"...hoping for the best but expecting the worst
are you going to drop the bomb or not?"
"forever young" alphaville
Spring, 1984; my senior year of high school. The Cold War raged as Reagan and company amped up the rhetoric and the arms race.
A nervous time. The US and the USSR, seemingly implacable enemies, capable of Mutually Assured Destruction. The Doomsday Clock closer to midnight than at any time since the 1950's.
One Saturday in April of that year, my dad and I attended a conference, held at a local college, on "the nuclear problem." At the time I believed in the power of representative democracy; I believed in the idea that if we the people yelled loud enough, our leaders would eventually follow, in spite of their natural, baser instincts.
That belief led me to that conference that spring day. I could have stayed home and watched the Saturday morning cartoons or ESPN or MTV, but I went to that conference instead. I wanted to raise my voice against what I saw as the insanity of the arms race.
The last session that day featured a panel discussion followed by a Q-and-A. I only remember one of the panelists; an Army major. A short, powerfully built man with narrow eyes set inside a large, round head. His role on the panel was to stick up for the Reagan mindset: build more bombs than they did, and faster than they did.
I sat next to my dad in the back of the room, a large lecture center. Perhaps three hundred people sat there with us, listening, and asking questions. As the discussion wound down, the moderator looked out into the crowd and asked if anyone had any more to add. I raised my hand.
"Yes. The young man in the back there."
Every set of eyes in the room looked back at me. I stood up. Someone handed me a microphone. I felt my heart pound. I felt sweat in my palms. But I spoke up.
"I have a question for the major."
"Yes, son." The major smiled at me.
"Well," I began, nervously, "I just want to know this. This is what doesn't make sense to me. We can destroy them several times over, and they can destroy us several times over. Why do we need more weapons? How many times do we need to destroy each other?"
A couple of people laughed, a couple of people chimed in with, yeah, why?
The major kept on smiling and looked right at me.
I don't remember exactly what he said. What I remember is his condescending tone, as he smiled at me. What I remember is how his tone, and his expression, conveyed his belief that my questions was hopelessly naive, stupid, even. Fucking stupid, you could say.
Somewhere in front of me, a man yelled at him, "answer the question!" Some people applauded. The major never stopped smiling, and never stopped looking at me, and never stopped talking. He droned on, explaining why we actually needed to beef up our nuclear arsenal for the safety of myself and all the young 'uns out there.
A few minutes later the panel disbanded, and we all drifted away to our cars. I felt proud of myself. I had stumped the major, I thought; everyone in the room, including the major himself, had to know the answers he gave me were complete and utter bullshit. I tied him up.
In the car, on the way home, I asked my dad what he thought of the day, of my confrontation with the major. He didn't reply.
"What do you think is gonna happen, Dad?" I asked him. "I mean, this is insanity, right? We can't go on like this forever, can we?"
My dad kept driving, staring straight ahead.
"I don't know. I don't know what's gonna happen."
&&&&
I thought of all this today, when I read about the President's Chief of Staff calling out some of those trying to exert pressure on legislators who do not believe in substantively reforming the hideous health care system that sits, like a bomb about to go off, atop the prospects of millions of American lives.
If the reports are to be believed, he referred to some of these pressure tactics as, and I quote, "fucking stupid."
I thought of him, and of that major, and of how Rahmbo probably looked at those in the room with him just as condescendingly as the major looked at me, and of how the certitude powered his voice as it shouted at those assembled kooks and loons, what with their naive belief in adequate healthcare coverage for all Americans, who just don't get how things get done around here.
Don't piss off the insurance lobby. Leave those poor Blue Dogs alone. You people don't really understand what's going on here; leave it to those of us who know better. Trust us; build more bombs for peace.
The lyrics change, but the tune remains the same, doesn't it?