One of my favorite quotes about communication comes from Lewis Carroll's "Through the Looking Glass." Humpty Dumpty is debating with Alice, and he says to her scornfully: "When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean-- neither more nor less." Alice is not convinced; she replies, "The question is whether you can make words mean so many different things." But Humpty Dumpty responds, "The question is which is to be master-- that's all."
The study of semantics-- how the meaning of words is created and how word meanings can change over time-- has always fascinated me; if you've ever read Shakespeare, there are so many words that meant something quite different in his day compared to what they mean now. And as anyone who speaks English knows, there are many words with multiple meanings, many words with regional meanings, and slang words are changing all the time. But when we look at political communication, we often see a different phenomenon: words being intentionally misused, in order to create a negative meaning when the word is applied to "them," or a positive meaning when it's applied to "us." Consider the word "feminism." I was disappointed, but not surprised when President Trump's adviser Kellyanne Conway said recently, "It’s difficult for me to call myself a feminist in a classic sense
because it seems to be very anti-male, and it certainly is very
pro-abortion, and I’m neither anti-male or pro-abortion... so, there’s an individual feminism, if you will, that you make
your own choices. … I look at myself as a product of my choices, not a
victim of my circumstances.”
I've heard those assertions before, often (but not always) from my conservative friends -- "I'm not a feminist because feminists hate men," or "feminists are professional victims," or "feminists are pro-abortion," or "feminists just want to blame men for everything." Needless to say, none of those assertions are true. For example, I know many women, myself among them, who have numerous male friends and colleagues; and our conversations about the so-called gender wars tend to focus on equal pay, or the lack of affordable daycare, or equal opportunity, not about how men are the enemy. (And by the way, feel free to ask my husband if I hate men-- our 30th wedding anniversary is coming up very soon.) And as for abortion, I don't know anyone who is "pro-abortion"-- that's not what "pro-choice" means. We can respect those who sincerely oppose abortion (and yes, even some feminists feel that terminating a pregnancy is against their religion). But the majority of us strongly believe it's the woman's decision, and the government, the clergy, and various advocacy groups should not be telling her what to do with her own body. And yet, no matter how we try to explain what feminism really says about various issues, it's the Kellyanne Conway definition that's widely believed on the right, where "feminists" are regularly mocked as immoral, man-hating shrews by conservative bloggers and conservative talk shows hosts.
Or consider the word "liberal"-- the philosophy of liberalism, according to the dictionary, refers to believing in progress, believing that human beings are basically good, and that each individual should have autonomy. It also entails taking a stand to protect political and civil liberties; and liberalism is a philosophy that considers government as one vehicle for improving people's lives and addressing issues like racial and social inequality. You can agree or disagree with that philosophy, or debate the role of government in solving problems; but there's nothing inherently evil about believing in liberalism-- except on most conservative talk shows, where "liberal" is a synonym for someone who is un-American and/or un-patriotic; someone who is probably an atheist; a person who "hates freedom" and who believes in a Nanny State; and worst of all, someone who insists on political correctness, and criticizes anyone who dares to speak in ways that liberals consider offensive. Again, much of this is false or exaggerated; but for conservatives, it's the absolute truth. Many liberals have gotten so tired of having the word "liberal" vilified and misrepresented that they often refer to themselves as "progressives." But it doesn't matter: by any name, conservatives continue to stereotype and criticize what liberals believe.
On the other hand, let's be fair: for liberals, the word "conservative" is just as problematic, and it's subject to just as many negative stereotypes. After all, liberals know that the folks on the right are rigid, judgmental, and moralistic; most are religious fanatics who want to impose their beliefs on everyone. Liberals also know that conservatives only care about big business and have no compassion for the poor. It doesn't matter if the dictionary says "conservative" refers to someone who respects and wants to conserve the country's best traditions and values; for many liberals, a conservative is someone stuck in the past, who wants to restore some mythical "good old days," and turn back the clock on the gains that women, minorities, and other marginalized groups have made.
As a professor of communication and media studies, and a former broadcaster, I genuinely don't understand why "feminist" or "liberal" or "conservative" should be used as insults. Who benefits from spreading myths about every person whose philosophy is different from our own? And how does this make our polarized country any less divided? But defining a word or phrase a certain way and then using it to demonize is all too common. I saw this with some of my students who (quietly) voted for Donald Trump-- the story that many on the left believed was that all Trump voters were bigots and haters-- and yes, some probably were. But others were not; they genuinely saw him as someone who could create jobs and improve the economy. Meanwhile, the students who voted for Mr. Trump didn't want to tell anyone, because they didn't want people to assume they must be racist or sexist or anti-immigrant.
In a culture with so many misunderstandings about "the other," that's one reason I've continued to blog: I want to keep creating a conversation about my perspective on the issues of the day, and I want to give others who believe differently a chance to talk with an actual person rather than holding on to some abstract stereotype. I don't expect to change any hearts and minds, but I do hope I can give people something to think about, and maybe even make a new friend or two. So, here I am, your basic center-left liberal, and a proud feminist too; someone who is eager to transcend the stereotypes and myths, eager to talk to anyone who wants to talk to me, and eager to use words in an honest and respectful way... neither more nor less. Believing as I do that communication is the most powerful thing we've got, a chance to keep the conversation going is a chance I feel I ought to take.
Tuesday, February 28, 2017
Sunday, February 12, 2017
The Things I Notice Now: Some Thoughts on Turning 70
I was born on a Friday morning, Valentine's Day (February 14), 1947. Obviously, I don't remember any of it, but from what I've been told, there was nothing unusual about my arrival into the world. Nor was there anything unusual about the news on the day I was born: a look at the front page of the Boston Globe shows stories about the beauty pageant winner at the Dartmouth Winter Carnival; there were financial problems at the Boston Elevated (the city's public transportation system); President Truman's mother was recovering from a hip fracture; and a member of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee was accusing the Soviet Union of failing to pay its war debts to the United States. I was the first child of Beatrice and Samuel Halper-- my father, like many of his era, had fought in World War II and when he came home, he and my mother were eager to start a family. I was thus part of the Baby Boom generation.
To say the least, it's been interesting living through these past six decades. Much has been written about all of the social change that occurred during that time, but suffice it to say that growing up in the 50s, I never expected I'd have the life I ended up having. In fact, I was frequently told I'd never have much of a life at all; people I knew said that I couldn't be successful because I was too different, not feminine, ugly, strange. I didn't like the things girls were supposed to like. I was told my chances of ever getting married were slim. (Note to those who told me that: my husband and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary in mid-March.)
I don't know why I was so different, and I am sure my parents worried about me: I remember them trying to get me to conform to the norms of the 50s, but more often than not, I just couldn't do it. Being traditional never came easy to me. On the other hand, we all develop survival skills, so I learned at a young age that if I could make people laugh or entertain them in some way, perhaps they wouldn't mock me as much. It's a strategy I used with varying degrees of success over the years. Perhaps that's what drew me to radio: when I was on the air, I could entertain people, but they wouldn't ever see me, so they could imagine I was attractive or sexy or whatever. And I hoped that if my listeners ever met me in person, they wouldn't be disappointed. I'm sure some of them were-- I'm much more confident when I'm performing for an audience than when I'm socializing. (That's still true for me even today. I can give a talk to several hundred people and not be nervous at all, but invite me to a party and I'm the person in the corner who barely says a word to anyone.)
But if you had asked me in the 1950s, I would never have expected I'd have the career I wanted, or meet some of the famous people I met, or discover a certain Canadian rock band, or get a PhD at age 64, or live to see new technologies that enabled me to be in contact with people all over the world instantaneously. On the other hand, I never expected to endure antisemitism or sexual harassment; I never thought I'd see the number of newspapers in Boston shrink till only two were left (growing up, my parents were avid newspaper readers, and they taught me to do the same... one of my earliest memories, in fact, is my father coming home from work, sitting in his favorite chair and reading the evening paper); and I never thought I'd lose my mother to cancer when she was only 71...
And here I am, turning 70. I had cancer two years ago, and although I've had other health issues too, thus far, all indications are that the cancer hasn't recurred. Perhaps I'll be lucky and live a few more years. There's so much I want to do, so much I want to accomplish, and it's hard for me to picture myself slowing down. I worry about remaining relevant in a changing world-- I mean, when I was growing up, a person who was 70 was considered "old." But I don't want to be thought of in that way. Yes, I've certainly aged and I can't deny that. But we Baby Boomers have redefined (and resisted) what it means to be old, and I hope I'll continue to be out there participating in this great adventure we call living.
And it truly has been an adventure: I mean, you are talking to someone who lived through all kinds of political turmoil over the decades, from the Cold War, to Vietnam, to Watergate; from Kennedy's assassination to Nixon's near-impeachment; from war protests to peace marches; from the era of segregation to the election of the first black president; from a time when women politicians were rarely taken seriously to a time when women politicians can be found serving as governors, senators, and attorneys general. And as I think about my 70th birthday, I find myself with very few regrets. Yes, there are things I could have done better, and things I said that came out wrong... but that's all part of being human. I did the best I could with the cards I was dealt, and I hope that in my years on this earth, I've made a positive impact.
I don't know how many more years I'll have, but I know how I want to live them: doing my part to honor the values my parents taught me; trying to live an ethical life; and when I get discouraged or frustrated, remembering that there are folks whose situations are a lot worse than mine. Growing up in the 1950s, I genuinely did not know what was ahead for me, but few people predicted I'd accomplish very much. I hope I proved them wrong, and I hope I ended up with more friends than enemies. I hope some people are glad they met me. (And those that aren't, I hope they won't trash me on social media-- after all, it's my birthday!) And I'm proud that despite the various obstacles and the ups and downs I encountered over the years, I never gave up, I never gave in (though at times I wanted to), and I kept on trying to move forward. And as I look back on my life thus far, it may seem like a cliché for me to say this, but it happens to be true: I have a lot to be grateful for.
To say the least, it's been interesting living through these past six decades. Much has been written about all of the social change that occurred during that time, but suffice it to say that growing up in the 50s, I never expected I'd have the life I ended up having. In fact, I was frequently told I'd never have much of a life at all; people I knew said that I couldn't be successful because I was too different, not feminine, ugly, strange. I didn't like the things girls were supposed to like. I was told my chances of ever getting married were slim. (Note to those who told me that: my husband and I will celebrate our 30th anniversary in mid-March.)
I don't know why I was so different, and I am sure my parents worried about me: I remember them trying to get me to conform to the norms of the 50s, but more often than not, I just couldn't do it. Being traditional never came easy to me. On the other hand, we all develop survival skills, so I learned at a young age that if I could make people laugh or entertain them in some way, perhaps they wouldn't mock me as much. It's a strategy I used with varying degrees of success over the years. Perhaps that's what drew me to radio: when I was on the air, I could entertain people, but they wouldn't ever see me, so they could imagine I was attractive or sexy or whatever. And I hoped that if my listeners ever met me in person, they wouldn't be disappointed. I'm sure some of them were-- I'm much more confident when I'm performing for an audience than when I'm socializing. (That's still true for me even today. I can give a talk to several hundred people and not be nervous at all, but invite me to a party and I'm the person in the corner who barely says a word to anyone.)
But if you had asked me in the 1950s, I would never have expected I'd have the career I wanted, or meet some of the famous people I met, or discover a certain Canadian rock band, or get a PhD at age 64, or live to see new technologies that enabled me to be in contact with people all over the world instantaneously. On the other hand, I never expected to endure antisemitism or sexual harassment; I never thought I'd see the number of newspapers in Boston shrink till only two were left (growing up, my parents were avid newspaper readers, and they taught me to do the same... one of my earliest memories, in fact, is my father coming home from work, sitting in his favorite chair and reading the evening paper); and I never thought I'd lose my mother to cancer when she was only 71...
And here I am, turning 70. I had cancer two years ago, and although I've had other health issues too, thus far, all indications are that the cancer hasn't recurred. Perhaps I'll be lucky and live a few more years. There's so much I want to do, so much I want to accomplish, and it's hard for me to picture myself slowing down. I worry about remaining relevant in a changing world-- I mean, when I was growing up, a person who was 70 was considered "old." But I don't want to be thought of in that way. Yes, I've certainly aged and I can't deny that. But we Baby Boomers have redefined (and resisted) what it means to be old, and I hope I'll continue to be out there participating in this great adventure we call living.
And it truly has been an adventure: I mean, you are talking to someone who lived through all kinds of political turmoil over the decades, from the Cold War, to Vietnam, to Watergate; from Kennedy's assassination to Nixon's near-impeachment; from war protests to peace marches; from the era of segregation to the election of the first black president; from a time when women politicians were rarely taken seriously to a time when women politicians can be found serving as governors, senators, and attorneys general. And as I think about my 70th birthday, I find myself with very few regrets. Yes, there are things I could have done better, and things I said that came out wrong... but that's all part of being human. I did the best I could with the cards I was dealt, and I hope that in my years on this earth, I've made a positive impact.
I don't know how many more years I'll have, but I know how I want to live them: doing my part to honor the values my parents taught me; trying to live an ethical life; and when I get discouraged or frustrated, remembering that there are folks whose situations are a lot worse than mine. Growing up in the 1950s, I genuinely did not know what was ahead for me, but few people predicted I'd accomplish very much. I hope I proved them wrong, and I hope I ended up with more friends than enemies. I hope some people are glad they met me. (And those that aren't, I hope they won't trash me on social media-- after all, it's my birthday!) And I'm proud that despite the various obstacles and the ups and downs I encountered over the years, I never gave up, I never gave in (though at times I wanted to), and I kept on trying to move forward. And as I look back on my life thus far, it may seem like a cliché for me to say this, but it happens to be true: I have a lot to be grateful for.
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