In the 1980s, comedian Steven Wright had a bit about Smokey the Bear. When we were kids, we must’ve seen the old PSA a thousand times. “Only you can prevent forest fires.” As Wright recalls Smokey’s warning, he points at himself with a questioning look as if to say, “Me?”
That bit came to mind the other day when I saw the post of a friend from high school that started out by saying, “If you weren’t sure, this is censorship. You know, what you like to accuse President DJT of…”
Me?
Jennifer and I are still in touch. We talk occasionally. We see each other at all the reunions. And we were in a close enough circle of friends that we get together outside of the larger gatherings.
Having posted this on her public social media page, Jen wasn’t necessarily addressing me directly. But it does raise some questions. Namely, who exactly is she calling out? Is she responding to someone she's actually had this conversation with, or is she under the impression that this is the homogeneous position of all those who don't align with her political affinities?
Also, why did this platform serve this post at the top of my feed on an otherwise serene Saturday morning? Perhaps “good fences make good neighbors,” but this one went up without my consent, placing me on a side I didn’t choose.
Before I built a wall I’d ask to know
What I was walling in or walling out,
And to whom I was like to give offense.
Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That wants it down…
My lifelong friend went on. She had a list of grievances partly against the “MSM,” but mostly against unnamed masses who don’t share her thinking.
To be fair, Jennifer touched upon a smattering of issues, any of which we could discuss, such as whether a broadcast network should air a sitting president’s address to the American people, how long it took for many outlets to cover President Biden’s health concerns, and the failures of his administration to secure the southern border.
But the combative nature of her post had me thinking less about the merits of the scattershot of issues she brought up and more about why she’s yelling. Like, is she okay?
Candidly, I’m uninterested in the potpourri of complaints my old friend touched upon. But I am curious about who Jennifer thinks she’s reaching, whether she believes these sorts of protestations are accomplishing anything, and if so, what.
I’m also curious and somewhat concerned about one of the people who commented on this thread, who I also know. Jill is someone I went to Hebrew School with for many years—from the time that we were in 1st grade through my Bar Mitzvah and her Bat Mitzvah. We even attended Hebrew High School together, a program my father implemented for our synagogue. Jill’s comment was, “They’re afraid of the truth.”
They? Who are “they”? The “MSM”? The unnamed masses our mutual friend is yelling at? Anyone who didn’t vote for Trump? Or me?
Jenny and Jill seem to be on the same page. Or at least on the same channel. It’s not one that I’m on except as part of my work to see how certain partisans are framing news events, which stories get covered, and what’s not even making it into their programming.
We are, however, in the same virtual room. I just wonder how a conversation like this might go if we were all in the same actual room together.
I let my neighbor know beyond the hill;
And on a day we meet to walk the line
And set the wall between us once again.
We keep the wall between us as we go.
Walls and fences aren't the trouble. The trouble is that we’ve reached a point where calling out to our neighbor beyond the hill can feel like a trespass, or even a danger.
At the dawn of this century, Robert Putnam’s Bowling Alone was prophetic. First published in June of 2000, the book deals with social capital: “…connections among individuals—social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them.” Twenty years later, in the anniversary edition, he poses the founding question again:
Were more and more Americans indeed bowling—as well as worshipping, picnicking, politicking, and engaging in countless other “social” activities—alone (or not at all)? If so, why? And what could it mean for a nation that supposedly counted community and collective action as founding virtues?
Look, I can identify with gravitational pulls toward isolation. Last week, I decided to go to a local sports bar to catch one of the semi-final World Cup matches. I figured it’d be good to be among others taking in all the excitement. Maybe get a taste of that collective effervescence. But the moment I spotted their lunch special on the menu and put in my order for a “crispy coup” (their spelling, not mine) with a side of tots (don’t judge me), I was longing for the comfort of my own chair, my own TV that I could watch at my own preferred volume, without any obstructions to my view, and the A/C dialed in to the exact temperature of my preferred comfort.
Yet being among neighbors at a sports bar, coincidentally called The Local, is a healthier choice. Much the same way that getting a side salad would have been a healthier choice than those tots. By mid-afternoon, there was a coup underway in my gut, another price paid for that fried chicken and those fried potatoes. At least that bill came due the same day. There are also costs for denying our human need to connect with others.
My friend Liz Joyner, the founder and president of the Village Square, has an expression: “It’s hard to hate somebody up close.”
Growing up, Jill and I were two of the many kids running the halls of that place every week, with classrooms marked Aleph, Bet, Gimmel, Daled, Hay, in our Hebrew School with Morah Baum and Shabbos services with Rabbi Klein. The tattooed numbers on the arms of the alta bubbes and zaides reminded us who we are and what we have endured. There was a “we.”
Beyond the synagogue, Jennifer and I were part of efforts with a number of our other high school buddies to raise money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, along with all kinds of other formal and informal gatherings that always seemed to end up at the Manalapan Diner on Route 9 when Jenny would let me have her coleslaw.
Yeah, it’s hard to hate somebody up close. Especially when they let you have their coleslaw.
These days, we’re not running into each other at the diner. We’re just seeing a post here and there. Posts that mostly serve as presentations, but not necessarily connections. “Here’s my kid who just graduated summa cum something or other.” “Ain’t my dog cute?” “Happy birthday to the most brilliant, beautiful, blah blah blah…” Or on occasion, “Hey you! You’re what’s wrong with this country.” Followed by some version of, “Yeah, they are.”
Sure, I could pick up the phone. Or hop on a Zoom. I could even make a trip back East and grab a coffee with my old high school pal. But if every time you saw something of theirs, it made you feel like you were getting yelled at, would you?
Then again, maybe I will go back East and just invite her out to go bowling. I’d bet the Lucky Strike Cafe at Howell Lanes still has some great coleslaw.
Corey Nathan hosts Talkin' Politics & Religion Without Killin' Each Other and writes about faith and civic life on Substack. He came to Christian faith from an observant Jewish upbringing.
