The Pathway to Becoming an Eternal Horror

If you've been following the news at all over the past months, you're well aware of the atrocities being perpetrated by ISIS in the Middle East, ranging from military assaults on civilian targets to the systematic execution of anyone who doesn't subscribe to their particular ideology. Front and center in a number of the videotaped beheadings of hostages is "Jihadi John", who has been identified as Kuwaiti-born Londoner named Mohammed Emwazi, educated in a fairly typical English school system and university before becoming radicalized into his current persona.

What was interesting was how little of Mohammed Emwazi's upbringing foreshadowed his foray into radical and murderous religious fanaticism. He grew with up with parents and siblings in West London after immigrating from Kuwait, and even his parents have expressed shock of what their son has become.

Some speculate that Mohammed's radicalization began during his perceived mistreatment by British authorities during a planned holiday to East Africa shortly after graduating from university, and that this led to a smoldering bitterness and distrust towards Westerners and desire to strike back at real or perceived injustices.

There's a theory called the Butterfly Effect, which posits that seemingly small changes in state in a period of time can have much broader and significant ramifications in the future, illustrated by the flapping of a butterfly's wings ultimately having profound impacts upon weather systems further down the road. Applying the Butterfly Effect to Mohammed Emwazi's evolution to Jihadi John, it's interesting to think that an overzealous British airport security staffer struck such a nerve in a 21-year old boy to the point that a confluence of emotions, rhetoric and paranoia yielded the man who gleefully beheads hostages on video.

To be clear, I'm not in any way casting blame upon the atrocities committed by Emwazi or another radical Islamist on Western prejudice, aggression or racism. What I am pointing out is that terrorists are not merely born, but they encounter things in the course of their lives - both good and bad - which mold their heart, minds and souls towards particular callings and principles. For Emwazi, his external stimuli (encounters, education and indoctrination) mixed with his own perceptions and predispositions led him to radical Islam. And it's entirely conceivable that there were those (both Muslim and non-Muslim) who, through word and deed, didn't dissuade him from the perception that Westerners hated Muslims and radical Islam was a necessary response.

C.S. Lewis once said, "There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations - these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit - immortal horrors or everlasting splendors." I've always read that as an encouragement to take seriously every interaction I have with someone, recognizing that because of the Butterfly Effect, my words and actions can have downstream effects on that person's life and impact upon others. Can my words and action motivate or somehow encourage one to live an upstanding and righteous life? Or will my encounter leave another angry, bitter or darkened to respond to this world with strife or harm?

Fear of Falling

A few weeks ago, the family decided to trek out to New Mexico for Spring Break. It was a welcome break for me, in the light of heaps of craziness at work and our usual share of frenzied activity at home. The trip's highlights included sightseeing in Santa Fe, skiing in Taos and exploring Carlsbad Caverns, a magnificent experience of natural beauty. As much as I enjoyed those stops, I may have found the greatest joy in family conversations and laughter during the long drive across West Texas and making and sharing Texas-shaped waffles at the Fairfield Inn. It might be cheesy but true, the best part of my vacation was simply being with my family.

Skiing was interesting. It was the first time for every member of the family and predictably, the kids were far faster learners than the adults. As I had been warmed, my wife and I didn't enjoy ourselves much the first day (though some of that could be attributed to the oxygen deprivation at the higher altitude, leading to a wicked migraine my first night). By the second day, we were maneuvering passably well on the beginner's slope, not without an occasional fall or two. What I did conclude was that skiing really isn't that hard - it's stopping that's hard. Or put another way, it's pretty easy to glide fast down the side of a mountain. Trying to to traverse and make wide turns to slow momentum - that's tough to do.

As I watched my son glide down steep hills with verve and ease, I couldn't help but consider the broader lesson being revealed. Everyone had accurately predicted that our kids were going to pick up skiing faster than we would. The conventional wisdom on why kids pick it up faster is not simply because of their reduced weight and lower center of gravity. What primarily makes kids better skiers is their lack of fear. Instead of the instinct which causes one (namely, me) to over-rotate a turn in a panicked and desperate attempt to slow myself down before I break the sound barrier, my kids will simply turn without missing a beat. Yes, the mass and center of gravity thing give my kids an advantage and perhaps that helps mitigate any fear they might have.

So it is in life. There is a weight in my decisions which can paralyze and create mountains of anxiety. When I make decisions, I am prone to considering the downstream implications. What will this do to my career? How will this impact my wife? How will this impact my children? What if this decision is completely wrong? What sort of contingencies can I make in case plans go awry? By then, it's entirely possible that I've psyched myself out of a rational and confident decision because of a fear of making the wrong decision. In many ways, it's fear, not lack of ability, which causes failure.

Here's where I would do well to emulate my kids and their skiing approach. Without fear they see the turn and make the turn. They react without fear, not over-analyzing or being paralyzed by hypothetical scenarios. And while it's true that they can do so because they have so little to lose (and will softly fall), it's worth me remembering that faith, not fear, is what will most enable me to get down that slope in one piece.

Dealing With Death

A few weeks ago for my son's birthday, my wife and I deliberated on the right gift. Our son Daniel's first choice was an electric scooter, but the thought of him being goaded into stupid risks by neighborhood chums was frightening enough for us to veto that. As a second choice, he asked us if we would consider buying him a pet, specifically a more "cuddly" and interactive one after short stints with a fiddler crab and a minnow. I didn't receive the suggestion with much enthusiasm. My daughters and I deal with varying degrees of allergies to pet dander, but after some cajoling, our family made its way to the local PetSmart to consider our options.

At the store, Daniel asked about a parakeet, but the store employee warned us that birds typically were a bad choice for allergy sufferers, as the molting of the feathers created a great deal of dander. We then asked Daniel to consider a reptile in consideration for our allergies. We found out that the turtles were massive (apparently the small red slider turtles I had once procured from Chinatown many years ago were illegal) and required weekly full aquarium cleanings (scratch turtle of the list). The tortoise was priced at $90 (nope, not going to do that).

So despite my concerns about allergies, we eventually converged on the choice to buy a hamster, specifically a Chinese dwarf hamster. I reasoned that I could mitigate the allergy problems with a HEPA filter and frankly, I had owned a hamster as a child and managed through it okay.

So our son excitedly got his hamster and thoroughly enjoyed his pet, affectionately named "Winnie". Daniel and his sisters would have their eyes glued to every movement of the creature, tracking it as it scurried around its cage, drank from its water bottle and ran in its wheel. But only ten days later, things came to a tragic end.

I was at work when I got a text from my wife.

"Sad news," it read. I stopped typing on my laptop at work, picked my iPhone and waited with bated breath.

"Winnie passed away. Daniel is inconsolable."

I picked up my office phone and called home, first to talk to my wife and then to Daniel. I had only a few minutes to share my sympathies with my son before having to run to a meeting.

Later that evening, my son was still saddened by his loss, but I wouldn't categorize him as devastated or despondent. They managed to wait for me to, uh, perform funeral duties Winnie, so I figured it would be helpful for Daniel to join me. Together, we put Winnie's body into a paper towel and created a makeshift shroud, secured by masking tape. We trudged out to our backyard into the rain with a shovel and together dug a small hole at the base of a tree. Daniel placed Winnie into the hole and we filled it back up.

I looked at my son. "Daniel, do you want to say a few words? Maybe a little prayer? Maybe you can thank God for the brief time you had together."

Daniel paused and folded his hands and prayed pretty much verbatim what I had suggested, and we walked back in the house.

That evening, we talked briefly about death, and while I didn't want to force the conversation, I did want to take this opportunity to understand some of his thoughts. I think he was still very much processing losing his pet, and for better or for worse, the brevity of time he had with Winnie might have taken some of the sting away. I did remind him that death was something which we're always going to experience around us, and ultimately to us. I also told him that death is a hard reminder to be grateful not just for the time we have with friends and family (in particular, our grandparents and older relatives), but for each day that we ourselves get to experience life.

I was probably preaching that to myself, as well.

The Rights and Responsibilities of Expression

Just before the Christmas holiday, there was a lot of buzz around a cyberattack on Sony Studios in retaliation for their film, "The Interview", a comedy which depicts a plot to assassinate North Korean leader Kim Jong Un. In a nutshell, the cyberattack (purportedly from North Korean-affiliated hackers) was initially comprised of the leaking of proprietary material, including personal data and e-mail correspondence casting both studio executives and Hollywood celebrities in bad light, before it escalated to ominous threats hinting at 9/11-type attacks. Nervous movie theater chains opted not to show the movie, which led to an uproar from an odd alliance of progressives and conservatives who were furious that freedom of expression was being threatened through intimidation. 

I also found it offensive that a rogue country could successfully strong arm the most powerful free democracy in the world to force its citizenry to not watch a movie. My reasoning was pretty straightforward: I may have no desire to see "The Interview", but Kim Jong Un has absolutely no right to make that decision for me. 

Over a holiday meal with my extended family, I appreciated hearing a slightly nuanced take on the topic from my brother, who thought it was in poor taste and offensive to depict the assassination of any sitting world leader, even one as fascist and deplorable as Kim Jong Un. My perspective was that while it might be deeply offensive, it didn't warrant censorship and certainly not threatened or actual crime against person or property. I cited that while I was a student of the University of Pennsylvania, Andres Serano's "Piss Christ" exhibit (depicting a small plastic crucifix submerged in a glass of the artist's urine) came to town and there was enormous pressure that this had no place in a civilized society. As a Christian, I found it offensive, but realized that as long as we want to live in a world which I could share my ideas and even my faith, to prevent the expression of something deemed offensive to me personally was a dangerous slippery slope.

Fast forward to last week, where the stakes around freedom and expression and outrage manifesting itself in violence jumped to a horrifying level, when two radicalized Islamist terrorists killed 12 in an attack aimed at the satirical French magazine Charlie Hebdo, which in addition to its equal-opportunity impertinent attacks on politicians, religions and celebrities of all walks of life, on numerous occasions mocked the most sacred of figures in Islam, the Prophet Mohammed. Some of these depictions included Mohammed with the body and a dog, or Mohammed wearing a bomb-shaped turban, both highly blasphemous and offensive to those adherents to this religious faith.

So while I reiterate my condemnation and rejection of any violence of people or property in response to being offended in the course of freedom of expression, I wonder if we can appreciate the complexities and nuances in a society which also values diversity and goodwill.

In the midst of the outrage and outpouring of support by stating "Je Suis Charlie" ("I am Charlie"), are we standing for free expression without any regard for the deep offense and marginalization for Muslims who found the depictions hurtful? Or put another way, if a black man had in a rage killed Ku Klux Klan Wizard James Earl Ray for lighting cross on fire in his own front lawn, would we all march with signs saying "I am James" in honor of him being a martyr for his freedom of expression? I somehow doubt it.

Do those who think that Muslims should "lighten up" or "not take such offense" at bawdy descriptions of their most sacred figure similarly think that the Westboro Church chanting "God hates fags" at military funerals are also harmless in their freedom of expression? Are we consistent in the defense of freedom of expression when we are most offended?

I also wonder if in our embrace of freedom of expression, we've lost the responsibility which comes along with it. Do we speak provocatively because we think we can make positive change through our words, or do we do so simply to provoke? Or simply because we want to prove that we have the right to speak provocatively? Sadly, we've seemed to have lost the ability to have spirited, yet respectful, discourse on the topics which divide us. By all means, have the conversations and speak boldly and forcefully, but let's try to have a point besides offending people we don't happen to regard.

I came across the following on the ACLU website, and while I'd say that I may not see eye-to-eye on everything that they do or stand for, I deeply appreciate their consistency of principles, some of which has been placed in this memo regarding "hate speech on campus", which I think can be applied more broadly to society:

Speech that deeply offends our morality or is hostile to our way of life warrants the same constitutional protection as other speech because the right of free speech is indivisible: When one of us is denied this right, all of us are denied. Since its founding in 1920, the ACLU has fought for the free expression of all ideas, popular or unpopular. That's the constitutional mandate... 

Defending First Amendment rights for the enemies of civil liberties and civil rights means defending it for you and me... 

ACLU Executive Director Ira Glasser stated, in a speech at the City College of New York: "There is no clash between the constitutional right of free speech and equality. Both are crucial to society. Universities ought to stop restricting speech and start teaching." 

Let's all keep talking. Let's all keep listening. And let's be consistent in how we value the rights and responsibilities of our freedom of expression.

Race, Injustice and Indignation

A few weeks ago, race relations in the country pretty much burst into flames in the aftermath of the non-indictments of officers who were involved in incidents leading to the deaths of two unarmed black men. While there are common themes in the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner, I tend to believe that the cases need to be considered separately given the different specific circumstances of the two incidents. Without getting into much detail here, my understanding based upon what I've read and heard is that while in both cases there was an element of resisting arrest, Michael Brown's death followed a physical struggle in which the police officer had reason to believe he was going to be disarmed, with the possibility of having his weapon used against him. Eric Garner was killed when a police officer, without any clear and dangerous threat to himself or others, employed a chokehold barred by the regulations of his own department and suffocated a man who plead for help in his dying breaths, crying to anyone that would listen that he couldn't breathe. I'm certain that while some share my view, others will strongly disagree. Some believe that both police actions were warranted, and still others believe that both police actions were clear cases of state-sponsored murder, if not manslaughter. I can respect either contrary perspective, given one's interpretation of what was read and heard.

What has given me the most pause in the midst of these tragedies is the outpouring of emotion, and I find myself wondering where this will all lead. As I look through social media, I see pockets of anger and indignation. On the news, I see "die-in's" and rallies of people screaming "Hands up, don't shoot!" and "I can't breathe!". I can see the benefits of civil disobedience as a means of telling the country, the world and the government that the status quo is unacceptable, but at the same time, I lament that the only ones who are engaged or tuning in are those who agree with the cause. Or put another way, they're largely preaching to the converted. The people who are disengaged are sick and tired of "people playing the race card" or and/or has moved on to Christmas shopping or sharing photos of their kids and pets on Facebook. Why? Maybe they don't know what to say. Or it could be because it doesn't affect them or their immediate sphere so it's not an issue.

So I wonder to myself what that balance is between graciously and patiently educating and expressing anger at the apparent apathy of others, and what really will make a difference in this world which is really broken. Having a diversity of friends and connections on social media, I see a whole segment of my friends who are angry and actively participating in the rallies. They are the same people are aren't shy about liking and sharing more articles around the poor state of race relations and the dangers of over-militarized and aggressive policing. There are also friends who I love and respect, almost all of whom are white, who don't have anything to say at all or have simplified the equation into "if you don't resist the police, you won't get hurt".

I've been fortunate to be involved with a lot of diversity and inclusion programs at the corporate level, and in one recent event focused on gender equity, we spoke about "white man's privilege" and the tacit benefits that white males subconsciously receive from society which are withheld from others. In an activity where people were able submit their honest thoughts anonymously on an index card, one of my colleagues wrote the following: "I resent this program trying to make me feel guilty about being a white man." I appreciated the honesty in the sentiment.

So to answer my own query around the balance between being angry or patient educating, I offer this appeal. If you're a person of racial privilege who doesn't think it exists or matters, please try to recognize it. You don't have to feel guilty about it, but at least recognize that it exists. Perhaps that evolves into sympathy towards those who don't have it, and acknowledge the implications for those people. Maybe you get to know someone or a family who doesn't look like you, go out for lunch or invite them into your home. Perhaps that will evolve into a desire to recognize that the status quo isn't all that good. And maybe that'll evolve into a desire to raise your voice to change that status quo.

But there's another appeal. For friends who are angry just not at racial injustice, but the people who you think seem to minimize the problems rooted in race who you deem as "part of the problem", I ask for your grace and patience. Please be patient with me, because I know I don't totally get it. But I know firsthand that demonizing individuals who don't share the same perspective as you isn't terribly effective. Ironically, you have the "benefit" of a perspective which others don't have. Listen patiently to opposing points of view and respect and thank them for their candor, even if you disagree.

To that point, maybe you can reach out to a law enforcement officer to hear his or her perspective on the recent events. And be open to having your own viewpoints evolve. You may emerge with a new found appreciation for the work for the many in the field who work with integrity and courage. Perhaps you'll sympathize with how the actions of some have led to a condemnation of an entire population and their culture (it's interesting how we all succumb to this). In doing so, you may be amazed at how willing they are to hear your perspective.

A lot of people, including myself, can get frustrated and impatient when the answer to these societal issues is more "dialogue". But the truth of the matter is, I'd love to see more dialogue and less rhetoric. At least that's a step closer to progress.

Finding Our Heroes in the Right Places

It's dangerous to have heroes.

In the eulogy that Nike Chairman Phil Knight delivered at Joe Paterno's funeral in the shadow of the Penn State sexual abuse scandal, Knight spoke eloquently about Paterno - notwithstanding the cloud surrounding his dismissal and firing - had been his hero for some time and was still his hero. Here's an excerpt from that eulogy:

I am a man who has always needed heroes. It started when I was a boy and I never outgrew it. It has, I'm sure, something to do with how I decided to make my living. A decade and a half ago an Esquire magazine reporter asked the question, "Who is your hero?" My answer was simple: my college track coach and partner, Bill Bowerman. He had won four national championships, coached more sub four minute milers than anyone when he retired. He insisted he was not a track coach. He was a professor of competitive response. One year at the University of Oregon, the only group that had a higher grade point average than the track team was a fraternity. He said do right and fear no man. When he died on Christmas Eve in 1999, I asked myself, "What do I do for a hero now?" Two months later on the Nike trip, the answer showed itself across the table wearing a thick set of eyeglasses. I said, "I'm not asking your permission, I'm just telling you, I need someone to look up to. You're my new hero." 

Why do people need heroes? I completely understand that there's value in having someone in the flesh to emulate, someone who personifies all of the virtues which you aspire to. It's one thing to say, be generous, kid and good, but what always seems to be most difficult is assessing what that actually looks like. Heroes serve to be those walking and talking of examples of those virtues, taking all of the guesswork out of what it means to have good character.

Interestingly, television has been one of the great tools of the trade when it comes to harvesting heroes. Gen-Xers like myself were jaded and cynical enough to eliminate traditional candidates (public officials, politicians, athletes) for hero-designation. Instead, we found comfort in two-dimensional television archetypes to be our role models. In some ways, that made sense because it gave a nod at the fallibility of every human being, and that only on television could someone be blameless. For that challenging endeavor of being a good father, we tapped into characters such as Steven Keaton, Jason Seaver and on classic re-runs, Mike Brady. But nobody was held as the quintessential "good dad" as much as Cliff Huxtable from "The Cosby Show".

Here's the funny thing - people began to see Bill Cosby as being interchangeable with Cliff Huxtable. In some ways, Cosby was responsible for that. For example, the show wasn't "The Huxtables", so Cosby himself seemed to welcome the melding of his on-screen persona with himself. In the same way, Cosby often toured as a one-man show, and would regale audiences with observational comedy around life and fatherhood, very much in the same way that Cliff Huxtable did on the television show. And all of his schtick was wholesome and American as apple pie. People of all ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds were thrilled that in a society and world which increasingly saw the breakdown of the family, Bill, er, Cliff was still there demonstrating good parenthood with a slide of humor.

Flash forward to present day. and allegations of sexual abuse are flying around Bill Cosby's misdeeds. What's been interesting to me is to see the diversity of reactions to the charges. Some are outraged, furious that in this season of renewed awareness of the horrors of sexual abuse that another man was caught behaving badly. Others are shocked that someone who had otherwise been such a positive role model could have made such a terrible series of a mistake. Some are skeptical, wondering aloud why these allegations surfaced suddenly in a wave after being dormant so long. For many, it's a combination of the above emotions. For many, the overwhelming feeling is one of sadness, recognizing that someone just isn't who we thought or wished they were.

Going back to my original point, having heroes can be dangerous. If having heroes means that we leave no room for moral failure, we're inevitably going to encounter a harsh lesson in reality. If having heroes means that their moral failure has the power to make one question the fundamental goodness of mankind, then we're opening the doors to waves of cynicism. There isn't anyone, outside of God Himself, who can or should bear that level of moral scrutiny.

Or maybe we need to redefine what heroes are. Maybe the better approach towards heroes is recognizing that we're all broken people, with some of us muddling through, barely held together with scotch tape better than others. Every human being has opportunities each day to do something worthy of a being a hero. I believe that acts of heroism occur each day by people in our homes, our neighborhoods, our work and our schools. At least for me, those are the heroes that I find most inspiring and impactful.

Greed, the Anti-Thanks

In this season of Thanksgiving, it's important to take stock of all that we have and to give thanks to God. Over the past couple of nights, my wife and I have been more deliberate around encouraging ourselves and our children to share about everyday graces and gifts. As we pray at night, we remind ourselves of the many things that we are thankful for: our family, our health, our home, our food, our friends, my job, our finances, etc.

During dinner a couple of night ago, my wife shared with me an interesting tidbit from a book that she was reading regarding Adam and Eve and how their act of eating forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil was not only an act of cosmic mutiny against God and an act of distrust of God's goodness and character - it was an act of profound ungratefulness. It really was the first act of anti-thanksgiving.

The Garden of Eden was a paradise flush with anything and everything that Adam and Even could have wanted, and instead of gratefulness and joy, their hearts wandered to the one thing that God told them to stay away from. Or put another way, instead of being immensely grateful, they just wanted more.

That's the interesting rub for me. The opposite of thankfulness isn't (just) ungratefulness. The opposite of thankfulness is greed. The heart's condition sways away from thankfulness and contentment when ignores the harvest which is in hand and looks covetously at what's in the distance. My heart is not and cannot be thankful when it obsesses about more job security, more money, bigger houses, newer cars, more friends and greater stature. And the truth is, many of the things we wish for aren't bad, it's just that we've lost the spirit of gracious contentedness. We have lost the ability to say, ""God, as much as I think I'd like more, I will give thanks for what I have and trust You to give me exactly what I need.

So if the goal is to be thankful, a good place to start is to stop obsessing over more.