Cartoonists open windows into the soul of a society. One such artist, Walt Kelly, drew Pogo speaking to our species as to where much blame for new technology and new tools is found.

Today the Pogo meme challenges the common understanding of new and rapidly growing technology as dangerous, even evil. The enemy is not new technology, it is not smartphones, AI, or any number of other tools. The enemy is us.
The human race is fairly unique in its continual creation and usage of tools. Whether it was the first knife, hammer, fishing hook, etc., our species projected our abilities and expanded our growth through discovery, creation, and use of tools. But tools enter life without souls. There is no internal, driving energy moving a tool towards good or bad outcomes. And, borrowing a phrase from my son, the larger the bandwidth and resolution of new tools and technology, the greater the importance of developing cultural habits and structures to enhance good uses and limit bad uses.
When a new tool is developed, or as new technology comes into the marketplace, there is a (largely unmet) need to develop habits and culture for that technology. The urgency and importance of this need is proportional to the bandwidth and resolution of the technology. It is interesting to note the propensity for man, usually older, people today to project blame onto the technology. New tools and technology can create value, but they can also be monetized, exploited, and abused. Another proverb, sometimes attributed to Lincoln, notes that to “test a man’s character, give him power.” Perhaps tools and technology, when created by humanity, test our character.
Unfortunately, that is not what happens today. New technology becomes part of the “blame it or claim it” game. AI, Smartphones, or ?? is either “blamed” for every conceivable societal and personal ill or “claimed” as a mystical magical solution to said ills. There is scant talk on how to understand and humanize new technology. Indeed, this bad habit of “claiming or blaming” is accelerating and continues to obscure the challenge of projecting the better angels of human character into the tool / technology .
How does humanity’s soul express itself as it looks at new technology? Through the uses we put that technology to. Our species perceives both good and evil potential in how tools are used. It is our species’ soul that drives the usages of technology – whether the sudden discovery of what AI can do on is used to feed the world or accelerates an entirely new arms race.

We have met the enemy, and them is us!

America’s Magazine published an article about Life without Work. Click here to read. 

The industrial revolution brought major changes into world economies. Workers received wages for industrial labor, and industry became the major source of income for large percentages of the population.

Economic activity today is no longer creating large numbers of industrial jobs nor are industrial jobs a source of increasing income for wager earners in these industries. Indeed, there is something of a perfect storm developing: in the late 60s and early 70s, minorities and women entered the labor pool in much larger numbers; the opening of labor markets in the 80s and 90s (primarily India and China) added billions to the labor poor, resulting in the transfer of “middle class” jobs from higher to lower industrial wage markets, and technology is rapidly automating and eliminating many of even those jobs; indeed, automation is now impacting job in the service sectors as well. Industrial jobs as a means of producing income growth and stability to middle class workers is disappearing. In fact, according to Frey and Osborne, 47% of U.S. jobs are at high risk of being eliminated over the next two decades. Moreover, as the global labor force grows to an estimated 3.5 billion in 2030, accelerating automation will throw hundreds of millions out of work at a time when there already exists a 1.8 billion shortfall in formal jobs across the globe.

110 years ago today my grandmother was born in Union Springs, NY. She did not have an easy life. Her family was challenged by a number of issues: it appears her dad liked to drink, her mom suffered and died when she was three, and she spent some rather difficult years in an orphanage. Eventually she and her siblings moved out, and she met the man of her dreams, my grandfather. 

Neither of them went beyond 8th grade. Gramps was 26, “Non” (Grandma) was 17, and they were married on June 30, 1924. Family lore has her quite close to her in-laws, which is interesting to ponder. She for sure didn’t speak much German, and they did not speak much English. Yet as far as I can tell, Gramps’ mom taught her to cook, both of her in-laws lived with her in their dying years, in short, they were close.  

Somehow Non convinced Gramps to move away from the farm, certainly a major opus, as Gramps loved farming and the family homestead in Henrietta. They moved to Mt. Vernon Ave., into St. Boniface, the parish were many from Fulda, Germany (also the home town of her in-laws), had settled, and Gramps began working in construction. From the few surviving pictures from that time, they were very happy, Rochester was growing, and their future looked bright. 

It was about 11º F and there was snow on the ground on Tuesday, January 11, 1927, and Gramps left the house to work in Irondequoit. I  remember Gramps talking about that day. Apparently he was setting blasting caps, someone didn’t call a warning, and the blast was set off. What he didn’t share a lot about is how he and Non put their lives together afterwards.

My grandmother carefully built an elaborate ecosystem around first her husband and later her daughter to both ease daily life and surround them with as many people as possible that knew them as friends and members of a close-knit community. This is a bit hard to explain in today’s world…

The area surrounding Gregory Street, and achored by St. Boniface Church, was a working class nieghborhood orginally built by German immigrants but rapidly expanding to include Irish and other working class groups. It is hard to explain how tightly knit neighborhoods were back then. People lived in the same place for far longer than today. They knew each other very well (sometimes this caused problems), yet the sense of community and belonging is difficult to find today. 

Non found a home where her family was safe and comfortable, owned by people that she nurtured a careful friendship with for the rest of her lives, people we knew as Uncle Clem and Auntie Jo (Josephine), and there were significant family and friends within walking distance, including Gramps’ siblings (Aunt Fran and Aunt Rosie), lifelong friends from the area, store and shop owners, it was all within walking distance. 

My mother and grandfather were, in other words, “homies.” While the rest of the world saw a blind man and his (blind) daughter as handicapped, out of the norm, and somewhat stigmatized, around St. Boniface, they were known and accepted as a normal part of everyday life. Sighted people spoke to Gramps so he knew were they were and could recognize their voices. Neighbors, priests, nuns, local entrepreneurs, did not think of them as anything other than part of that neighborhood’s life. They belonged. This ecosystem, this community, was my grandmother’s magnum opus. She turned tragedy into something that worked, into something seen as natural, and she made it seem effortless, though as I grow older I strongly suspect it was not as effortless as it seemed. 

On March 8, 1965, Dylan released The Times They Are A-Changin.’ Indeed they were. The summer before that song, July of 1964, race riots changed Rochester forever, starting a process of white flight and urban decay that seriously wounded the neighborhood St. Boniface once anchored. The vets returning from Vietnam and, with them, the heroin and drug trade, added to the deterioration. On November 19, 1965, ten days after the Great Northeast Blackout, doctors told our grandmother she had cancer, and she left us on on November 9, 1966. 

Happy Birthday, Non, may you rest in peace, and may we never forget your magnum opus. 

Francis, in his writings and his talks, brings back an excitement lost to me since leaving the US in 1982. John Cassidy, in The New Yorker, captures some of this when he notes…

“Between the follower of Saint Francis of Assisi and the leadership of the G.O.P. lies a gulf that no politesse can disguise.”

My gut responds to that… and so many other of his quotes during his speech to the Congress. 

“Building a future of freedom requires love of the common good and coöperation in a spirit of subsidiarity and solidarity…”

“A delicate balance is required to combat violence perpetrated in the name of a religion, an ideology, or an economic system, while also safeguarding religious freedom, intellectual freedom, and individual freedoms…”

“We know that, in the attempt to be freed of the enemy without, we can be tempted to feed the enemy within. To imitate the hatred and violence of tyrants and murderers is the best way to take their place. That is something which you, as a people, reject.”

And he spoke of Thomas Merton and Dorthy Day. It is interesting to reflect a bit, as I was introduced to both by my parents. It was mom who first told me of Catholic Worker and the Seven Storey Mountain. I read them off and on while young, but did I really embrace them? I spent time at St. Joseph’s, worked the occasional kitchen, but to what extent did either of their writings really penetrate my soul? 

I read Merton and Day, but why do I feel now, listening to this Pope, that I missed something. Without a set of habits to reflect on what I read, did their thoughts impact me? Change me? 

Today was a cool summer day in Rochester… blue sky, sun, and a wonderful breeze from the lake that refreshened. It was a day spent with the next generation of nieces and nephews, a time to reflect as the Millennials continue to come of age! 

There is a time for giving thanks… and watching nieces and nephews find their way in life is indeed one such time. Traveling to Rochester to see them is really two trips: the physical travel and the deeper journey to see who they are becoming…

Several of you are now starting college, others starting jobs, others trying to sort through what you want to do in life. You are all indeed on a journey.  It is an interesting experience to watch this unfold. Their choice of who, what and how to pursue their dreams continues to surprise and, after some initial natural doubts and worries, delight. 

One of my favorite passages returned to me today…

The question of the play (Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet) is this: Which love is pre-eminent? Is it the love to which you are born — your family, your religion and your tradition — the love of one’s own? Or is it the acquired love, the one you have chosen because it pleases you as an individual?

Indeed, which love is pre-eminent? Many young today end up returning to “the love to which you are born” and not pursuing the love they chose because it pleases them. This can result in much frustration, even bitterness, as the tension builds between what is expected by those to whom we are born, family, friends, community, and one’s own soul, the love one chooses, whether a person, a career, a way of life. 

Children have limited options and tend to be taught “the love of one’s own.” As they become adults, the pre-eminence of “acquired love,” of choices made because it pleases oneself, creates the crucible that forms character and individual identity. Often their is much stress between the “love of one’s own” and the “chosen love.”

For the adults charged with forming the next generation, this is a hard time. These new “acquired loves” often create doubts, worries, and concerns. Uncles, aunts, parents, other adults instinctively prefer that our youth not leave the “love of one’s own” mode. But just as we had to make our decisions, our youth today have to choose who and what to love. I’m still learning and acquiring an appreciation for the passions and choices they are making and pursuing today. Watching this happen sometimes helps create a little self-reflection…

The love to which I was born, my family, the Church, Rochester, was left behind more than 30 years ago when I chose what pleased me: Ana, Puerto Rico, being an entrepreneur. I found myself moving from “the love of one’s own” to “the love one has chosen.” It is an important moment – moving from loving our parents, family, friends, community, to chosing who and what to love. 

I am happy to continue to learn about the Millennials’ choices. There is much to learn: who and what they will love, their ideals, passions, goals. The more I understand their choices, the more I hope to understand them. It is a humbling moment to begin to know nieces and nephews as fully adult individuals pursuing their own convictions, passions, choices.

Perhaps it is a quite human process… adults watching children mature into adults and make their individual choices, pursue what they love, follow their own passions, at the same time those adults have to become more concerned with the love of one’s own and the care and nurturing of the future.

So today as a new group of young contemplate who and what they will love, it seems a good time to remember the words of a giant of our tradition. St. Francis prayed…

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half truths, and superficial relationships, so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people, so that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.

May God bless you with tears to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection,starvation and war, so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and to turn their pain into joy.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in this world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done. 

Amen.

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I sit here trying to remember where I was that Sunday. Probably I saw the news at my grandparents house after Sunday Mass. It was a typical Rochester March Sunday. High temperature 37º, low was 35º. Some mist and rain around 1:00 pm. “Another grey, dreary day in Rochester.” But a historic day in Selma. One that began to impact my life. 

March of 1965 meant I was in Mrs. Greco’s 4th grade at St. Boniface. I was vaguely aware of Dr. King and his struggle to right the injustice done to Negroes. Seems funny having to write the word “Negro” today. As a 9 year old, I sensed finding the right word to describe people with darker skin was a problem area for adults, as I remember my grandparents referring to “colored people” and my parents preferring “Negroes.” There were also Indians, called Redskins, and most of my world, which just got lumped together as White. I remember thinking that the Indians (Native Americans) use of “Pale Faces” was more accurate. One thing for sure: it was a tricky subject, especially in front of adults, talking about the color of one’s skin. 

At the time, I believe my experience of “Negroes” was Billy Griffin, a classmate of Ed’s at St. Boniface. I was vaguely aware, in a 9 year old way, of lots of Negroes living the other side of the Clarissa St. bridge. For some reason they were in a separate world, and people treated them and spoke about them in ways that seemed not quite right to me. That was about the extent of my awareness. I’d heard adults outside my immediate family use racists terms, like “boy,” and I’m sure I’d heard the N-bomb, but that was about it. Anything else came from TV or the newspaper. Back then breakfast meant reading the daily Democart and Chronicle, and even though my first priority was the comics, I did do some reading of the headlines that were bound to bring some information about Civil Rights and Dr. King into my world.

While my experience of race was minimal, I knew a lot about how the world treated the handicapped. Specifically about how the sighted world treated blind people. Robert A. Scott’s “The Making of Blind Men” describes what I felt watching the way many treated my grandfather and mother. 

Blindness is a stigma, carrying with it a series of moral imputations about character and personality. The stereotypical beliefs I have discussed lead normal people to feel that the blind are different; the fact that blindness is a stigma leads them to regard blind men as their physical, psychological, moral, and emotional inferiors. Blindness is therefore a trait that discredits a man by spoiling both his identity and his respectability. 

When a person with a stigma encounters a normal person, barriers are created between them. These barriers, though symbolic, are often impenetrable. They produce a kind of “moving away,” much like the action of two magnetized particles of metal whose similar poles have been matched. These avoidance reactions are often induced by a fear that direct contact with a blind person may be contaminating, or that the stigmatized person somehow inflict physical or psychic damage. Such reactions and fears are completely emotional and irrational in character. 

Gradually, somewhere in my young soul, I saw that people with darker skin were treated the same way as blind people. As I got more information it became clear that their treatment was far worse. Normally the blind are not lynched, raped, beaten, etc. As I read the papers, watched Walter Cronkite, and moved out of a Catholic School into a public school, the same mechanism of watching one group of people, who considered themselves superior, project this stigma onto those they perceived as inferior, became clear. 

My gut never let go of that conviction, but I also had a small problem… the mirror. First of all, I could see (as in I was not blind), and secondly, what I saw was some seriously white skin. People I loved and cared for were, in biblical terms, oppressed, or in 20th century terms, falsely stigmatized, and yet when I looked in the mirror, I saw someone who visually sure looked like the oppressor. In a strange sort of transference, I really wanted to be a victim, one of the oppressed heroically fighting for good, and not the oppressor. Of course I was sighted and I was white. Made getting comfortable in my own skin something of a challenge. 

Returning to Scott’s comments, it is interesting to substitute “light skin” for normal and “dark skin” for blind. Here’s how it reads…

Dark skin is a stigma… When a person with dark skin encounters a person with light skin, barriers are created between them. These barriers, though symbolic, are often impenetrable. They produce a kind of “moving away,” much like the action of two magnetized particles of metal whose similar poles have been matched.

Fifty year after Selma we are still facing this dilemma. Science and formal education are making progress but as President Obama pointed out yesterday there’s still work to be done. It is easy to forget that many were actually “taught” racial superiority. Today further study of DNA, genetics, etc., make it clear that race has nothing to do with any physical, psychological, moral or emotional differences among people. In fact, all of our DNA goes back to 5,000 women in Africa. Race is no more significant than eye or hair color. 

But Selma also reminds me that prejudice is multi-dimenional, often subconscious, and far from eliminated. Back in the day the discussion was around “overt” vs. “covert” racism. Today this hidden dimension is often described as “moral licensing.” Wikepedia defines it as follows:

the subconscious phenomenon whereby increased confidence and security in one’s self-image or self-concept tends to make that individual worry less about the consequences of subsequent immoralbehavior and, therefore, more likely to make immoral choices and act immorally. 

Americans in general (and I honestly think almost everyone) want to feel that they are good people. Few hold today the traditional concept that we are all sinners or that fighting against sin is a 24/7 occupation. This means that today, rather than confronting immoral behavior in ourselves in a continual, disciplined way, there’s another option. If we do something that’s good, this can reinforce our positive self-image. This makes us less worried about immoral behavior because, after all, we’re “pretty good people.” Ironically, immoral choices are more likely in this scenario. A simple example follows

“I voted for Obama, showing I’m a good person and not a racist. But we’ve got to do something about those people who think they are entitled to Welfare, don’t have to work, etc. I’m not prejudiced, it’s just those people that look for entitlement rather than pulling themselves up by their bootstraps are gaming the system. I don’t like them. 

Look carefully here for a minute. There is a case to be made that many “entitlement” programs actually harm participants by structurally reinforcing dependence rather than interdependence. But that’s not what happens above. Rather, the “good” (voting for Obama) is used as a license to justify the stigmatizing of “those people” rather than the program itself. Moreover, that stigma, the “those people” is also about making the “speaker” feel superior. Unfortunately, moral licensing and the subsequent subconscious immorality seems to be “going viral.”   

Well, so here we are. Fifty years ago, as President Obama noted, there was “not a clash of armies, but a clash of wills; a contest to determine the meaning of America.” Rather than stigmatizing our society into superior and inferior races, people like John Lewis, Joseph Lowery, Hosea Williams, Amelia Boynton, Diane Nash, Ralph Abernathy, C.T. Vivian, Andrew Young, Fred Shuttlesworth, Dr. King, and so many more, acted to build a just America, a fair America, an inclusive America, a generous America. And me? Today, fifty years after a 9 year old might have seen Walter Cronkite talking about Selma on his grandmother’s black and white TV? What do I do about all of this today? What do I tell my son, nieces, nephews, the generation to come? Some thoughts…

1. Engage rather than stigmatize. Tear those walls down! Follow my mother’s instructions and use the other four senses to cross over barriers and get to know the unique person or people that life puts in our path. Call people out that stigmatize rather than engage. Skin color only matters if or when we allow it to; handicaps are handicaps only when we make them that. Religion gets it right: in every human being we can find the image of God. Sometimes that image is surprising, but always it’s sacred. 
2. Continued work to transform institutions, organizations, groups, etc., so that people’s potential is enabled by them, not stigmatized.
3. Laugh at what looks back from the mirror. It really is another image of God. Maybe God’s not that hung up on perfection after all 🙂