Politics and Metaphors

I’ve been on a reading binge. A friend of mine, Tom Isbell, gave me a book written by George Lakoff called Whose Freedom?: The Battle over America’s Most Important Idea, written in 2006. It’s a good read for my old brain.

I’m wondering about one of his notions in particular. We use a lot of family metaphors to talk about our country (e.g., Founding Fathers, Daughters of the American Revolution, Homeland Security, Family Values). Dr. Lakoff thinks this is not accidental, but reflects a fundamental view of the country-as-family that in turn points to a way of understanding, metaphorically, how the “right wing” conservatives view the country as opposed to how the “left wing” progressives see it.

One way of providing the context for this, according to Lakoff, is to define:

The nation as family,

Its citizens as children (not pejoratively but in terms of relationship in the family), and

Its national leaders as parents (again, not pejoratively but in terms of relationship in the family).

In U.S. culture, according to Lakoff, there are two polar opposites in terms of defining parenting:

The strict father model as exemplified more generally by conservatives, and

The nurturing parent model, exemplified more generally by progressives.

Lakoff believes that neither is better, and effective parenting (and nation governing) may include both approaches, each used for different situations.

But he thinks that, if I sit down in my easy chair on a Sunday evening and think about which of these approaches to parenting (strict father/nurturing parent) I might prefer in general as a model, I would probably choose one over the other as my ideal approach.

Similarly, if I were to sit in that same chair and think about which of these approaches I would prefer as a governing principle and ideal approach in this homeland I call the U.S. of A., I would probably choose one over the other—strict father or nurturing parent—which would put me, theoretically, more into either the conservative or progressive political camp.

I’m wondering if this metaphor works as Lakoff thinks it does as a means of explaining the current “right wing” conservative and “left wing” progressive approaches to politics.

If the metaphor did work, wouldn’t the alternative views (recognizing they don’t exist purely in the world) be that either:

1.     The nation demands strict adherence to a set of codified rules for its citizens, enforced by strong father figure leaders, or

2.     The nation provides guidelines for rules of behaviors of its citizens, loosely enforced by nurturing leaders

I wonder which of these choices reflects conservative thinking and which reflects progressives.

Makes me swimmy headed. Maybe my example was not put together well.

I know! How about Transactional Analysis, with its Parent/Adult/Child metaphors. Remember that? Maybe, using the same language as Lakoff, I could explain politics with TA like this:

We progressives communicate, always, as responsible adults; conservatives communicate, inappropriately, as children; and our leaders are those always-critical parents who need to be kept in line by responsible adult progressives.

That metaphor is more fun, and certainly ought to start some fights with my conservative friends (says my child).

Lakoff’s book is good and I recommend it. But not for light summer reading.

Thank you Tom.

Kentucky Poems: Coal

Mining Was

My father was a powder man.

Big John cold-cocked a bank mule

With his fist, so the story goes.

Mythological.

My father, six foot two and smiling at age thirty.

Five foot ten and in pain at age sixty.

Shrunk from the giant he once was.

Demeaning.

My father, proud and strong in youth.

Tired and coughing with age.

Bent into an old man.

Killing.

My father, smile bright in youth.

Smile died as mines shut.

Old love lost to time and age.

His life.

Coal Smoke

Westerfield Drive, coming from 41A,

Past the arch, cresting the hill.

Early winter morning in small town Kentucky.

Above, gun metal steel, gray and threatening.

Below, morning charcoal spreading over the valley.

Coal smoke, thick and unyielding.

Driving into the coal smoke.

Metallic taste.

Exhaling smoke through lungs and pores.

Pores extending to extrude the clinkers.

Jesus will save you,

But white shirts are beyond redemption.

Stark cold slicing through coats,

Settling into bones.

Numbing the spirit and clouding judgment.

Film noir through the windshield,

Cold black and gray trees, shadows, pavement.

Shivering don’t help.

Ice in the air, black shine covering the road.

Tires straining to find traction,

Down Main Street, up town hill,

Left, then right, then left again,

Up iceplant hill, and home.

Coal stove glows a welcoming orange.

The Prize

My father, home from the mines,

Hands, face, overalls, and hair caked with coal dust.

My mother, heating water on the stove

To be poured into a number three washtub.

My father, a giant with a smile on his tired face,

Stripping off clothes,

Folding his big body, pallid except for the mining parts,

Into the little tub.

Tub water becoming slaggish,

Gritty to the touch, scum floating on top.

My mother washing his back.

Water sloshing onto tired linoleum.

In the top of the dinner bucket, in a pan

Over the water that fills the bottom, my prize awaits.

Fried egg and half-cooked bacon

On soggy white Holsum Bread.

The coal stove warms the house.

The bathing ritual continues.

I, content in the moment, eat what is left

Of my father’s dinner.

Two KY poems

Wondering about the power of poetry to convey wonderment. Here are two very-rough-draft poems I'm working on:

Kentucky Woman

Her life,

A single-wide trailer.

New in 58 and neglected.

Her mood,

Beer air, stale and close,

Cigarette burns on worn linoleum.

Her hair,

A rusty yellow Firebird,

Not quite legal, but clean.

Her eyes,

Third-shift piece work,

Hard and demanding.

Her spirit,

Red eyes, with hints of green

Search for a way out.

Stickman

Stickman died young.

Cigarettes and beer,

And a dash of Viet Nam.

Lived life a day at a time.

Not the 12 step program,

He two-stepped through life.

Stories are told about the man

With spread-eagled horse in the Eagle’s Club.

Horse, not Stick, was banned forever.

Alcohol drips at the hospital.

Jim, he said to me, while hooked to the tube,

Best invention ever.

Wondering About Choice and Women

My momma and daddy had a expression, common in Kentucky when I was growing up: “You made your bed, now lie in it.” As I grew up, this message sort of stuck with me. As I studied various philosophers, novelists, and thinkers, the language of the message changed a bit, but the message has been a valuable guide for me:

“For me to be an authentic human being, I must make choices, act on those choices, and take responsibility for my actions.”

Over the years my friends and my students have yelled at me about this noble sentiment. Some, more polite than others, let me know that even though it may be true that authenticity demands choice making, the context of those choices may be out of my control, and may in fact be more significant than the choices themselves. For example, I can’t simply choose to be brilliant. Too bad, but it’s true.

My less subtle friends and students say, “Are you that naïve? Are you that arrogant? Are you crazy?”

OK. I get it. The choices I make are constrained by realities, some from within myself, some from the outside and over which I have zero control. I don’t live in a bubble.

So, now I’m wondering about choices, with all their realities, as related to politics and women.

One of the first-lady-wannabes, Mrs. Romney, was charged by an opposing political party representative with having “never worked a day in her life,” which of course prompted a widespread hue and cry. My interest was drawn to two of her responses.

Response One. “My career choice was to be a mother.”

God bless her. The choices from which she had to pick, and their realities, were all quite good. Her circumstances were such that she had the economic means (she and her husband were wealthy) to have as many kids as they wanted and not have to worry about their care (they had nannies, etc.), feeding, housing (they owned several houses), schooling (choice of free public or expensive private schools), etc.

My momma had a career choice as well. The realities were that my father was an unemployed miner. Mining was the only way to make a good living where I grew up. He cobbled together little jobs here and there, but could not make a living. Neither of my parents graduated from high school. My momma’s choice was to stay at home with me or go to work. If she stayed at home, we would not have a roof over our heads or food or clothing, but she could have chosen to do so. She chose work, and spent the rest of her life in a career as a laborer in factories. God bless her.

My sister had a career choice too. Her husband was a drunk, nice guy who became abusive. She had two small kids. Her choice was to stay in the relationship or get out. If she chose to get out, she became the breadwinner, which meant she had to go to work, leaving her two kids while she worked. She chose to get out of the marriage, go to work, and spend a significant part of her life working as a laborer in factories. God bless her.

I have known families that were dirt poor, but made the decision that the woman would stay at home because they sincerely believed that this was so important that they would make sacrifices. They limited the number of kids they had to a number they could support, they did without everything but the absolute basics, and survived. God bless them.

And I have known couples who could afford for one of them to stay home with the kids. Both of them did not need to work. They chose to work. Both of them worked because they saw a benefit to the kids of being with other kids in other environments. God bless them.

Mrs. Romney’s husband, Mr. Romney, said about choices he made as Governor of Massachusetts:

I said, for instance, that even if you have a child two years of age, you need to go to work. And people said, ‘Well that’s heartless,’ and I said ‘No, no, I’m willing to spend more giving daycare to allow those parents to go back to work. It’ll cost the state more providing that daycare, but I want the individuals to have the dignity of work.

I’m wondering why individuals should be forced to have “the dignity of work”? Why should my choice to stay out of the workforce and care for my kids somehow make me less dignified? How does going to work enhance my dignity? Why does my dignity need enhancing?

I wonder about the logic and wisdom of this governmental intervention.

I wonder if my momma and sister would have agreed that they gained dignity from their factory work that they did not find from being mothers.

I agree with Mrs. Romney that her choice was her choice, just like my momma’s, sister’s, and countless others, and should not be second-guessed by political pundits or some rich governor’s whim.

Mrs. Romney’s Response Two: “We have to respect the choices women make.”

Not everyone believes individual human beings have choice. Some sincere supreme-being believers believe that there is no such thing as free will, hence no choice. Some true believers in the religion of science  believe that we are determined by chemical/biological/genetic forces and have no choices other than those we, in our land of make believe, think we have.

It has only been recently, in the last century or so, that people who study these sorts of things for a living decided that individual choice was indeed a fact of life, God or no God, Science or no Science.

What a difference that makes. If being human entails the ability, and obligation, to make choices, it puts some significant responsibility on my head. I can no longer blame God or my genes for all my misfortune.

I’m wondering why this radical difference seems not to apply to women so much.

Today, preachers and priests in their god-given wisdom say that taking a human life is wrong, except of course if that life form is a prisoner—usually black, an enemy of the U.S.—usually Muslim, an military enemy combatant, or someone I think may be breaking into my home to steal my stuff.

These same preachers, distrusting science as devil-work, claim that god also told them how to define what life is—“I hereby declare that life means ____ and begins at____—God told me so”.

I wonder how we got to be so arrogant, but do love that congresswoman in Oklahoma who wrote a bill that would define the start of life at ejaculation. The bill was shot down by laughing male masturbators (I wonder if that’s redundant)  because it constrained their freedom of choice.

So, I wonder if we’ve decided that “Of course people have choices, that’s what freedom and liberty mean, but by people we really mean men, because that’s what our forefathers said, ain’t it (all men are created equal), and we can’t really trust our womenfolk, them being emotional and all, to make decisions. And it ain’t their choices to make really, is it.”

Consequently, the states and the feds are running feverishly trying to pass laws to make sure "them women" don’t screw up and make the wrong decisions (and become sluts). Women, they say, should not have choices about their sexual experiences, or what to do about their incest experience, their rape experience, or their abuse experience or anything that might upset the church and its preacher/priest-types and the politicians who feel threatened by women.

Of course, we must also make sure that poor women learn dignity, which they have lost by being “only a mother”, by requiring them to get real jobs in the factories and call centers of the U.S. It is apparent that wealthy women have already achieved a high level of dignity by having made that career choice to take on the hardest job in the word—being a mother.

Mrs. Romney, I agree with your sentiment that women’s choices, career and otherwise, should be respected, and should not be demeaned by political pundits or office holders. I appreciate your saying it in public, and wish you well.