Blue Notes from a Red Zone

What is Real?

When I was in college, the trendy thing for professors was to assign truly disturbing and horrific books to read as literature, on the theory that these books reflected "the real world." I had a hard time identifying with the reality presented in these works of fiction, since the world I actually lived in was not populated exclusively with prostitutes and brutish thugs. In fact, none of the thousands of people I came to know as editor of the campus paper were either whores or killers. I realized then and now that such people exist, and in some parts of society may be dominant. But those portions of society are no more real than the one I inhabit, and in fact represent a much less significant percentage of the population. Any attempt to state what I consider a fairly obvious point was dismissed as being indicative of my pathetic state of naivete.

Well, the more things change, etc. I've been trekking across Florida these past two weeks in my endless quest for better funding and higher quality services for persons in need, and frequently coming up against the accusation that I am hopelessly naive, which, if true, would be a pretty sad state of affairs for a person in her 50s. I am told that if I just got out into the real world, and viewed indigent persons with clear rather than rose-tinted glasses, I would recognize that any attempts to help them are doomed to failure.

On the way home, I got to thinking about how often over the past 35 years I have been told that only harsh, bitter, negative versions of society are realistic. The data that informs my senses is clearly flawed, because it is optimistic and hopeful. And I got pretty indignant about it. Because my reality is grounded in a lot more direct experience than that of the people who are so "down to earth," and thus, has a great deal more claim to being accurate.

By and large, the people who are quick to tell me that homeless persons are con artists trying to get another fix or drink are the same people whose only personal experience with the homeless is to move to the other side of the street if they see such an individual in the next block. I, on the other hand, spent much of my afternoon yesterday making beds with an elderly gentleman who was trying to get 24 rooms finished that day before leaving the hotel to find a bridge to sleep under. The forecast called for rain, and he wanted to find a dry spot before all the good ones were taken. He was initially distressed with my offer of help, because it wasn't seemly, but he was interesting, and smoothing sheets and changing pillow cases was the only way I could fairly take up his time in conversation.

In the same manner, those people who "know" women stay in abusive relationships because they are inherently flawed, have no idea how many women they know who are in such relationships, and who they wouldn't consider defective in any way. Domestic violence is a complex situation with a host of variables, and women stay for what are often quite logical reasons. Blaming the victim may take society off the hook, but it is not realistic.

Not a week goes by that I don't spend some part of my time with the more fragile members of our society. I resent being told that my wealth of experience makes me naive, but those people willing to believe the worst about anyone are sophisticated and grounded.

Of course, it would be naive to assume that all people in dysfunctional situations are mature, hard-working, well-motivated and intelligent. For one thing, the very nature of being homeless, or being a victim of incest, favors the development of pathology. But assuming that people in such situations get there voluntarily, because it's the easy way out, is cruel and just flat wrong.

I've come a long way in my life since the time I refused to finish "Gravity's Rainbow" because it was too perverted and unrealistic. I have met both prostitutes and brutish thugs, but am more convinced than ever that they are a small and not terribly representative face of society. People are fascinating because they can rarely be represented by stereotypes of either the rosy or the dark varieties. It's amazing how relatively few differences in human genetic material have created such an infinite variety of human thought and expression, but there it is. We all bring out own understanding and experience to our beliefs and opinions, and some of us are more successful at it than others.

Dick Cheney once scoffed at persons he considered outdated and out of fashion, those who are sadly wedded to the "reality-based" community. The true realist, he said, makes his own reality. Sadly for us, Mr. Cheney's reality is a dark and frightening place. Still, there is some truth in his observation that we do each make our own reality. Happily for me, and for people in want, reality sometimes comes with a glow.

posted by Lenore Wilson @ 10:10 PM