Regretfully, we've experienced a recent surge in political tensions resulting from wars and terrorist attacks. Following these events, it is inevitable that we hear unsolicited opinions, forceful demands, and passionate pleas from celebrities and others who have been given a public platform, even if they do not hold public office or have any stake in the outcomes.
Award shows are a prime example, and social media is a constant one. Everyone has an opinion on the war in Ukraine and the tragedy in Israel and Gaza. Good. Freedom of speech. In action.
My initial concern is less that someone has an opinion (we'll get to whether or not it is an informed one) and more about the format and forum in which they choose to express it.
Televised award shows for the entertainment industry (the Academy Awards, Emmy Awards, Grammy Awards, etc) are promotional events for films, television shows, actors, and musicians. They are designed and promoted in order to sell movie tickets, increase TV viewership and ad sales, and encourage people to buy music and go to concerts.
They are, in my opinion, not the place to make political statements. Why? Because people watch them to be entertained, not preached to. Furthermore, most of us are so incredibly uninformed about the subject we so confidently opine upon.
My feelings on this truth have crystalized after a lively, informative, and slightly disconcerting conversation that took place one afternoon here at the chateau. We had guests from nearby and abroad who were highly placed in society, but not constrained by any professional obligations, oaths of office, or loyalties to any particular government or political party. This left them free to share candid insights about details of past and current events without hesitation or filter. The effect was stunning and sobering.
I am being intentionally vague, and I will not repeat what I learned that afternoon about things that occurred in the last century...or things that are going on at present. Needless to say, I had it vividly presented and confirmed to me that the history we are taught in school is not everything that happened in the world. It is merely a version of what happened in the world.
Dates, locations, and personages involved in great historical events are a matter of record. Exactly what took place, why, how it was recorded--by the victors, as the old saying goes--is quite another matter.
There is also the issue of what was not noted in history books. (Think of Jack Nicholson growling, "You can't handle the truth," in the film A Few Good Men.)
In one free-wheeling, wine-lubricated, boisterous and enlightening afternoon, I learned a few important things that I did not know and could never have imagined about events and personalities that have shaped world history.
But the most important thing I learned is how little I know, and how little everyone else knows. I was reminded that people who do know important things are often very reluctant to discuss them: they have no need to impress. The information is often more of a constant burden than a source of pride. They may even be prohibited from discussing what they know as a part of their job: security clearances come to mind. Wishing to die of natural causes also comes to mind.
The informed and experienced are also prone to have nuanced, complicated, and measured perspectives on the participants and elements of their chosen field, especially if that field is government policy, international diplomacy, or military intelligence.
So I was lucky to get a shot of straight whiskey, as it were, from a few people who had privileged information and no skin in the game. They were relaxed but not reckless. They assessed that I could be trusted, my profession as a writer notwithstanding. No one's life was being put at risk, but I quickly understood that anything shared that afternoon would stay within the walls of the chateau.
I may come across as a little bit of an ass (or a big one) for being coy, but the bigger lesson is clear: none of us are as informed or as clever as we think we are. And the more often we remind ourselves of that, the better off we'll be.
I would not have learned as much as I did if I hadn't simply poured wine, asked a question, then sat back, shut up, and listened. I didn't offer up anything I knew as a way to match their stories, tit for tat. I didn't contradict. I didn't become indignant when I heard something bad about the United States.
I did listen for consistency and sniffed the air constantly for the smell of BS. There was little trace of the fertilizer. My guests talked mostly among themselves, sharing anecdotes, confirming facts, adding tidbits, and disagreeing here and there about details, laughing about absurdities, including me politely.
They shared freely in my presence because, for whatever reason, they felt safe around me, in the chateau, and with each other. Why around me? I have no idea, but people seem to sense they can trust me. Why the chateau? Well, let's just say it wasn't their first time in a drafty, historical residence. And why with each other? That's easy: they all shared the same background.
And the five bottles of wine didn't hurt.
In summary, we can all endeavor to listen twice as much as we talk. We can all endeavor to learn more about what we wish to master, understand, and expound upon. And we can all be humble enough--even at our most confident--to be certain that we don't know the whole story.
Not by a long shot.
So let's refrain from making pronouncements. Most likely, we only have one version of events.
No comments:
Post a Comment