Newspaper likes Laurel more than me

Yes, yesterday the Salem Statesman-Journal published a letter to the editor from Laurel about land use issues, putting it smack dab in the middle of the main Opinion page, so the signature “Laurel Hines” leapt out at you. By contrast, ten days ago my own letter about gay marriage was relegated to the bottom of the second Opinion page. Oh, well. I get to use this weblog to trumpet my own horn, so it is fair that the newspaper gave a more prominent position to Laurel.

All this recent letter-writing got me to thinking about how we’ve become more active activists, a.k.a. rabble-rousers, over the past few years. Instead of sitting around quietly incensed about a problem, now we often actually try to do something about it. Don’t know why. Maybe becoming middle-aged is making us realize that we don’t have a lot of time left to make a difference.

On the whole, we’re happy being gadflies. But when you buzz around, reminding people about problems that they would just as soon ignore or sweep under the rug, you have to expect that you will get swatted at. Those who yell, “the emperor has no clothes!,” shouldn’t expect an embossed invitation to dine at the royal court. But we’d rather eat dry bread with Plato than cake with sycophants: Plato said, “But a man is not to be reverenced more than the truth, and therefore I will speak out.”

Truth. What a great word. So hard to define, so easy to recognize. In our activist world, it seems transparently true that killing coyotes doesn’t effectively solve supposed coyote problems, that over-development threatens groundwater, that “sustainability” means much more than purely technical environmental fixes. Indeed, we really don’t hear cogent arguments from our neighbors in Spring Lake Estates, or Marion County Planning Commission members, or investors in Sustainable Fairview Associates, who disagree with us on these issues.

Instead, they are more disturbed that we’re speaking out and creating waves, upsetting the tidy calm pool of everything-is-fine-just-as-I-think-it-is in which they currently are floating. Activists like us stir up the pot. We believe that’s a good thing. It keeps life fresher, preventing intellectual and ethical spoilage from setting in. So it surprises us when someone returns a letter unopened, fails to respond to an email message or phone call, or replies to a question at a meeting with stony silence.

Silence, of course, speaks loudly. It is the refuge of those who don’t want to face the truth of what they are being told. But those who rely on such defenses end up imprisoned behind barriers of their own making. Stony silence is a lifeless tomb. So long as we are alive, why not interact in a lively fashion with our fellow humans?—both those who agree with us and, even more importantly, those who do not. I’m reminded of this anecdote.

I used to work with Ralph Crawshaw, a Portland psychiatrist and member of the National Academy of Sciences. Ralph was (I hope “is,” but I haven’t seen him in years) an amazing guy—a true visionary and social change agent.

One day I took a woman to meet Ralph. She had recently moved to Oregon from New York City, and was active in health policy affairs, like Ralph and I were. We went into his office and they began by exchanging pleasantries, noting that they had a common love of New York. Then, almost immediately, they got into a heated discussion about various health care topics. I watched from my chair with increasing alarm, wondering what the heck I had done, getting Ralph and this woman together.

They called each other names. They insulted each other’s knowledge of the health system. They interrupted each other and tried to talk over each other. This nightmare of an argument went on for about half an hour. Then they wound down, and settled back into their seats. “Thank you,” Ralph said. “That was a great conversation. I haven’t had a talk like that since I left New York city. People in Oregon don’t know how to talk with each other.” The woman smiled. She had enjoyed herself too.

It’s true. We Oregonians tend to avoid frank conversations. We talk around problems, rather than facing them head on. There’s a lot not to like about New York, but we could benefit a lot by embracing how New Yorkers talk.