trust. I did not take the request lightly. It is a major commitment to care for a three month old child all day long. That is especially true now that I've reached a time in life when my body is only rarely described in terms that compare favorably with the lithe frame of Greek mythology's Adonis.

Ashley, of course, was the deal clincher. The opportunity to spend long blocks of time with this child is irresistable.

Some of you are gracious enough to wander into this little corner of cyberspace and reflect with me on the smorgasbord of issues--some serious, some whimsical--that we engage in here. Because of that I thought you should know what I'll be doing over these next two months. Who knows what effect diapers, swaddling clothes, warm bottles, hissy fits, and "glad to see you, grandpa" smiles will have on my views about heritage, diversity, and peace.

I have a feeling Ashley is about to reframe them in deeply satisfying ways.