Join us Saturday, March 22 at 10 am for Tillamook County’s version of “Civic Saturdays” with Jim Heffernan hosting. The sermons explore new and better ways to be a citizen. They are aimed at developing “citizenship muscle. We will need “muscle” to bring power back to “We the People”, where it belongs. Each sermon functions as a stand-alone sermon. Don’t worry about missing earlier sessions.
This week’s sermon is Sermon 9. “Gratitude, Luck, and Risk” and is 20 minutes long. It will explore how the three topics should be viewed and how we should use them in our lives and in our citizenry. We can talk about the sermon afterwards, or not.
Zoom link below; Invite link for Saturday 10 AM
https://us06web.zoom.us/j/88905106346?pwd=TEaw5qfSN2X5UoxBHgZSF7UsqwMugD.1
Recordings are available for those who are unable to attend the zoom. Contact me at codger817@gmail.com and I’ll e-mail one to you. Recordings also available for earlier sessions.
Transcript for Sermon 8 “Fear and Hoarding”
FEAR AND HOARDING – Town Hall • Seattle, WA June 17, 2017
WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN – Democratic National Convention Chicago, IL – July 8, 1896
There are two ideas of government. There are those who believe that, if you will only legislate to make the well-to-do prosperous, their prosperity will leak through on those below. The Democratic idea, how ever, has been that if you legislate to make the masses prosperous, their prosperity will find its way up through every class which rests upon them….
Having behind us the producing masses of this nation and the world, supported by the commercial interests, the laboring interests, and the toilers everywhere, we will answer their demand for a gold standard by saying to them: You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns, you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.
RACHEL CARSON – From Silent Spring – Published 1962
We stand now where two roads diverge. But unlike the roads in Robert Frost’s familiar poem, they are not equally fair. The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy, a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster.
The other fork of the road-the one “less traveled by”-offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth.
This morning, we’re going to change things up. As those of you who have been to previous Civic Saturdays know, this is the part where I give a sermon. The sermon is a key part of our civic
analogue to church-perhaps the churchiest part. But we at Citizen University are always listening and creating and one of the things we sense is that in this age of participation that we are experiencing today, it’s not enough just to do straight old-school sermons.
So today we are experimenting with a modified sermon, in which I will share ideas in three chunks, and after each chunk we will pause to reflect on a common question. The three topics I’d like to explore today are fear, scarcity, and responsibility.
FEAR
I’ve mentioned at previous Civic Saturdays that in recent months I’ve come to be friends with Glenn Beck. Well, because I have been on book tour for much of the last twelve weeks, I had the chance recently to spend a day with Glenn in Dallas and went on his radio show and his television show.
As some of you know, Glenn has been making a very public pivot in recent months-not disavowing his positions on policy but taking responsibility for his role in making our political culture so toxic and for feeding the resentment and anxiety and raw hatred that helped elect Donald Trump. (Beck, to his credit, was never a Trump fan.) And as part of this responsibility-taking he’s been engaging in public and on-air conversations with people like me, with whom he disagrees deeply on policy.
Over the course of our time on air we did disagree sharply, on everything from the minimum wage and trickle-down economics to transgender bathrooms to the Affordable Care Act. But what we did first, particularly on his long-form television interview, was talk on a different frequency.
I had observed that so much of our politics today is driven by fear.
Trump voters voted their fear: of a globalizing economy that had stripped them of jobs and dignity, and of a demographic tide of young people of color and immigrants that is eroding the relative advantages of whiteness, straightness, and maleness. Of course, people who now resist Trump also are fueled by fear: fear of what he might do next to them-to us-or what he and his enablers in Congress are doing to our society and our planet.
And it’s not just partisan fear. The police officer who killed Philando Castile was acquitted yesterday because the institutions of our country have enshrined a self-justifying story of anti-black fear: if black men are presumed dangerous, then dealing with a black man is inherently risky and perhaps life-threatening, and therefore killing a black man preemptively must be justified. This is the strange loop of racist logic by which juries determine what is “reasonable” fear.
It is also a reminder of why it must still be said: Black Lives Matter.
I was speaking about all these currents of fear flowing through and distorting our politics and Glenn Beck responded with a very simple question: What are you afraid of?
At first I answered in a political-civic mode, saying I was afraid that we are Rome, that the republic is done and we are collapsing in a heap of corruption and corrosion. But then he pressed me, really, to say what I was afraid of.
Because he pressed me, and because we had already spent some time together, I gave him a deeper answer the second time around. I told him that my father had died suddenly when I was twenty-two, and that I have lived most of my adult life with a fear that none of this adds up; that life is random and cruel and purposeless. And this fear has been a motor force, driving me to make meaning and to make something that’ll outlive me.
As I said this, I saw Glenn’s eyes well up. And he then described to me his own personal fears, and the complicated relationship he’d had with his father and family growing up not far from where I live in Seattle, and how so much of his desire to have a voice and to be part of something greater than himself had emerged from those circumstances.
We went on to argue, as I said, about many issues of the day. I am aware that he still runs a media empire that relies for revenue on fear and alarmism coupled with ignorance. My encounter with Glenn Beck did not make him a saint in my eyes. It only made him human. From then on it was not possible to demonize him when we disagreed because we had already humanized each other.
I give him all the credit because he invited me into that space of humanization. He asked me what I’m scared of, and I realized he meant it and wasn’t setting up an ambush, and so I spoke from the heart. And now we are friends, not enemies, even if I am sure we will on many issues remain adversaries.
This is power. The power to set in motion a new normal. To turn the soil and weed the garden so that something better and healthier can grow in this plot. And now I’d like to ask you the same question Glenn asked me:
What are you afraid of?
I invite you to pause here and reflect on this question.
SCARCITY
One of the deep and often unspoken fears of our time, everywhere in the United States, is the fear of falling behind, and a sense that we are stuck in a zero-sum game where we must fight harder to get less. What’s become clear from my travels is that it’s not enough anymore to talk about how to boost opportunity. We also have to bust monopoly. And busting monopoly begins at home.
One of the positive developments of the last few years, at least com pared to the years prior, is that we now have a national narrative of the 1 percent and the 99 percent. We are now paying attention to the fact that as a society we are experiencing the inevitable consequences of forty years of grinding inequality and concentration of wealth and the spread of episodic poverty deep into what used to be the solid middle class.
So it’s good that today in our political lexicon we have the meme of the 1 percent and the 99 percent. But here’s the thing. That meme lets most of us off far too easily. That meme makes it seem like only the 1 percent are blameworthy and the rest of us are innocent.
I’ve recently been very taken with a new book by the British scholar Richard Reeves called Dream Hoarders. You may have seen a piece he wrote in the New York Times called “Stop Pretending You’re Not Rich.” And his message is for most of the people in this room today.
In the United States today if your total annual household income is greater than $116,000 you are in the top 20 percent. And what Reeves said in that piece and at greater length in his book is that we of the top quintile are the real problem. Yes, the richest 1 percent, who, after all, have reaped 9 5 percent of the gains of the recovery, are the most visible and identifiable perpetrators of hoarding and beneficiaries of game rigging. But we in the 20 percent-the educated upper-middle class are not innocent bystanders, much less victims. We too are perpetrators and hoarders.
Reeves lists an array of policies that have been put in place, some by government and some by the private sector, that enable the upper-middle class to hoard privilege and opportunity and to create what he calls a “glass floor” beneath us and our children. Here are a few examples:
- The home mortgage interest deduction, which gets more valuable the richer you are, and which fundamentally rewards those already privileged enough to be homeowners-which is getting painfully hard in Seattle-for being so privileged.
- College admissions preferences for the children of alumni, which are justified nakedly as a way to extract more giving from those alumni, reward the already privileged for being
- Exclusionary zoning that makes it harder for density and new forms of affordable housing to be created in neighborhoods designated for single-family homes.
- The so-called “velvet-rope” economy that is spreading like a rash through every sector but is perhaps most palpable in the airline and hospitality industries, where people with the means to fly enough and lodge enough rack up points-well, let’s call them what they are: privileges-to be able to move in comfort and with the little dignities that are denied to the
I can hear the objections now. I’m not rich! How dare you accuse me of hoarding-I am only doing what the law allows me to do, even encourages me to do. I know so many people who are so much more well-off than I am why aren’t you shaming them? And what about you, Eric? Aren’t you just as guilty?
Well, I am. But as I will say in the final chunk of this sermon, guilt isn’t the issue. Responsibility is. And here’s the thing. We live in a country where 38 percent of Americans say they could not pay for a $400 emergency without selling an asset or borrowing, and 14 percent could not pay at all; where 21 percent of children live in official poverty, which at $24,000 for a family of four is a shamefully low bar; and where you are less likely to advance from the bottom quintile to the top than you would be in England-a country that still has lords and an aristocracy!
We live in a country, moreover, where there aren’t bright lines between the poor and non poor but where 94 percent of those who earn between 100 and 150 percent of the official poverty line still fall into poverty for at least a month-and where this perpetual insecurity and the sense that work no longer pays is changing the psychology and the will to fight of so many of our fellow Americans. We live in a country where people like those of us here, the great majority of whom have everything we need even if we don’t yet have everything we might want, still remain stuck in a mentality of scarcity.
We are a long way from William Jennings Bryan and his loud warnings about plutocracy and being crucified on a cross of gold. But we are in danger of strangling ourselves silently with ropes of velvet.
Take inventory of your privilege, your capital, your wealth. I am not talking only about money and class. I am talking about white privilege, male privilege, heteronormative privilege, native-speaker privilege, college-educated privilege. I’m talking relationship capital, connections capital, reputation capital.
Be honest: we here today have so much.
And because we think we are products of a meritocracy in which hard work was justly rewarded by good schools and then good incomes, we feel not only the scarcity obsession and the fear of relative decline that unequal times generate generally, but also a very particular defensive ness and even righteousness about that scarcity mentality.
Here is the challenge that Reeves puts to me, and that we must now put to each other: to break this cycle. To lead by example. To do so not just in our individual and family choices, but in how we engage as citizens to change norms and rules and laws.
And that’s the order of operations, by the way: norms first. Our norms are the material of which our hopes and dreams and fears in civic life are made. For over a generation, the people of the United States have internalized norms that accept inequality as a given and are consumed with the anxiety of being cut out of the deal.
So I’d like to pause again now and consider: How and when are you affected by a scarcity mentality?
RESPONSIBILITY
If you aren’t actively unwinding the upper-middle class privilege matrix that Reeves laid out, then you are actively perpetuating it. There is no such thing as being a neutral unwitting beneficiary of privilege. Not in these times.
But you might want to ask a simple question now: Why? Why on earth should I willingly yield advantage and be the sucker who allows someone to take advantage of me?
I believe that the reason to take inventory and then responsibility is not to absolve oneself of guilt or to indulge in charity. The reason why we must face and deconstruct compounded power and privilege is so that the entire society does not come crashing down around us. This is not altruism. It is self-interest properly understood. When you take stock of what you have, and realize you are in the world of haves and not have-nots, you face a simple binary: shall I hoard or shall I circulate? Hoarding kills-first those who are denied resources, and eventually the hoarders themselves. Circulation saves, enabling us all to thrive. This is Frost’s fork in the road, reimagined by Rachel Carson.
This is the logic of how the United States after World War II didn’t say “America First” and didn’t tell Germany and Japan to go fund themselves and didn’t retreat into isolation-but how instead this country’s leaders decided to bind ourselves to international agreements and alliances that limited our maneuverability, that funded the reconstruction of our defeated enemies, and that created our own competition.
The logic was this: mutual aid makes both the giver and the recipient stronger and safer. We’re all better off when we’re all better off.
So what am I doing to circulate my privilege? Some things, and not enough. I’ve got to do more. I just spent many weeks on the road talking citizen power to audiences that frankly already have some. I need to spend many more weeks talking with and teaching people who don’t and who can’t buy my book. I’ve got to do more than bring my lessons of civic leadership to places like Yale. I need to spend time in prisons, with people who want to enter the circle of citizenship again, and among migrant workers, who want to enter it for the first time. I can’t accept as a given the whiteness and agedness of so many civic engagement organizations. I need to bring more folks in, more new blood, more of my country.
Which is why beyond the circle of personal actions, I advocate as a citizen engaged in public policy for what I call a monopoly-busting agenda. Higher taxes on the incomes of the wealthy and the upper-middle class. Taxing capital at the same rates as labor. A robust estate tax.
Baby bonds or a universal basic income to ensure that everyone starts life or career with a baseline of economic security. Flipping our upside down system of tax breaks so that they don’t disproportionately flow to the affluent. Making it easier for people to make a living wage, whether by boosting the minimum or cutting away licensure requirements that create occupational monopolies. An end to alumni preferences in admissions. A draft, for either military or civilian service.
You may or may not agree with the elements of such an agenda. Go make your own. You may or may not have been engaged in similar conversations about white privilege and how hard and complicated it will be to deconstruct the power structure that privileges whiteness and punishes various kinds of nonwhiteness. We are all at different stages of a journey of reckoning. But the reckoning is unavoidable.
So our final beat of reflection will center on this question: How can we take responsibility for making a more truly inclusive community?
CONCLUSION
It’s commencement season, and so let me close today in that spirit.
We are called here to commence. We are called to make a passage.
It is time for us in Seattle-this city that is becoming as unequal and technocratically self-satisfied as San Francisco-to grow up. To live like citizens. It is time for us in the United States-a nation whose elected leader is embarrassingly representative of our market-dominated, money-obsessed, soullessly self-dealing culture-to grow up.
And what does it mean for us, at this little moment of commencement, to grow up?
It means naming our fears and making it possible for others to name theirs-even those we claim not to like at all, those whom some in the United States proudly say they are ignorant of-so that we might learn to see each other and live together.
It means resisting the scarcity mindset and striving to become some thing bigger and more whole than a status-anxious petty hoarder.
Finally, it means taking responsibility for circulating power and tithing privilege at every fractal scale of our lives. It means having the wisdom to know that to yield some now is to advance more later. Together.
Let’s begin. We have a city and a country and a future to set right.