Good Historians

I'm grateful for historians.
At least a certain kind.

Not the David Barton kind, who manufacture
history to suit a darker purpose.

Usually a conservative purpose.
To serve White Interests.
And evangelical priorities.
The rich and the powerful.

Sure, all historians write from a perspective.
They bring themselves to the table.
Their values and dreams.
Their DNA and childhood hobbies.

But there's a difference, sometimes slight.
A difference, nonetheless.

I think it has to do with fundamental honesty.
Good historians acknowledge the darker elements.
The ugly stuff that most of us would rather not know.

Honesty, to uncover the unconscionable.
But as well to reveal the best.

To read the primary sources.
To dig deep and think it through.

Honoring the mystery of the better angels who hang around.
Seeing justice and mercy in the ebb and flow of our days.
Celebrating, or lamenting, that we humans make choices.
And sometimes, lo and behold, make good choices.

Choices that reflect justice and mercy.
When nations sometimes rise above self-interest.
And make the hard choices to promote the best.

Good historians:
See the evils of white supremacy, and racial pride of any kind.
The narrowness of so much religious posturing, and all
The blather that radiates from the super pious.
The lies we tell to cover the fault.
And the faults we lionize because we think they're great.

Good historians are not likely to be praised by the self-interested.

Good historians are not likely to be read by those who choose ignorance.

Good historians will not make it on the megachurch market.

Good historians won't be hired by Liberty University.

I'm grateful for good historians.
We might call them nerds, and they smile.

They bury themselves in libraries with dusty documents.
They read voluminously.
They love books.
They think deeply (which is a form of prayer).
They love the truth, whatever it is.

And of such things, God is pleased.

America, 2018: The Whole Truth

There is much to celebrate in America. Yes, that I know, and for all the good and all the great, I give thanks.

Some would call attention only to the good and to the great, but that's not enough for emotional or political health. We have to face the stark realities of a mixed story, filled with sorrow, blood, violence and death.

We have to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, to free ourselves from the current divide pulling us apart, and giving rise to instincts and behavior originating, not in the heart of a human being, but in what's left of our reptilian brain.

We are:

A land of genocide and slavery.
   A land of lynchings and Jim Crow.
      A land of Trails of Tears.
         A land of internments and prisons.
            A land fraught with fear of the other,
A land of Sacco and Vanzetti, and Ethel and Julius Rosenberg, and Joe McCarthy.
   A land of manic religion and self-righteousness, full of Jesus-talk and devoid of his Spirit.
      A land of military might and industrial power.
         A land ripping to shreds the earth, fouling air and water, and grabbing the money.
            A land where politicians are bought and sold with ease by the NRA.
A land where a president (in name only) has a child's mind and a vindictive personality disorder, and 36 percent of the population think he's terrific.

Until America can face these realties, the divide will continue to grow, and the cancer eating away at our soul will intensify, because a land cannot long survive on half-truths and lies; a nation that cannot tell the truth about itself will not stand the test of time.

The Lord of History is kind and patient, but not endlessly so. The annals of time are replete with failed histories, great and storied nations that ran aground and sunk on the rocks of falsehood and dissimulation.

It hurts to tell the truth, but it's a hurt unto humility and healing and hope.

Can We Tell the Truth About Taxes?

Let's start telling the truth, can we?

1) A society built upon low taxes will never be healthy - it may be good for a very few at the top, but children and schools, bridges and highways and just about everyone and everything else increasingly has a hard time of it.

2) A society built upon taxes, even high taxes, will be healthy - infrastructure will be maintained, education sustained, medical care available to every citizen, and then some. If we have to fight a war, it won't drain the economy.

3) Taxes, even high taxes, are a job-creator - when government is funding and supporting the economy, everyone prospers - from the aerospace industry to the medical worker to the school teacher and to the small business owner.

4) Taxes, even high taxes, narrow the gap between rich and poor, not only for individuals and families but for states and municipalities. Everyone benefits everywhere!

Can we start telling the truth about taxes?

The War-Gods Were Pleased

A memorial service for a Korean War Veteran yesterday ... before "my" part of the service, a simple military rite at the mortuary, with the folding of the flag and presentation to the widow by two young soldiers dressed well in honor-guard uniform, smart and polished, and gentle.

At the gravesite later in the day, Veterans of Foreign Wars, older men, and one woman who had been a nurse in Vietnam, with a 3-gun salute, so very loud, the crisp sound of empty brass hitting ground-level tombstones; there was another folding of the flag, with readings, this time. The readings were eloquent, poetic - full of god-talk, honor and glory, with a constant refrain, "Freedom isn't free." The man who read read thoughtfully, a veteran of WW2 and Korea - with a kindly demeanor, and he walked with a slight limp; I'm sure he was someone's grampa, a good grampa, I'm sure.

I stood by the mausoleum, uneasy in spirit.

I felt the pleasure of the gods of war, standing tall, front and center, arms sternly folded ... and the Prince of Peace, killed by the gods of war, and the gods of religion, too, wept quietly off to the side.

Nothing new with any of this ... nations have, for centuries, forever, since Lamech killed a man for wounding him (Genesis 4), been falling down at the feet of the war-gods ... wanting desperately to make war glorious, and, of course, always right. "My country, right or wrong," it was noted during the readings.

The man buried yesterday was a good and fine man, who loved his family and gave this world some very good things.

When he went to Korea, he went as all soldiers do, I'm sure, and for 11 months, he was a mail courier, winning a Purple Heart for being shrapnel-wounded.

He was proud of his service, and his family was proud of him.

But I'm uneasy about the deceptions nations spin about war. The terrible lies we tell about the glories of war and the honors of death for god and country.

I cannot fault him for his time in the army, not can I fault the two young men of the Honor Guard nor the old and tottering Veterans of Foreign Wars.

But humankind, all nations, love war ... we really do. It's in our collective DNA ... it's our fatal flaw, this blind loyalty to tribe and land ... and our willingness to close our eyes and ears and dream dreams of glory, even as we send our youth off to be cannon fodder.

I find in poetry, however, truth-telling - with so many of startling poems coming out of Britain during World War 1, when Britain suffered serious reversals, all blanked out by the home-town newspapers, and nearly a million deaths - an entire generation of young men wiped out in the muddy trenches of France.

Here's a poem with truth-telling:

Joining The Colours

THERE they go marching all in step so gay!
Smooth-cheeked and golden, food for shells and guns.
Blithely they go as to a wedding day,
The mothers' sons.

The drab street stares to see them row on row
On the high tram-tops, singing like the lark.
Too careless-gay for courage, singing they go
Into the dark.

With tin whistles, mouth-organs, any noise,
They pipe the way to glory and the grave;
Foolish and young, the gay and golden boys
Love cannot save.

High heart! High courage! The poor girls they kissed
Run with them : they shall kiss no more, alas!
Out of the mist they stepped-into the mist
Singing they pass. 

Katharine Tynan, 1914

Katharine Tynan