Category Archives: Quandaries and Rants

Coming of (Nuclear) Age

On August 6, 1945, at 8:15 a.m. local time, the first atomic bomb used in warfare exploded over Hiroshima, Japan. Three days later, a second atomic bomb detonated over Nagasaki. Historians and pundits continue to debate the utility and morality of this launching of the “nuclear age.”

No one was sure ahead of time what the bombs’ impact would be. Within a week of the second drop, Japan had surrendered, its emperor announcing the end of the war over the radio. At least 100,000 mostly civilian deaths occurred during the first few days after the attacks. Over the next months, some survivors developed mysterious sets of sometimes lethal symptoms. These got grouped into a generic category, “radiation sickness.”  Longer term, cancer rates among survivors remained higher than among non-exposed populations, with leukemia deaths peaking several years after exposure, and deaths from cancerous tumors, “solid cancers,” showing up later. 

In 1945, if Americans thought at all about the implications of nuclear warfare, their musings were likely tinged with relief that this costly, horrific war was finally over. Surviving soldiers and sailors could begin returning home; families could begin reconstituting peacetime lives. Those who’d lost loved ones during the war could mourn, console each other, gain some sort of closure. Few outside the scientific community were ready to consider what a nuclear-armed and/or nuclear-enabled world might become. 

As the longer-term damage of nuclear radiation became clearer, public opinion changed. John Hersey’s lengthy article about the bomb’s impact on Hiroshima was important in advancing the transition. Hersey had spent several weeks in the springtime of 1946 interviewing A-bomb survivors in person. The resulting article filled the entire August 31, 1946 issue of The New Yorker. His piece was widely disseminated via print and radio. It was published in book form as Hiroshima. Hersey provided extensive profiles of six survivors: a personnel clerk, a private clinic doctor, a tailor’s widow who was mother to two young children, a German Jesuit priest, a Red Cross Hospital surgeon, and a Japanese born Methodist pastor, Kiyoshi Tanimoto. Hersey’s writing captured the human toll of the bombing in ways that photos, films, and statistics had not. One scene that especially moved me, generations later, was an interaction between Pastor Tanimoto and a dying neighbor: 

“After five days of ministering to the wounded in [Asano] park, Mr. Tanimoto returned to his parsonage… While he was at work, a Miss Tanaka came and said that her father had been asking for him. Mr. Tanimoto had reason to hate her father, the retired shipping company official who, …[j]ust before the bombing, had said openly to several people that Mr. Tanimoto was a spy for the Americans. At the moment of the bombing, Mr. Tanaka had … received serious flash burns, but was able to walk home. He took refuge in his Neighborhood Association shelter and from there tried hard to get medical aid. He expected all the doctors of Hiroshima to come to him, because he was so rich and so famous for giving his money away. … Now he was very weak and knew he was going to die. He was willing to be comforted by any religion. 

Mr. Tanimoto went to help him. …The old man smelled very bad, and he moaned constantly. He seemed to recognize Mr. Tanimoto. Standing at the shelter stairway to get light, Mr. Tanimoto read loudly from a Japanese language pocket Bible. … Mr. Tanaka died as Mr. Tanimoto read the psalm.” 

When World War II ended, the U.S. had a monopoly on nuclear weapons, but this ascendancy did not last long. The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), using its own technology plus information from spies, developed its nuclear capacity and successfully detonated an atomic bomb in August, 1949. The nuclear arms race was on. It has not yet ended. 

In December of 1953, U.S. president Dwight D. Eisenhower gave a speech at the United Nations lamenting the increasingly expensive nuclear arms race and its potential for widespread harm. He suggested the possibility of peaceful uses for atomic energy. In this “Atoms for Peace” speech, Eisenhower urged the development and advancement of civilian uses for atomic energy. His talk was part of the effort that eventually led to the creation of the International Atomic Energy Agency in 1957. 

At the time Eisenhower gave his talk, the USSR had constructed the world’s first nuclear power plant in Obninsk, the “science city.” Completed in 1951, the plant was connected to the electric power grid in 1954. The first nuclear plant in the U.S. came online in 1958 in Pennsylvania. Since then, enthusiasm for nuclear energy has waxed and waned. Three highly publicized nuclear power plant disasters—Three Mile Island in the U.S. in 1979, Chernobyl in the then USSR in 1986, and Fukushima in Japan in 2011—have slowed or reversed the impetus toward wider use of civilian nuclear energy. Several countries who formerly used nuclear reactors have phased them out. Australia and Ireland now explicitly forbid nuclear power plants. 

As of 2026, there are eight acknowledged nuclear-armed nations: the United States, Russia, the United Kingdom (England), France, China, India, Pakistan, and North Korea. It is widely supposed that Israel possesses nuclear arms, though Israel does not explicitly admit it. The current conflict between the United States and Iran is characterized in part as an effort to prevent Iran from acquiring a nuclear weapon. 

Also as of 2026, per the trade group world-nuclear.org, civilian nuclear power produces about 10% of global electricity from over 400 reactors in 31 countries. (At its maximum, prior to both Fukushima and the increasing use of renewables, nuclear energy had produced about 17% of the world’s electricity.) Though the U.S. has the largest capacity, it is France that generates the highest proportion of its electric power through nuclear energy—65%.

By this year’s anniversary of the Hiroshima bombing, nearly all of its survivors will have died, either from radiation-related illnesses or from old age. Some of the few living hibakusha continue to advocate for the abolition of nuclear weapons, though the memory of their long ago catastrophe often gets sidelined by more current global problems.    

Yet the “nuclear genie” unleashed in 1945 cannot be put back in the bottle. The potential for both military and civilian uses of nuclear energy will be with us for at least as long as humans exist on earth. Will we come of nuclear age in time to use nuclear energy wisely?

Thousands Upon Thousands: No Kings 3/28/2026

A clear, warm day in San Diego.
A grandson offered a ride to the nearest trolley stop.
Fellow trolley passengers shifted positions so we could have seats.
Swarms of people converged on Waterfront Park–
All ages, incomes, ethnicities, many with hand-crafted signs.
Speeches, then moving together, or standing, or just sitting, taking it all in.

Two young men had positioned themselves in the shade of an old building,
Handing out cups of free lemonade to anyone parched enough to want some.
I treasure pictures I snapped with my phone, capturing memories to help cope
With any further travesties while we work to reanimate our democracy.

Modern “Mourning Wars”

I learned the term “mourning war” this past winter, while reading a history of the Americas that included perspectives of the indigenous tribes who populated them prior to the arrival of European settlers. “Mourning war” was once practiced among the tribes of the Iroquois Confederacy in what is now the eastern U.S. and Canada. A local online history expanded on the practice, which started out as small-scale raids before large-scale contact with European settlers:

“[M]ore than [furs from adjoining tribes,] these Iroquois warriors sought prisoners, prospective adoptees, who could take the place of Iroquois people who had died in wars and from epidemic diseases. The members of the Five [Iroquois] Nations believed that the power of a lineage, a clan, a village or a community suffered for each individual lost. Iroquois peoples, as well, recognized that grief unassuaged could bring destruction. …The adoption of captives was one socially-sanctioned way to alleviate this grief. As a result, Iroquois raids on their neighbors took on the quality of a ‘mourning war.’”

Historian Daniel Richter has argued that the practice of mourning warfare escalated and changed as interactions with Europeans increased. Substantial numbers of native peoples were dying in epidemics of diseases such as measles and smallpox to which, in contrast with Europeans, they had no natural immunity: 

“A dangerous spiral resulted: disease led to more frequent mourning wars fought with firearms that made these raids more dangerous; the need for guns and ammunition to fight these wars led to an increased demand for the [animal] pelts needed to trade for them; Iroquois hunters and warriors traveled farther and farther to acquire the furs necessary for this trade, provoking new wars with native peoples farther afield. And through it all the spiral of death continued, sucking the Five Nations into a destructive cycle of warfare and violence.  …

[T]he Iroquois absorbed an enormous number of captives. French missionaries estimated that two-thirds of the people living in Iroquoia were adoptees. Even with these adoptees, Iroquois population continued to decline. The Iroquois suffered badly in this warfare, which could be horrifically violent.” 

(https://chenussio.geneseo.sunycreate.cloud/overview-of-seneca-history/mourning-wars/)  

It’s not clear that the many wars now going on around the world have the same explicit aims as Iroquois “mourning wars,” though earlier in the war in Ukraine there were allegations of Russian troops kidnapping Ukrainian children to help bolster an aging Russian population. 

What is evident is that nearly all our current global conflicts are inflicting much higher civilian casualties than military ones. What is evident are the massive internal and cross-border refugee displacements occurring in numerous regions. What is evident is how much the global economy is being roiled by disruptions of shipping in various war zones. 

As bombs, missiles, and drones continue to damage or destroy increasing numbers of lives and infrastructure in the Middle East and elsewhere, I am in mourning. If I’ve had qualms about a United States role as international police force, I have even greater qualms about the land of my birth joining the ranks of international bullies. I am angry. I do not yet fully know how to direct my anger to help minimize further damage. My only certainty is that escalating cycles of violence are not a viable answer. 

Throughout human history, we have struggled with our countervailing impulses toward dominance and toward empathy. It is taking us much too long to learn the lesson that dominance always comes to an end. Empathy, too often considered “weak” in the shorter term, is one of the few ways yet discovered to promote the sharing of whatever finite resources are necessary for all to thrive. Empathy can help us learn to harness more broadly available resources such as sunlight. Empathy can also activate the nearly inexhaustible resources of mutual care and support. 

May the God of all faiths, by whatever name, help us to develop the wisdom to mourn more cleanly, and to extricate ourselves from the cycles of violence and “mourning wars” to which we still seem much too prone. 

Stony the Road…

This MLK weekend, I didn’t feel much like celebrating. It seemed as if much of the civil rights progress of the past half century and more was being erased as quickly as our national executive could flourish his sharpie and sign yet another exclusionary and/or incendiary executive order. 

Still, I wanted to show solidarity with the activists and citizens who for years have been calling our country to live up to its ideals, so I got a ride to downtown San Diego to walk in Sunday’s MLK 5K. There were a lot of other walkers and runners, most more fit than I was. I figured I could probably go the distance, if somewhat slowly. 

It was a gorgeous day—sunny, with a light breeze and pleasant temperatures. Along the way, I got to hear snippets of conversations among those who also took a slower pace. The atmosphere was congenial, most of us opting to enjoy the walk and the weather more than just stewing about the sorry state of our republic. Someone probably “won” the race, but all of us got some worthwhile exercise in a friendly environment.  

Later, I stayed for part of the annual parade that’s been held in San Diego for many years, beginning even before the MLK holiday was enacted nationally. Some of the groups marching were predominantly black, but many were mixed, with high school and college bands, various professional associations, and contingents from area employers.  Most of the early groups were generally apolitical. I enjoyed the colors, the festive mood, a few of the gift items thrown from passing floats. Before I left, some more militant marching groups appeared—I took a picture of a set of local activists whose banner intrigued me.

Activists in MLK Parade, 2026

What combination of tactics could work best to slow or reverse our slide into increasingly authoritarian rule, I wondered? I wished I were a better writer, able to craft a rallying cry that would re-inspire me and others. Then I remembered a poem written during a previous dark time for the disinherited, James Weldon Johnson’s 1900 “Lift Every Voice and Sing.” 

A black friend had delved deeper into the words to this three verse civil rights poem during a workshop nearly thirty years ago on building the beloved community. The first verse stresses harmony and rejoicing, a needed uplift for the students at the segregated black school in Florida where Johnson was then principal. But the poem doesn’t sugar coat either the realities of prior slavery or the challenges of the Jim Crow era then unfolding. Its second verse lays it all out: 

Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod,
Felt in the days when hope unborn had died,
Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet
Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered
We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered.

Johnson’s brother Rosamond crafted music to go with the poem. A school chorus first performed it at a school ceremony later that year. A generation later, the hymn was adopted as an official anthem of the NAACP. The song has become an enduring symbol of the struggle for civil rights—its mandate expanding to include equal rights for all. 

There’s a lot more work to be done before the ideals expressed in our nation’s founding documents are fully realized. The work will not get done solely with marches or protests, though they may help. Sometimes the road ahead will be stony, but gentle perseverance can get us to a better place again. We’ve been working at perfecting our union for 250 years—with luck and fortitude, we’ll have a better nation and a better, more peaceful world before the next 250 years are done. Then, we will truly be able to lift every voice.  

Some Things Never Change: the Destiny Instinct

When I was a kid in 1950’s Maryland, Thanksgiving was all about the Pilgrims and the friendly Indians in Massachusetts. Before sitting down to turkey and stuffing at Grandma’s house, I’d probably participated in an earlier school Thanksgiving pageant, its prize roles going to the Indian Squanto and to Massachusetts governor William Bradford. We made paper cutouts of Pilgrim hats, or paper headdresses of fake feathers. It was pretty much the same every year. 

Much later, after I’d lived near Virginia’s coastal plains for decades, I went to watch a celebration of the Virginia version of the first Thanksgiving—held, locals bragged, before the Massachusetts pilgrims had even landed. At what later became Berkeley Plantation, according to its website (https://berkeleyplantation.com/first-thanksgiving), in late November, 1619, a newly arrived set of 50 additional Virginia settlers gave thanks, per instructions from their sponsors back in England: “We ordaine that this day of our ships arrival, at the place assigned for plantacon, in the land of Virginia, shall be yearly and perpetually kept holy as a day of Thanksgiving to Almighty God.” Little thought back then was given to the perspectives of the native peoples who were often being displaced, diseased, and/or disrespected by the growing numbers of European settlers coming to Virginia, Massachusetts, and other areas up and down the Eastern seaboard of North America. You have to read beyond the Thanksgiving chapter of the Berkeley website to learn that in 1622, local tribes rose up in a concerted attack against the British settlers, after which the Berkeley settlement disintegrated. The next Thanksgiving celebration at Berkeley was not until 1958.

I now live in California, where origin stories for Thanksgiving are multiple and murky. It’s possible that the earliest Spanish or Russian explorers had celebrations of thanksgiving after surviving especially difficult passages. Later specific dates for California’s initial celebrations are variously given as: December 10, 1774, when some of the Franciscan missionaries in the area celebrated a near-miraculous return to health of one of their brothers;  or November 29, 1849 in and around the goldfields; or November 30, 1850, based on a proclamation by Governor Peter Burnett in Sacramento in the newly established State of California. The safest date to recognize may be the 1863 proclamation by Abraham Lincoln of the first national day of Thanksgiving on the last Thursday of November.  

Wherever we live in the U.S., there seem to be a wealth of “first Thanksgivings” to choose from. Our views of what’s appropriate for Thanksgiving and “who got there first” will likely continue to change. 

The book Factfulness was written by three Swedes, so there are no examples of Thanksgivings and the way the feast has changed. However, the authors use multiple examples to show that many things do change, if sometimes slowly. One example I especially like is Hans Rosling’s analysis of the compounding impact of slow changes for Earth’s nature preserves and natural parks. Under the rubric “Slow Change Is Not No Change,” he begins with an initial set-aside of natural land nearly 2500 years ago: 

“In the third century BC, the world’s first nature reserve was created by King Devanampiya Tessa in Sri Lanka. … It took more than 2000 years for a European, in West Yorkshire, to get a similar idea, and another 50 years before Yellowstone National Park was established in the United States. By the year 1900, 0.03 percent of the Earth’s land surface as protected. …Slowly, slowly, decade by decade, one forest at a time, the numbers climbed. The annual increase was absolutely tiny, almost imperceptible. Today a stunning 15 percent of the Earth’s surface is protected, and the number is still climbing.” (One globally ambitions goal is to have 30% of the earth’s land and seas protected by 2030: https://www.campaignfornature.org/getting-to-30.) 

Of course, change can be multi-directional. There’s no guarantee all change will be positive. But the notion that things cannot change can prevent much of the experimentation that might help improve things.  

Among the prescriptions the Roslings suggest for countering the “destiny instinct” are exercises like the one I’ve tried to develop here about Thanksgiving—the way we now think about and celebrate Thanksgiving is not the same as when I was a child, nor need it be the way people will celebrate in the future. Per the Roslings, “Challenge the idea that today’s culture must also have been yesterday’s, and will also be tomorrow’s.” 

In a long life so far, among the things that have not changed for me are gratitude for life. I’m also grateful for new and renewed possibilities for continued learning. Happy Thanksgiving to all!   

The Elephants in the Room: The Size and Generalization Instincts

To me, two of the middle instincts described in the book Factfulness seem closely related: the “size instinct” and the “generalization instinct.” Both can cause us to misjudge the importance of a given factor in a situation. 

Hans Rosling describes the size instinct with the following anecdote: early in his career, he spent time as a primary care doctor at the only hospital in a mostly rural, poor area of an African country. A pediatrician friend from Sweden had come for a short visit. After observing Rosling’s behavior during the previous night’s hospital shifts, he took Rosling to task for providing basic care, but not using heroic, complex measures to save a child who’d been admitted to the hospital, suffering from diarrhea and malnutrition. Rosling countered—right now he was the only medical professional in the area with skills to do the procedure needed to save that one child, which would also have required expensive equipment. Over time, he could save many more children by training other medical professionals to provide basic rural health care and by improving the equipment available to them. That way, far fewer children would have to be admitted to the hospital needing complex, heroic measures. Concentrating on that one critically ill child distorted its importance and actually reduced the chances of making a substantial difference in the area’s rates of child mortality. 

Per the book’s authors, the somewhat related generalization instinct is often needed to help us live our everyday lives and to make decisions. The problem comes when we overgeneralize—Roslings’ favorite target is the overgeneralization of “developed” and “developing” countries. According to them, “The challenge is to realize which of our categories are misleading … and replace them with better categories.”   

To me, our tendencies both to over-categorize and/or to over-stress an isolated case show up in a persistent quandary in journalistic ethics (yes—there is such a thing).  Journalists in all media learn fairly early that most people are drawn to stories. In contrast, most of us tend to find statistics boring and overly dry. So, “if it bleeds, it ledes”—journalistic shorthand for telling a compelling story. Ideally, any story chosen should typify the larger pattern it is being used to represent. 

For nearly all of us, what we experience directly carries more weight than what we experience at second or third hand. Therefore, journalists, politicians, and others who want to capture our attention try to draw analogies between what we know directly and the positions they are trying to get us to support. 

One story, of the shyster “welfare queen,” was instrumental during the 1990’s in helping push through welfare reforms that limited eligibility and instituted additional work requirements for those receiving government assistance. Since nearly all of us know someone who at one time or another has “gamed the system” to obtain an otherwise undeserved benefit, we could relate.

A different story that got extended currency in the run-up to passage of the Affordable Care Act was the story of Barack Obama’s terminally ill mother having to deal with health insurance procedures while her own health was severely compromised. It was a compelling story that any of us who’ve ever lost a loved one to cancer or some other horrible disease can also relate to. 

Were either of these stories representative of the larger issues they tried to address? Perhaps not. In order to determine the size or the generality of each story, we’d have had to wade through studies and statistics of the incidence and prevalence of welfare cheats or of terminally ill patients and their families dealing with health insurance claims. Sometimes such studies exist. At other times they either do not exist or are difficult to access. 

To counter our size and generalization instincts, therefore, we usually need access to reliable data. We also need to vary our media sources to get differing perspectives. We need to seek out and discuss viewpoints with those whose life experiences are different from our own. From the Roslings’ perspective, it can help to travel widely, actually living for extended periods in a culture different from our “home” culture. We need to test our assumptions, especially about presumed uniformity among people we expect to be different from us but similar to each other.  

We need stories, and we need statistics. Otherwise, our mental rooms tend to stay filled with sometimes comforting but ultimately damaging elephants.  

Nothing Is Coming Up Roses: the Negativity Instinct

From time to time, people have compared me to the gloomy character “Eeyore” from the children’s Winnie the Pooh series, or to the character Joe Btfsplk in the L’il Abner comic strip—a guy who constantly has a black cloud over his head. I’m not uniformly gloomy, and it’s not as if I intend to be morose, but I seem to have a penchant for worrying about all the possible ways a situation may turn out wrong. A long-term friend has a more measured description: I’m a “contingency planner.”  

As part of the lead-in to its chapter about the negativity instinct, Roslings’ book Factfulness shows a chart with the results of a survey done in 30 countries with a single three-option question: “Do you think the world is getting better, staying the same, or getting worse?” 

In all 30 of the countries surveyed, the majority of respondents said the world was getting worse. (Not everyone in any country did, though—there are at least some incurable optimists out there.)  Results ranged from nearly 90% who answered “worse” in Turkey to between 50 and 60% in Russia, with other countries, including the U.S., arrayed fairly evenly in between. 

The Roslings go on to show sets of global statistics that nearly all point to considerable improvement in many areas of life over the past 200 years: extreme poverty has declined precipitously, life expectancy has more than doubled, health and wealth in most countries have improved greatly. We tend to overemphasize the negative because it is “dramatic.” Good weather, good deeds, good fortune can get taken for granted. We’re more likely to pay attention when something goes wrong. 

So what can we do to counteract the negativity instinct? 

Hans Rosling’s response is to use a “both/and” approach. As he meditates on the issue, he decides: “The [or ‘a’] solution is not to balance out all the negative news with more positive news. That would just risk creating a self-deceiving, comforting, misleading bias in the other direction. It would be as helpful as balancing too much sugar with too much salt. … I am saying that things can be both bad and better. … Does saying ‘things are improving’ imply that everything is fine, and we should all relax and not worry? No, not at all. Is it helpful to have to choose between bad and improving? Definitely not. It’s both. It’s both bad and better.”  

So, the next time someone accuses you of being unnecessarily negative, remind yourself that contingency planning can be valuable. Most aspects of life are a combination of “bad” and “better.” Then take that next breath and figure out what you may be able to do to improve some small part of what strikes you as bad.  

The “Fear” Instinct: Danger versus Fright

One of the most insidious “instincts” we retain from earlier periods of human existence is the fear instinct, when misapplied. Some fears are justified. Many are not, or are blown out of proportion.

Like Hans Rosling, author of Factfulness, I grew up during the 1950’s and 1960’s Cold War era, back when we did “civil defense” drills for protecting ourselves in the event of a nuclear attack (spoiler alert—hiding under your elementary school desk with your hands interlaced above your head would be pretty useless against nuclear blasts or fallout). 

My nightmares back then involved not being able to find family members in time for all of us to hide in our house’s basement, the one area that might provide some minimal protection against the effects of nuclear blasts and radiation. As our societies continue to learn to deal with nuclear threats, my fear level about nuclear attack ebbs and flows.  

My fear of snakes has likewise ebbed and flowed. Much of my life has been spent where snake bites are rare and even more rarely lethal. However, during my one extended stay in an African country, where black or green mambas could inject a quickly lethal venom and sometimes were fairly well camouflaged, fear of snakes may have helped keep me alive.

Back then, I had part-time access to an aging Volkswagen beetle with a rust hole near its gas pedal. I used it to commute to the offices of an international development project I was a temporary part of. One afternoon, as I drove back to the office after a lunch break, I noticed a large black snake sidling across the road in front of me. Had it been still, I might not have registered its presence. As it was, I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road a good distance uphill from the snake. The little car I was driving might have been heavy enough to crush the snake, but I decided it would be risky to drive over it. The hole in the bottom of the car was too near my foot. Instead, I waited. Not long afterward, a heavy luxury vehicle driven by the head of the local branch of the World Bank came barreling down the hill. After the Mercedes drove over it, the snake was thoroughly crushed and dead. I proceeded, more careful thereafter to distinguish between road tar and road snakes.  

Rosling tells a story of how, when he was just starting out as a physician, his irrational fear of nuclear war badly distorted his initial reaction to an incoherent Swedish pilot with hypothermia. Afterwards, Rosling’s longish life of dealing in some fearful situations led him to a more skeptical view of most fears: “Fears that once helped keep our ancestors alive, today help keep journalists employed.” Rosling asserts, “If we look at the facts behind the headlines, we can see how the fear instinct systematically distorts what we see of the world.”  

Today is Veterans’ Day, when we honor those living and dead who have sometimes put themselves in harm’s way to help keep the rest of us safer. They get sent where most of us would fear to go. During the waning days of World War II, my Dad was stationed with the Navy in the South Pacific. He never made a fuss about being a veteran. The war he was part of did horrendous damage, but may have indirectly played a small part in reducing our fears of “others.” As some lyrics from the 1949 musical “South Pacific” taunted: “You’ve got to be taught to be afraid of people whose eyes are oddly made, and people whose skin is a different shade, you’ve got to be carefully taught…” Some of those of different shades who’d served during World War II eventually became leaders in the Civil Rights movements, including Medgar Evers and Ralph Abernathy.

Not having served in the military, I cannot speak directly to the level of fear generated by deployment in dangerous areas or by actual combat. I am deeply indebted to those whose willingness to take risks on my behalf has made my life safer. However, I suspect that military planners and leaders have sometimes put both soldiers and civilians in harm’s way unnecessarily.

Rosling concludes, “Fear can be useful, but only if it is directed at the right things. … ‘Frightening’ and ‘dangerous’ are two different things. Something frightening poses a perceived risk. Something dangerous poses a real risk. Paying too much attention to what is frightening rather than what is dangerous … creates a tragic drainage of energy in the wrong directions.” May we all, especially our military’s leaders, get better at distinguishing fright from danger.

Minding the Voting “Gap”

As Hans Rosling traveled and matured, he began to understand that many phenomena we regard as impossible are manageable, given a set of gradually developed knowledge and skills. Throughout the rest of his work life, he tried to develop further his openness to manageable progress, along with further knowledge and skills.  Rosling spent much of his career as a health researcher in a variety of countries in sub-Saharan Africa and in Asia. During his travels he saw over time how some areas had improved substantially in the goods and services people had access to. When he later returned to his home country of Sweden and taught local medical students, he realized that many of his students had an outmoded view of the world—thinking it consisted only of “rich” countries and “poor” ones. 

During the latter part of his career, Hans made it part of his life’s work to get people to take a more nuanced, changeable view of the range of global incomes and living conditions. The Roslings characterize the tendency we all have to simplify lots of different aspects of life (rich/poor, big family/small family, limited education/full education) as binary, with no in-between stages, focussing solely or primarily on the extremes. They call this the “gap” instinct. 

It took Hans Rosling most of two decades to help persuade the World Bank to group nations into multiple income levels, rather than just characterizing countries as either “developed,” or “developing.” He theorizes that maybe changing the misconception of an unbridgeable gap between rich and poor countries was so hard because, “…human beings have a strong dramatic instinct toward binary thinking, a basic urge to divide things into two distinct groups, with nothing but an empty gap in between.”  

If you’ve followed some of my previous blog efforts, you’re likely aware that I am very wary of the “red state/blue state” gap, among other attempts to depict the American electorate as two extremes with little or nothing in between. Our politicians and our media do us a disservice when they characterize our beliefs or voting patterns that way. Even more damaging and dangerous is the tendency to characterize anyone with a set of beliefs or a voting pattern different from ours as somehow misguided or, even worse, evil. 

I don’t know how to counter this particular American “gap” tendency entirely—after all, our country has had the same two major political parties for about 150 years  (though what each party emphasizes or claims to believe has changed over time). To some extent, we all need to “clump” individuals into groups, especially when we are talking about large populations. There are over 8 billion humans currently alive, so the effort to see each human individual “whole” is beyond even the most sophisticated analysis. However, we can resist the tendency to reduce every issue, every grouping, to just a binary choice. 

Some other countries already practice one small step in the direction of more nuanced voting patterns:  as of 2014, the CIA World Fact Book listed 22 countries with a total population of nearly 750 million where voting is required of citizens over the age of 18. Most widely known among these is Australia, where, if you fail to participate in an election, you will be liable for a small fine. Brazil, with over 200 million people, also requires voting, as do Costa Rica, Greece, Mexico, and Thailand, among others. Practicing democracy requires constructive engagement, and voting, made as convenient and easy as practical, is one measure of that engagement. Requiring everyone to vote doesn’t guarantee a 100% turnout, but it is something of an incentive. It can help reduce electoral polarization, especially in primary or off-year elections when U.S. turnout has often been weak, with mostly the more extreme partisans at either end of the political spectrum bothering to show up at the polls.

Other voting practices that can reduce either/or thinking may involve such things as multi-member districts, rank choice voting (sometimes called “instant run-offs”), non-partisan primaries, open primaries (allowing votes for candidates of other parties than the one you are registered in), ballot initiatives and referenda, and independent redistricting commissions. None are perfect tools. In the U.S., few have been tried at the national level. Multiple localities and states have experimented with a variety of these measures. Emphasizing local voting and local elections may be a partial antidote to our current fixation with officials at the national level. Further experimentation might help reduce partisan wrangling and government gridlock.   

While the “gap” instinct in characterizing voters and voting patterns may provide a way station in our journey toward more complete understanding, it’s a very fruitless place to get stuck.   

Power in Walking, Power in Listening, Power in Quiet

My aging body performs better and heals faster if I walk a good bit every day. In recent weeks, some of my walks have had a dual purpose—maintaining fitness and also helping support the democratic institutions on which our government is built. Last Saturday, I was one of millions who took to the streets as part of “No Kings” protests throughout the U.S. The atmosphere at the event I attended was festive. It made the roughly 2 mile walk go quickly and lessened any tiredness on a fairly hot day. I was careful to stay hydrated. I enjoyed looking at hand-made signs that were a big part of the event. Though I wished some people’s protest signs, banners, and inflatable figures less closely mirrored the disdainful rhetoric we often hear from our current national executive, I could identify with some of their justifiable anger. Some of the younger generations in my family work in government. They have been repeatedly buffeted and challenged by the sometimes haphazard, sometimes vengeful demands, firings, and shutdowns that seem to be prominent tools of this administration. 

Earlier this month, I spent time alternately sitting silently in courtrooms and walking the halls of the U.S. federal courthouse nearest me, bearing mute witness to increasingly harsh, sometimes arbitrary processing and deportation of asylum seekers who show up for their asylum hearings. I have few illusions that either of my protest walks will influence policy in the short term. Still, putting my body where my convictions are in non-violent, non-threatening ways seems appropriate.

Because I arrived early for “No Kings,” I had time to meander among booths set up by various environmental and civic groups near the starting point of the march. I signed a petition or two. I noticed what especially galling aspects of government mismanagement or overreach were being most prominently disputed. One new-to-me civic proponent was one I almost missed. A single person staffed a small table with a tented sign, “The Listening Project.” I walked up to him and asked what he was doing. 

“I’m trying to provide an example of good listening. Listening is really important,” he told me. “Many of us are not very good listeners, but practicing good listening can become a habit, like brushing your teeth every day. If you think of listening as a muscle, it’s one that gets stronger with practice. “ 

Given this implicit permission, I proceeded to talk about how frustrated I felt at the current political stand-offs in our country. It sometimes has seemed to me, I explained, that all this talk of “polarization” tends to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. He neither agreed or disagreed explicitly, but did note that he’d had chances to listen to people from all along the political spectrum. Sometimes, he observed, listening to people whose opinions might be quite militant to begin with resulted in their softening their stances as they felt heard. Listening can be powerful, he reiterated.  

Most of us live in places and spaces that have gotten noisier over the years—airplane engines, traffic, sirens, leaf blowers, not to mention beeps and chirps from our electronics. It can be harder and harder even to hear each other, let alone listen. Too often, we compound the problem by ramping up our own noise output. So we need a third power, the power of quiet. 

In researching this essay, I ran an internet search on “rising ambient noise levels in the U.S.” I found a website for an annual event that I hadn’t known existed, “International Noise Awareness Day.” (Its 31st iteration will occur on April 29, 2026.) I clicked on a link to an interview with author Chris Berdik about his recently published Clamor. The author had submitted his book proposal before the pandemic, but wound up doing much of his research and writing during pandemic-related shutdowns. Alongside its tragedies, the pandemic measurably lowered ambient noise levels in the world’s noisiest places. Berdik argues forcefully that noise is one of the stressors we have not yet paid enough attention to, that hearing loss is only part of the damage caused by too much noise too often.  

To walk, to listen, to be quiet—three powers often overlooked. May we choose more often to walk together, to listen better to each other, and to find peace in quiet, both within and without.