“Polarized”

c. 2019 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(5-19)

Loyal dissent.

The concept is one that has served America well over two centuries. A philosophy that citizens from different political tribes should hold a similar devotion to the nation itself. One that binds us all together, even as we disagree.

When living in the Pittsburgh area, during the 1970’s, I remember this concept being described as “unity through diversity.” A tagline that has retained its value.

In this space, I have frequently written about growing up in what could be gently described as a two-party household. One governed by practical needs and tempered with faith in a creator. Yet this plan was interpreted differently by each half of my bloodline. The paternal side boasted thought patterns of Dwight D. Eisenhower. The maternal side held fast in the style of Franklin Roosevelt. Both sides worshiped in the same group, a non-denominational fellowship. But their take on the scriptures was sometimes dissimilar. Still, that divide never drove us away from one another.

We were always one family. Even while maintaining distinct philosophical identities.

Dad liked to joke about his marriage with neighbors and parishioners at church. “We agree on everything but religion and politics,” he often observed. The remark usually made people laugh out loud. Yet it was factually correct.

In personal terms, I have tried to maintain that sense of balance throughout life. While navigating-in-print through a world fraught with cultural fragmentation, and social upheaval. But while other writers have penned essays about our march toward incivility with blame assessed to various factors, my own epiphany was more personal in nature.

It came recently, over a cell phone.

Perusing Facebook, a week ago, I saw that a friend from my days as a supermarket manager had posted about issues with her iPhone. She sought tips for how to use her device more carefully, having reached its storage limit with music, and videos of her children. I expected advice to follow, and links to websites. But instead, her quiet plea unleashed something less useful and more acrimonious – a blast of negative vibes about her initial choice to use an Apple product.

One contact immediately brayed like a donkey in heat. “Get a Samsung phone, you stupid bitch! Everybody likes Android better!” Another sprayed classic insults like a skunk. “Crapple sucks! What are you, a hipster? Does your husband wear skinny jeans?” Her brother finally provided a summation of the pervasive theme. “Nobody wants iShit. Unless you stop shaving your legs. You need more room? My Android phone uses a micro SD card for extra storage. No paying for more space with iClown.”

One or two people on her list actually replied with helpful suggestions. But their messages were submerged in a torrent of cyber-sludge. I began to scroll downward, to find escape from the spew of garbage brine.

A real discussion of price as a determining factor in phone sales might have been useful. Similar to the battle between PC computing and the iMac. Or perhaps, they could have explored the contrast between Apple’s organic ecosystem versus the open experimentation of Android platforms. A sober analysis of these opposite designs. But instead, my friend’s followers simply threw bricks at each other. A day or two later, the proverbial Edison bulb illuminated over my head.

This was it, in naked form. The raw truth of 21st-Century America.

Our founders, disagreeable and flawed as they were, yielded a land built on cooperation. One that endured through the balance of intellectual weights in motion around each other. Dancing with purpose. Keeping gravity in effect. But now, our mood has slipped into a chasm of post-apocalyptic beasts, lobbing stones in anger. Shouting, squawking, scratching. With rage and a mortal lust for dominance. But with no way to find illumination in the darkness. No new Thomas Edison to brighten their path.

Social media platforms have only hastened this pervasive slide, by exposing it to the daylight.

Unexpectedly, my friend’s cellular conflict was followed by a meme about pickup trucks. One equally surreal, troubling, and ridiculous. “Cylinders in a row, good to go. Cylinders in a vee, sit to pee.” The upshot being that those who had products from Fiat/Chrysler, with Cummins-diesel motors and tow-mirrors stretching from their doors, were somehow more manly by comparison than owners of vehicles made by GM or Ford Motor Company. Something oddly anachronistic in a moment of history buoyed by science.

I could not help musing that if my 1960’s childhood were moved forward to today, the resulting shift in conditions might completely explode my youth. Mother and father could have factonalized over their differences. Shouting curses, rather than sharing love. Damning each other for opinions not lawfully in sync. Like how to properly cook a steak, what condiment to use on a hot dog, or whether gender identity is reflected by a person’s choice of footwear.

I felt grateful that, in my yonder generation, this did not happen,

As with so many born of the Great Depression, my parents remained married and blissful. Wholly joined in the idea of being true to our family and each other. Even while maintaining their polite disagreements over other things. This bond of love lasted until Dad graduated to eternity, last year.

Their example has carried me forward, across decades of life and through challenges of all sorts. The idea of loyalty to family, to country, and indeed, to the world.

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