A Dubious Individual

I am not happy.

I can’t find a decent dictionary anywhere in this messy office. I must have a dozen really nice ones here somewhere. This tired old Random House College, revised 1982, will have to do for now.

In this dictionary, on page 1027, the word “politician” is defined with several standard meanings pertaining to one engaged in politics as the science and art of government. That word is also politely defined as “a person who seeks advancement or power within an organization by dubious means.”

I believe in the modern sense the word “dubious” has a bit of an evil connotation but the Latin base of that word implies a quality of doubt and uncertainty. The definitions of the words “politics” and “political” also include a short reference to things “sly, cunning, or clever”.

If I am allowed to sum that all up, and I detect no reason why I shouldn’t be allowed to do so, then I would generally rewrite the definition of “politician” to remove any uncertainty or doubt. I would say that a politician is a sly one who defies the accepted order and promotes himself without merit.

(Am I the only one who constantly hits the perplexing wall of “himself” versus “herself” in these matters? I never know what to say … I sorta want to write “his/herself” or something like that but even that seems too wimpish. Maybe something like “hermself” or thereabouts will do one day.)

Of course, confusion rules, even if I bought my new definition I would have to go on and explain exactly what the accepted order really means.

Now, to explain, almost, a few years ago a young supervisor of mine asked for my evaluation of a certain dubious co-worker. Yes, I was then in the position, as many of us are eventually placed, of “working for” someone far junior than myself. Looking back on that time in my life, it was a constant theme. My company then had a revolving leadership door of sorts that sent young whippersnappers my direction about every year or so.

I believe my reaction to all that was remarkably steady. I just plodded along at my own pace, ignoring the new kid on the block and carrying on regardless of who was technically in charge. Back then I maintained a strict policy of not answering questions which weren’t asked. But the kids, the folks who were thrust into this role, all reacted a bit differently to that.

Some avoided me at all costs on one extreme, apparently content that they knew the “accepted order” of things without my seasoned assistance. The Wife suggested to me many times that the reason for such avoidance was because my crusty countenance tends to intimidate some people. (Truly, she’s never described me as “crusty”; she prefers the word “rude”.)

But I’ve never believed her counsel on that since on the other extreme I was often honored as the High Oracle of All Known Things, persistently barraged with “why is the sky blue?” question and answer periods, which I did my best to resolve. Clearly, these extremes played out based on the variable confidence of the young-uns because my behavior, crusty or rude as it may be, remained the same throughout.

So, anyway, my man-child boss once asked me about a co-worker and I casually replied with words to the effect, “Ah, jeez, don’t listen to that guy. He’s way too political.”

To which, the young starry-eyed lad, sitting defensively in the corner across from my paper-strewn desk, responded with an earnest follow up, “What do you mean by ‘political’?”

Oh, to be young again!

Well, as I recall, I found the purple curtain which shielded the High Oracle from unwanted intrusion to be suddenly flapping wildly in a dubious breeze, nearly exposing my bare ass to this young inquisitor. I knew what I was saying but I couldn’t find the proper words to explain what political aspect I was defining. For a moment, I wanted to lean on that tried and true parental explanation when words fail us, you know, “because I said so … now go finish your homework” or something like that.

But I composed myself and tried to explain.

“What I mean is this guy has a personal agenda that doesn’t match yours or the company’s. He will tell you what you want to hear but it may or may not be true.”

Silently he pondered my crude explanation. Then he nodded in tacit agreement. I was intensely relieved that he accepted such a poor offer. Soon, the purple curtain stopped flapping and the young man was called away to finish his homework. I was then alone in my office, thinking, shit, I need to find a better answer to that question someday.

I guess that someday has come upon me because of recent experiences and because of what I am reading about today.

In particular, I am reading (and witnessing and living the deal) that the definition of American individualism is evolving. The newest version seems to be a form of representative social conformity which is all too often acted out on the political stage.

And that last bit is the part that really gets me.

Freedom of expression and marching to the beat of your own drummer were strong, attractive concepts when I was younger. I once thought, as well, that this idea was rather important to the American spirit. It is so strange for me to now watch all these people milling about, waiting to be a part of something, looking for a club to join, eagerly wearing the fairest colors of the group which they feel best fits their personal needs.

It’s as if membership in the gang, the choir, the Bee, all somehow defines one’s existence these days. It is considered by many to be vital for the modern American to identify with any odd institution, perhaps even the same institutions which were once maligned and disgraced not so long ago.

If you’re not a member of a club, how can we possibly know what you’re thinking or what you believe in? How will one succeed, how will one survive, my God, how will one rise to the top if there’s no middle mix of like-minded drones below to support and give credence to one’s ascension? I don’t want to overstate this, but instead of diverse individuals coming together to add their peculiar qualities to the fabric of our society, it seems that such conforming association is now demanded.

And, to make matters worse, our politicians, our commentators and our news organizations are all on the bandwagon and have no clue how to define you if you don’t fit into some associative category.

I admit I share guilt in this shame but there are two distinct reasons why I find this evolution upsetting.

In a moment of stark and lonely boredom, I happened to tune across one of those AM talkshow people on the radio the other day. I am an avid radio listener but my tastes are varied. I tend toward sports talk and classical in the morning, blues/jazz and traffic updates for the long ride home. (Endless thanks to publicly supported radio!) I generally take a wide turn around those many political talkshow guys so I don’t know their names but they all seem to be from the same cut of dead-horse-beating, confrontation-instigating cloth.

On that day the radio host guy was introducing a caller who was apparently interested in commenting on the subject of the hour, whatever that may have been. As he was preparing the stage to allow this caller to voice an opinion, the radio host guy said this:

“Now, to make things more interesting, here we have this liberal from Florida …”

On paper, that intro appears to be no big deal. But you had to hear the way the man said “liberal” to get the full effect. The host gave that word an uncivil tone which I can only weakly describe as snide, disrespectful and drenched with hate. He might as well have said, “Here we have this despicable, incestuous ingrate from a foreign state who dares to waste all of our time with his pointless rattle.”

Hearing that tone, I quickly surfed off the channel in search of lighter fare.

So, the first reason I detest this characterizing, gang membership trend is the inevitable resultant hatred. Unfortunately, people are still people. We are not all robots yet. Once everyone chooses a distinct and members-only side of the room to stand in, there is rarely anything concrete left between them besides suspicion and hate. Clubs don’t bring us together, they tend to only further separate us, pigeon-holing us into clans and pitting our Grand Poobahs to aggressively debate one unusual policy against another.

It is this tribe-inspired hate that beats the drums of war on both sides of the fence line, frog marching equally God-fearing armies into battle, viciously treading on the sane and innocently uninitiated souls of every human generation.

And hatred, at least to me, is the bastard child of ignorance. I can’t get much past that simple thought no matter how hard I try. (Yes, I hear hatred can also be pathological for a small demented percentage of the population, as well.)

The second reason I refute and reject club membership is that it invites complacency, particularly in the political realm. This is probably where I am most likely, hopefully, finally striking my dubious point (for those of you who may have been cautiously waiting).

As bemused members of this institution or that, we cordially encourage our politicians (loosely defined above) to do what they do best. Rather than base our opinions and our policies on our individual, diverse perceptions of where we are and where we need to go, as members of the club we complacently allow our politicians to represent that for us. We’ve given up on consensus, flatly refuse plain thinking or open debate and we’ve offensively twisted the concept of majority rule. This, in spite of the fact we understand all politicians are self-serving animals who play selflessly compassionate only for their own benefit. In particular, I feel like our chosen institutions, AFL-CIO, Christian-Right, Girl Scouts, the Leagues of this and that, you name it, lead us by the nose to this end and we, the members, must blindly accept whatever fate befalls our nation as a result.

And here and there is the pain that I feel. Yes, it is only enhanced by this deeply smooth Canadian whiskey, a marvelous blend which is finally, just now, having its intended consequence. Oh, this is good, really good stuff, and I’m pissed to share it with you. As one who cloaked himself for years in the standard issue uniforms of our most cherished institutions, the truth is that I am now at a loss to understand why. I came to believe it was about the honest price of team membership, that concept being unforgiving and immediate personal sacrifice as the only test. In the end, I see the beneficial luster of common cause tarnished by opportunists who take advantage of the cool chance to sell their soul and their interests to the highest bidder.

Well, dubious is as dubious does. I am just one individual who enjoys no power over vast clans of dues-paying, card-carrying club members. We can’t employ the overwhelming strength of the masses while rogue wolves still howl in the night and I can’t change anything with my own muted, solitary voice.

So, join your club and force your elected representatives to be the deciders. Do no thinking for yourself. Purchase the t-shirts and the gear, wear your colors and salute your flags. Prop up and wheel out your old heroes, glorify your original pioneers and honor them with granite stones to disguise the fact that they were merely fallible mortals, as uncertain in their human endeavors as we all are still today. Please go ahead; fervently lose your identity in the boiling sea of social conformity and association that defines the evolution of modern American individualism.

Just leave this dubious individual out of it.

Cheers,
Mb