On May 8th, Jewish Journal ran an article — ‘Killing America’ and The Evolution of Hate” — that says this, in part:
Filmmaker Eli Steele set out to explore why antisemitism exploded in Bay Area schools, and subsequently why it is prevalent on many campuses across the state. The result is “Killing America,” a captivating 38-minute documentary … The film presents a compelling, alarming, and frustrating narrative. It highlights the prioritization of Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion (DEI), and ethnic studies over honor classes … When asked what can be done to turn things around, Steele said he encourages parents to go to school board meetings, make sure they are aware of what their children are being taught and voice their concerns.
I read the article on May 9th. That evening, I installed Rumble on our TV so Anne and I could watch Killing America together. The film is infuriating. The decisions and policies it presents are as disastrous and self-defeating as they are driven by contemporary narratives and wrongheaded meddling. They constitute political skullduggery at the expense of our children and their futures.
The next morning, May 10th, JoAnna and I went to the elementary school her children attend to conduct some writing exercises with her daughter’s third-grade class. To a person, those young people were bright, engaged, engaging, creative, fun-loving, confident, and full of enough joy to make me hopeful. Being hopeful seems to be getting harder these days.
I Should Look Back More
I don’t know if this is true for anyone else. But for me, parenting was a matter of common sense. Except in cases of obvious and serious injury or illness, I felt pretty well equipped to do what needed to be done in most circumstances. If my sons were hungry, I fed them. If they were hurt, physically or emotionally, I comforted them. If they were undertaking something positive, I supported and encouraged them. If they were undertaking something less positive, I discouraged them and explained why I was doing so. If they got into trouble, I stood by them while they endured the consequences they’d earned by the trouble they’d caused or gotten into.
Along the way, I somehow had the wherewithal to tell them there are just two fundamental motivations in the world. Those motivations are hope and fear. I shared with them my conviction that people who were motivated by hope — presuming, of course, they weren’t deliberately stupid or blindly naïve — had far less to fear than those who were motivated by it. I suggested if they believed they could do something — or wanted to achieve something passionately enough — they likely would. And I suggested if they believed they couldn’t do something, they’d be self-fulfillingly right.
By teaching my sons those things, I also managed to learn some very valuable lessons: I learned if you raise your children with the hopefulness you espouse, that hopefulness will be consistently contagious. If you stand by your children and make it evident you’ll always be there and never quit on them, they’ll be comforted by knowing where the lines are (just as the startle reflexes of infants are comforted by their swaddling blankets), even as they confidently and constructively explore the world beyond those lines in their own ways, at their own paces.
I didn’t know how right I was.
It’s All in Your Mind
When we’re suffering from something other people think is imaginary, they’re likely to dismiss it by saying, “Oh, it’s all in your mind.” In the case of hope and fear, they’re correct.
The bad news is fear is a physiological response. In extreme cases, it’s called the fight, flight, or freeze response, triggered by the most primitive part of our brain, the amygdala, which has an evolutionary purpose to protect us from danger. Because of that purpose — and because our brains don’t distinguish between life-threatening and non-life-threatening stressors — the amygdala works like its old, reliable self, compelling us to run away from, fight, or freeze in the face of danger that may or may not exist. (Hello, depression and anxiety disorders.)
The good news is hope, too, is a physiological response. And it can be a more effective and sustainable force. It can be a source of motivation. It can be a source of resilience. Because it can motivate us and make us resilient, it can help us focus. Because it’s positive, it’s a source of energy and enthusiasm. Perhaps most important, hope enables us nurture and protect the people and things we value, helping us to build strong relationships and to create community (as opposed to fear, which causes us to try to control or manipulate).
Hope Is a Choice
I don’t know if this is true for anyone else, either. But the more hopeful I am, the more light I find in the world. The more light I find in the world, the fewer things I find to fear.
The older I get — and the more time I spend with children —the more sure I am hope is the right choice.
Well done Mark. As bad as things appear to be in the country and the world, I will never lose hope. I speak to young people in colleges who see a brighter future and they intend to lead the way. Never give up.
I’m right with you, Frank.
There are things that get to me on occasion. But on balance, I manage to remain hopeful and positive.
Thank you for your comments.