The light bulb suddenly went on. Poof. Just like that I got
it. It all came clear when a long repressed, teenage memory returned.
I was 15 years old. I had a crush on the pastor’s daughter.
The school year ended. She was leaving to spend much of the summer with a
grandmother in Seattle. We promised each other we would write every week. And we
did for a while.
Actually, I kept writing long after she stopped. I couldn’t
understand why I didn’t hear from her. I wrote more often. “Why are you not
writing back,” I pleaded. Finally, a letter arrived. “Didn’t you get my letter
breaking up with you?”
Turned out Robert, my younger brother, mischievously
intercepted that letter and having read it was too embarrassed to pass it
along. I couldn’t understand what had changed between us until I learned I had
not gotten the “Dear John” letter.
Bingo. That’s why most Americans have such difficulty
understanding what happened to our country. We didn’t get the “Dear John”
letter, the one where forty percent of our countrymen told us they were breaking
up with what we all thought America stood for.
Someone intercepted the letter where many of our fellow
Americans tried to inform us that they had grown tired of old American values
like truth, decency, patriotism, honesty, and tolerance. They decided we were
taking them for granted. Their eyes began to wander. Before long, they were
titillated by a reality TV star who wooed them away with his glitzy lifestyle,
politically incorrect rhetoric, and alternative facts promising to protect them
from a future they feared if they stayed with us.
Here we were, happy as clams, thinking the vast majority of
Americans favored civil rights. The letter we didn’t get told us they were
flirting with white nationalists and neo-Nazis. They found themselves more in
love with the Confederate flag than with Old Glory.
We thought our relationship was cemented in a melting pot
only to learn they were more and more offended by anyone entering the
relationship who didn’t look like them, talk like them, or think like them.
For much of our time together, we all talked about how
important it was that everyone have the right to vote. Most of us worked
together to expand that right. Now we know we were being two-timed. Those who
jilted us decided the way to get their way, was to pass laws that made it
difficult for those who might not vote for the “right” candidates while
Gerrymandering congressional district to make them unfairly non-competitive.
Silly us. We believed our relationship as Americans included
a consensus about helping those in need. It seemed obvious to most of us that
those without healthcare, housing, or adequate income to feed their children
ought to receive a helping hand from those who could afford to help. As it
turned out, the greater the need, the more they resented helping.
It was especially hurtful to learn these things about the
surprisingly large numbers of fellow Christians who “signed” the Dear John
letter. We were foolish enough to believe that when they talked about the value
of life, they meant from the womb to the tomb. We’d have never guessed so many
of them believed respect for life began at conception but ended at birth.
Perhaps most shocking was to learn that our relationship
with one another was not built on a foundation of truth and honesty.
But the Dear John letter we didn’t see made clear that many
had decided truth and honesty no longer worked for them, that it made our
conversations too stilted, our relationship too confining. Conversations we
used to have about science, for example, became confrontational. It apparently
took too much energy to limit themselves to that which could be proven. It was
much easier to accept things that sounded like what they wanted to hear.
So, one day, the relationship ended. We just didn’t get the
Dear John letter.