Dividing lines

Sometimes, I wonder why I do it to myself. I was reading comments again. Oh lawd, it's eye-opening and discouraging.

I escaped the icy winters and cut-throat politics of trying to keep a state job in Illinois 24 years ago, to come to the south. People talk about the New South and the Old South, but since I have a limited experience here, I'm not sure I can compare the two with accuracy. It's probably all in the eye of the beholder, anyway. Since my wife, Jill, is a native North Carolinian, and from a small town at that, I do have more insight than I otherwise would.

The comments I read this morning were not local. I happened on a news headline about infant mortality in Milwaukee, and since NC has a history of poor outcomes for infants, I thought I'd read it and see what was happening in the midwest. I tend to forget just how regional and insular we can be in this country, until I start reading beyond the large news outlets.

I was appalled, when I moved here, that NC was near the bottom of the heap when it came to infant mortality and child deaths. I was raising kids myself, and involved in La Leche League as a mom and later as a leader. I swam in the sea of mothers and babies for years. I watched as the state determinedly pulled up its rankings and addressed not only the mortality rates, but the child health and education issues. Though it seemed to be related mainly to poverty and class, in this state race and class run neck and neck, with a long and divisive history behind them. It is not possible to divide questions of race and class here, but because of that, the discussion is at least attempted, the conversation includes, however self-consciously, the recent and distant grievances and wounds.

There is a myth abroad in the land, I think, that racism is concentrated in the south. We all see now-historic pictures of Selma, of Mississippi, of buses burning and lunch counter confrontations. I'm by no means an apologist for the egregious racially-tainted violence or day-to-day discrimination that has been rampant in the south. But when I was reading the comments behind the stories about infant mortality in the Wisconsin newspaper this morning, it made me sick at heart. This is supposed to be the part of the country where acceptance is a bedrock of the community. North of the Mason-Dixon still holds that "follow the drinking gourd" reputation in the mythologized history of this divided nation.

What is it that makes people so hateful that they actually think parents want their babies to die, that their families aren't really families at all, simply because of their skin color or their "zip code"? (What is it with zip codes, anyway? Is that an urban thing?) I know I can't generalize to "all Wisconsonites" or "all northerners"  ---- or city people or country people or white people or Christians or uneducated people ----- it's so easy, isn't it, to group folks and write them off. I also know that the folks who comment on articles are the ones with the most time on their hands and the biggest axe to grind, by and large. But really? I saw comments that were so hurtful and mean-spirited that I couldn't imagine them showing up in the News and Observer here in Raleigh. And we've got some meanies that like to leave comments, no doubt about it. But these took the cake, and they were so blatantly, horrifically, awful towards black women and children, it was scary.

Maybe I should be glad that folks who write comments like that (and "folks" actually means mostly men, sorry guys) aren't out taking potshots at the objects of their vitriol, but merely sounding off in front of their buddies. Maybe this is the new version of the street corner, the diner, the fishing boat --- the place to sound tough and mean and macho in order to look strong in front of the fellas. The trouble is, if that is what it is, it's no longer out of earshot of its victims. Before the internet, I wasn't on the bench in front of the fire station or out in the duck blind or in the locker room. If that's where this sort of thing was happening before, I didn't hear it. But now I can see and hear and, to me, it sounds dangerous.

Do we raise our kids to be without empathy for others now? Is this new, or is it simply more obvious, given the widespread media available?  I can say that when I was growing up in the 1950s and 60s in rural Iowa, I did not hear this kind of hate speech. There was still an emphasis on being kind. There were prejudices, to be sure. I know that my immigrant older relatives, Aunty Ann and Grandma, used to speak ill of Catholics and Blacks, from time to time, but it was usually in German so the kids wouldn't understand (HA!). And the prevailing attitude was that we were to accept everyone, that we were no better or worse than anyone else. That was what Sunday School taught, that was the talk at the dinner table, and in school. Two direct teachings in our household were "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all" and "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you". I don't think that was unusual.

When I hear or read such impassioned bitterness, I wonder at its origin. Where are the cracks in that person's psyche that would create so much resentment? Why, upon being shown evidence of the suffering of others, is the impulse towards blame rather than mercy and charity? Or maybe it HAS been around a long time. After all, we're still saddled with notions of the "worthy poor" or "deserving widows" ---- as if only the unrighteous find themselves in dire circumstances. Yet it can happen to me, to you, to any of us. Perhaps it is that fear, the fear of not having control over life and fate, that makes people so ill in spirit.

I know how privileged I am, and still I'm certain that I don't have a clue how much I take for granted. The best I can do is love my family and friends with all the ferocious gentleness I can muster, be grateful for all the things I know how to count on my fingers, and stay open-hearted and open-minded to the best of my ability. Every day I learn more.