Something Shiny!

So! [claps hands] Where were we? After Friday’s debacle, I’m pretty relieved to be on Spring Break right now. Spring Break as a grad student is so very, very different from Spring Break as an undergrad. To wit: I’m on Spring Break Day Two and there’s nary a beach in sight. I’m in Florida, sure, but that’s about it. (My brother called the other night and, choking back laughter, asked if I was going to Florida for Spring Break. Har har har.) So what am I doing with my time, you ask? I’m catching some sun! I’m sleeping in late! I’m enjoying the beautiful weather! I’m… completely lying: in fact, I’m working on my dissertation. While I could pretend to be bummed about that, I’m actually totally jazzed. I’m so jazzed that I just used the word “jazzed.” It’s been since last summer that I had this kind of time to devote to my own research and I honestly couldn’t be happier. I only interrupted my work twice today: once for lunch and once to update my Facebook page about the Lohan-a-holic brouhaha. Because, seriously, could she be more crazy? Milk-a-whaaat? Good stuff. Here’s to Spring Break 2010! Come on down, the weather’s fine!

During my classes today, we discussed the Cold War and how the fear that Communism would spread to the US led to an anti-Communist movement in the 1940s and 1950s. I wanted to get my students thinking about loyalty and disloyalty, so I told them that during World War Two, one of the things the United States government asked of Japanese Americans (before they sent them to the internment camps) was that they furnish proof that they had always been loyal to the United States. How many of us, I asked, could furnish such proof? Is it as simple as signing a loyalty oath? Is it singing the national anthem? Is it wearing an American flag lapel pin? And they came to the conclusion that loyalty wasn’t something that you can demonstrate. So I asked, if you question your country or disagree with your government, does that make you unpatriotic or disloyal? No, they said; our democracy can only flourish if people are allowed to question the government, and besides, freedom of speech and expression are built into our Constitution. I continued: did they think something like McCarthyism could happen today? No, they responded: as a nation, we wouldn’t let such a thing happen today. So I asked them where Mikey Hicks fit into the equation. Mikey, all of 8 years old, shares the name of a suspected terrorist on the no-fly list. Mikey has been getting frisked at airports ever since he was two. And I also asked them where Obama’s lapel pin fit into the equation. During the campaign, Obama was pressured to wear an American flag lapel pin, to demonstrate his patriotism. He responded, reasonably, that patriotism isn’t demonstrated by wearing a lapel pin; it’s something within. He used, in short, the same arguments that my students pointed to today. But then one of my students raised her hand: “Yeah, but you know, there’s so much with Obama and the American flag.” I asked her to elaborate. “I don’t know what to believe, you know? I heard that he went to an event where they burned the American flag and, you know, that his wife wrote things against the government when she was in college.” And I honestly couldn’t believe my ears. Here was the same person who’d defended the idea that patriotism came within, and that freedom of speech was protected. Did she not see the inconsistencies in her logic? Does freedom of speech somehow not extend to the first family? Burning the flag and criticizing the government may not be popular, I understand. But it is our right as citizens to speak freely and, some would argue, our duty to criticize the government when we disagree with it. It’s part of living in a democracy, is it not? If we’re forced to keep our mouths shut and quell dissent, can we really say we live in a democracy? They say that those who don’t know their history are doomed to repeat it. And as American politics becomes ever more shrill, I have to wonder: are we repeating our own unfortunate past?

When I was younger, I thought I wanted to be an occupational therapist. I’d heard the word somewhere and, without knowing what it really meant, decided that being an occupational therapist meant helping people find their dream jobs. We’d sit in a big swanky office, my clients and I, and we’d talk about their innermost hopes and dreams. I’d scribble notes on a legal pad, stopping every now and again to ask a pointed question like, “how do you feel about filing?” or, “do you feel comfortable in an astronaut suit?” And then, after several sessions, I’d rip a piece of paper off of my prescription pad and exclaim, “I think we’ve got it!” And I’d send them off into the world, armed and ready to become a teacher, a court reporter, a veterinarian, or what have you. That’d be an awesome job.