Ghosts of Christmas Past

Winter Light

I used to have a Christmas ritual, one that I adhered to with nearly religious passion.  Each year, a few days before the house filled up with relatives and friends on Christmas eve and Christmas day, I’d watch Christmas Vacation (with Chevy Chase as the unforgettable Clark Griswold).  I did it for two reasons: First, I loved the movie.  It made me laugh each and every time.  But more importantly, I watched it as a kind of conditioning exercise.  I knew that things were about to turn a little weird in our own household.  Not as weird, perhaps, as the fictional Griswold Christmas holiday, but weird enough.  I had to remind myself that it was Christmas, after all, and I needed to “play nice” (as my wife often said).  Besides, it would all be over in a week or so when the relatives left.

My favorite part of the movie, by the way, is an exchange between Clark and his wife – Ellen – that takes place near the end of the movie.  The house is nearly in ruins and all of the “guests” are threatening to leave. 

Ellen:  “Clark, I think it’d be best if everyone went home…..before things get worse”.

Clark: “WORSE?  How could things get any worse?  Take a look around you, Ellen.  We’re at the threshold of hell”.

Well, things have long since changed.  The Christmas “gatherings” ended years ago, our children have grown up, and even our grandchildren have reached the point where Santa is no longer real.  I don’t watch the movie anymore.  I gave my copy away long ago.  I’m not complaining mind you, but it is a little sad.

I would, in fact, love to go back in time and have just one more of those chaotic, frustrating, and sometimes very expensive holidays.  Where you’re up well after midnight on Christmas eve putting some kind of toy together (and the pieces don’t fit) and then up again well before sunrise because the kids are sitting by the tree.  You then struggle through the rest of Christmas day, exhausted, before falling asleep Christmas night at about 8:00 or so.  And you swear that you’re never going to go through that again.  Until next year, that is.

Just one more.  I think I’d really like that.  Maybe the “threshold of hell” isn’t such a bad place to be after all.

Idiocracy

Illumination

Idiocracy: a nation or government run by idiots.

What a marvelously simple and descriptive word.  I saw it used in an editorial about a month ago (I don’t recall who the author was, unfortunately).  I’d never heard the term before, I guess.  But it seemed like I should have.  Once you see a descriptor like that, you think yes, of course, that’s the right word.  That defines what he’s talking about exactly.  Anyway, I had a good laugh and then promptly forgot about it.  Until about 2 days ago.

That was when the latest installment of the Healthcare soap opera here in the U. S. began to unfold.  It was also smack-dab in the middle of the international climate change summit being held in Copenhagen.  Both of these events strongly  reminded me of this latest addition to my vocabulary.

The details are not worth getting into.  Especially the details concerning the healthcare debate currently raging in the United States Senate.  The U. S. Senate, you see, is not exactly a great example of democracy in action.  In all fairness, it was never meant to be.  As part of the system of checks and balances in this country, it’s supposed to be difficult to get legislation through this body.  For a bill to pass, you need 60 votes (out of 100).  A simple majority won’t do it.  It will in the House of Representatives, but not in the Senate.  In other words, 3 of every 5 senators have to vote “yes” to get a bill through.  Again, it’s not supposed to be easy.

The problem, though, is that it can give a small group of senators, or even a single senator, enormous power.  A senator from a small state, representing only a small fraction of the U. S. population, can become the most powerful person in the country if the right set of circumstances occur.  And that’s what’s happened in this case.

The current bill in the senate has been turned into something that nobody wants, all in the name of “compromise”.  A few senators, knowing that their individual votes are critical, have removed virtually every part of the bill that could be called “reform”.  The single payer option – gone.  The public option – gone.  The Medicare at 55 option – gone.  There is, in fact, nothing left in this bill that will force the insurance companies to truly compete.  The bill is a Christmas present to the insurance companies and only to the insurance companies.  The rest of us get, well, more of the same old crap. 

Now, guess where some of these senators come from.  Joe Lieberman is from Connecticut.  Have you ever driven through Hartford, CN?  If so, and if you’ve looked up at the names on the buildings, then you know who this guy actually represents.  As one pundit put it, Joe is the senator from Aetna.  Or as another said, he is nothing more than a Senatorial prostitute.  He did what he did for the money.

There are others.  Grassley from Iowa, DeMint from South Carolina, and Baucus from Montana.  All bought and paid for.  Not an altruistic bone in their collective bodies.  It’s just about money.

And what a coincidence, that’s exactly the problem at the so-called climate summit.  Money and greed.  The real debate is over who’s going to come out financially ahead if some agreement is actually reached.  Who’s going to pay for fixing this mess – that’s the only relevant question under consideration.  The rest is all window dressing.  If I’m the leader of China, my one and only concern is whether or not an agreement is going to hurt my growing manufacturing sector in particular and my overall economy in general.  The same holds true for any other developing nation.  Everything else is just collateral damage.

So pardon my renewed cynicism, but I honestly don’t see a way out of either mess.  At least not one that will do anything that benefits the average person.  In my mind, the evidence is pretty clear.  The inmates are running the asylum. 

Two pieces of advice, then:

1.  If you live in the United States, don’t get sick.

2.  No matter where you are, try not to live too close to a coastline.

“Lost in a Lost World”

Sunrise, Webster, NY (literally, out the back door)

“Everywhere you go you see them searching

Everywhere you turn you feel the pain

Everyone is looking for the answers

Well look again…………”

(Lyrics from Lost in a Lost World, The Moody Blues)

Once upon a time I was a big fan of The Moody Blues.  I still have some of their albums and I guess I still like their style.  But what drew me to them back then was the “pop” version of eastern mysticism embedded in many of the lyrics,  with a healthy dose of anti-authoritarianism thrown in.  For many of us, their music projected an alternative way of viewing the world, a world that seemed to be rapidly spinning out of control.  If everyone could just “look again” and discover the “true path” to enlightenment, perhaps the world (and humanity itself) could be saved.  Maybe, just maybe, we could pull ourselves back from the proverbial brink.   

That didn’t happen, of course.  We’re still staring into that same abyss.  It’s very possible that we always will be.  But before you conclude that I’m just dishing out today’s flavor of personal cynicism, think about this:  Perhaps the answer for our collective failure  lies not so much in the fact that we haven’t been able to find the fabled path to enlightenment.  Maybe we’ve failed because we’ve found too many.

“I have never been lost, but I will admit to being confused for several weeks”. 

Daniel Boone

The problem, I think, is not that too many of us are still lost.  The problem is that too many of us think that we are not lost, that we have, in fact,  found the “one true path”, and that all would be well if we could just convince everybody else to accept what we know to be true.  The problem is not that there’s too much uncertainty in the world.  The problem is that there’s too much uncompromising, absolute Certainty.   

“Doubt is not a very agreeable status, but certainty is a ridiculous one”. 

Voltaire

Socrates supposedly once said, “I know nothing except the fact of my ignorance“.  Perhaps the enlightenment that thinking individuals seek lies somewhere along those lines.  What would be the result, for example, if all the isms of the world – religious, political, or what have you – simply admitted that they weren’t sure.  Of anything.  That they were no more privy to the Truth than anyone else.  That they were fallible.  That to believe in anything without the benefit of hard evidence was entirely optional.  Man, I’d pay real money to see that…..

So what does any of this have to do with photography?

Well, as someone who thinks that photography and exploration are essentially synonymous, I believe that being “lost” and “unsure” is the only way the so-called creative process can work.  The less you think you know about your environment, the more likely you are to capture something interesting.  Or as Paul Cezanne said -

“I could paint for a hundred years, a thousand years without stopping and I would still feel as though I knew nothing”. 

The Devil’s Bathtub

Devil's Bathtub, Mendon Ponds Park

“RIT Professor Charged in Wife’s Homicide”

About a week ago, the above headline was splashed across the front page of the local newspaper.  It also dominated the local TV news.  While murder isn’t exactly a rare event in the Rochester area, this one caught the public’s attention.  Why?  Because it is highly unlikely for a college professor to (1) kill his wife (or anyone else, presumably) by strangulation, (2) leave the body in a local park (in their own car), and then (3) call 911 and tell the police where to find it.  They could find her, he said, near the Devil’s Bathtub in Mendon Ponds Park (just south of Rochester).  Not long after, he was arrested and charged with her murder.

One of the things that caught my attention – aside from the bizarre nature of the crime – was the fact that the victim was, among other things, a talented photographer.  An environmentalist, she loved parks that contained wetlands and marshes.  She visited them frequently and loved to take photographs.  According to the paper, she once said that she found these places “haunting”.  I know what she meant.  And Mendon Ponds Park is just such a place.

My last visit to this park was about 6 weeks prior to her murder.  The Devil’s Bathtub is a very small pond that lies in a fairly deep depression, one of the many remaining artifacts of the last glacial retreat in this part of the world.

I didn’t know her, of course.  After reading about her, I wish that I had.  I think we might have had a few common interests.  One thing is certain: the Devil’s Bathtub will never be the same.           

The Forgotten War

War of 1812 Monument, Naval Academy, Annapolis, MD

December 7th.  Pearl Harbor Day.  A day that literally changed the course of history, if not for the world in general, certainly for the United States.  Even now, some 68 years later, there will be some mention of the “day of infamy” on local and national news broadcasts and in daily newspapers.  As expected, our local fishwrapper had a short story on page 1, focusing on survivors of the attack who are still alive and living in the Rochester area.  Each year there are fewer and fewer of these individuals.  The men mentioned in today’s article are all in their 90’s.  Soon, there will be no more.  I suspect, however, that the remembrances will continue long after they’re all gone.  Some things just seem to stick in the collective national memory.  Like the day JFK was assassinated or more recently, 9/11.

Events like these should be remembered, I suppose.  Not because they serve to unify us or because they become rallying cries for what happens next (as in “remember the Alamo” or “remember Pearl Harbor”), but because they contain hard lessons about what happens when things go horribly wrong in human affairs.  Violence like this doesn’t just happen.  There’s always a reason, and very often that reason isn’t a very good one.  Most often, in fact, they’re just plain dumb.

Not surprisingly, the Naval Academy campus has a number of monuments scattered across its grounds commemorating naval engagements in U. S. history.  Pictured above is one of them.  The plaque on the monument reads, in part:

Figure Head and 4 – 18 Pounders

Of The

British Frigate

Macedonian

Captured October 25th 1812

By The United States Frigate

United States

So here we have a memorial to a naval victory during the War of 1812, otherwise known as “The Forgotten War”.  And that’s what the status of this particular war should be – that is, “forgotten”.  If it has to be remembered, it should be remembered as an example of how not to conduct international politics.

In case you don’t remember, the War of 1812 was started by the very young United States because Britain was interfering with American merchant ships and, in some cases, “impressing” American seamen into service on British warships.  So to defend our commercial interests – not to mention our honor – we declared war. 

Now, from any number of perspectives this wasn’t a very smart move on our part.  We were tiny, had no real navy as yet, and Britain still ruled the seas.  Not to mention the fact that they were still smarting a little from the results of that little fiasco known as the American Revolution.  The only thing working in our favor was the fact that Britain was also involved in a war with France.  (That’s why they needed sailors.)

And what’s the first thing we do in a war having to do with maritime rights?  Well, invade Canada of course.  That makes sense, right?  Actually, this action gave away the real reason for going to war with anybody.  It was all about nationalism and expansion – kind of a precursor to Manifest Destiny.

So how did it all turn out?  While both sides claimed victory, the truth was that nobody won.  Absolutely nothing changed as a result of the war (regardless of what you were taught in 8th grade history class).  The treaty that ended the war simply restored the status quo.  Ironically, the biggest battle of the war – the Battle of New Orleans – was fought 15 days after the treaty was signed.  The only real effect of that battle, aside from the loss of life on both sides, was making Andrew Jackson famous and helping to get him elected President a few years later.

In short, this was one of those “dumb” wars.  It cost lives and money and resources and accomplished absolutely nothing.  Still, it might have been worth it if we’d learned something.  You know, one of those “hard lessons”.  But we didn’t.  And we still aren’t.  We still seem to be pursuing that Manifest Destiny thing.  Dumb.

     

Our Love Affair with Bad Guys

Lower Taughannock Falls, Taughannock Falls SP, NY

We all, I trust, are familiar with the notion of “the dark side”.  Made famous by George Lucas in the Star Wars movies, the term became synonymous with all things evil.  The “dark side”, of course,  is the domain of the bad guys, the ones who lie, cheat, steal, and otherwise do their very best to make our lives miserable.  Sort of like Republicans.  I never quite understood, by the way, why there wasn’t a corresponding “light side”.  Seems like there should have been.

Anyway, Paul Lester and I have been having a little fun with the term lately, mostly with respect to cameras and stuff.  I’ve called Nikon the “dark side” and he’s called digital the “dark side” (as opposed to film).  Again, all in fun.  He also had a post, though, in which he talked about “shadows” and the dark side of our own personalities.  In a comment, I pointed out that we often openly root for the bad guy in movies.  I mentioned that when I first saw the final installment of Star Wars the audience appaluded and cheered when Darth Vader made his initial appearance.  They loved the guy.  Nobody stood up and cheered for the hero when he first appeared.

Since then, I’ve been thinking about it (a lot).  Why is it that we often root for the “bad guys”?  Why do we make folk heros out of outlaws?  True, we do it for the Abe Lincolns, Mother Theresa’s and Nelson Mandelas as well, but we seem to really get into elevating our villains, whether they be real or imaginary.

American movies are full of lovable bad guys.  The real star of the most recent Batman movie – The Dark Knight – is The Joker (played so well by Heath Ledger).  In the classic Silence of the Lambs, we worry about Jody Foster’s FBI character, but we also want Hannibal Lector to escape, presumably to continue his cannibalistic ways.  And he does.  We also come to admire Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Terminator, even though he isn’t even human.  Yes, he does turn into a “good guy” in the latter installments of the series, but he wreaks tremendous amounts of havoc in the original story.  But we forgive him his murderous excesses.  The list goes on and on – Michael Myers (Halloween), Freddy Krueger (Nightmare on Elm Street), and Agent Smith (the Matrix series).  We’re horrified by what these characters do, but it is them that we pay to go and see.

It’s not just fictional bad guys, either.  How about Jesse James.  Butch Cassidy.  Billy the Kid.  All have been raised from the depths of criminal behavior to the lofty pedestal of folk hero.  Why?  Because they represent what most of us are jealous of – the courage to step outside normal, accepted behavior.  There is nothing exciting or romantic about obeying all the rules.  We pay homage to our saints, but we secretly admire (and sometimes not so secretly) our most famous sinners.

Need a more recent, ”real-life” example?  In 2006, a guy named Ralph “Bucky” Phillips escaped from prison and went on a shooting spree in western New York that eventually attracted national attention.  By the time it was all over, a number of people were dead or wounded.  Among the dead was a New York State Trooper who, along with 2 other officers, was ambushed by Bucky.  These men never saw their attacker.

Bucky is currently serving a life sentence.  He actually pled guilty (or in his own words, “guilty as hell”).  So what’s my point?  Simply this: While Bucky was on the run, he became one of these “folk heros”.  The longer he evaded police, the more popular he became.  As police threw more and more men into the manhunt, the more people there were who openly hoped that he would avoid capture or death.  At the height of this nonsense you could actually buy “Where’s Bucky?”  T-shirts.  The topper though, in my opinion, was the restaurant that proudly began serving “Bucky Burgers”.  Not surprisingly, they sold quite a few.  Right up until “poor” Bucky got caught.

Could We Do It Today?

Sunset on Cadillac Mountain, Acadia NP

I don’t know about you, but I’ve been spending some time this week watching Ken Burns’ documentary on the  creation and development of our national parks (“The National Parks – Our Best Idea”, on PBS).  Burns, of course, is the guy who also did some amazing work on baseball, the Civil War, and a number of other subjects.  He’s a superb storyteller and the photography is exceptional.  The story is not so much about the parks themselves, however.  This is not a “travelogue”.   Rather, it’s a story about the people who were instrumental in bringing them into existence, protecting them, and maintaining them.  People who gave their time, their money, and, at least in one case, their sanity to preserve what was left of the American wilderness.  Not just for the rich, but for everybody.  It’s a great story – if you haven’t been watching it, you should take a look.

While watching the other day, however, a question popped into my head.  Not about the national parks themselves or even about their future, but about the people who got things done then and the people who should be getting things done today.  I’ve always kind of believed that people are people, that we don’t really change all that much from generation to generation, and that in the end, we’ll find a way to do the “right thing”.  The best of us will step forward and steer us in the right direction.  In the case of the parks, if there hadn’t been people like John Muir and Theodore Roosevelt, someone else would have done it.  There were, in fact, a number of others who were nearly as influential.

But then I started making some mental comparisons.  We are, after all, a nation with a history of great ideas.  While the concept of national parks is certainly one of them, there are others.  Like the Bill of Rights.  Like civil rights.  Like Social Security and Medicare.  And even ideas like going to the moon.

But think about it.  Eight years after John F. Kennedy proposed a manned mission to the moon, we had actually done it.  At the outset of World War II, Franklin Roosevelt transformed  the U. S. economy into a military juggernaut – in about a year.  There are other examples.  The point is, when we had to, we got things done.

I’m not sure that’s still the case.  Eight years ago, terrorists killed thousands of people and destroyed the twin towers in NYC, leaving a gaping hole in the ground.  The hole is still there.  I’m not convinced it won’t still be there 8 years hence.  The bickering over what’s going to be there and who’s going to put it there just goes on and on.  To me, it’s the worst possible symbol of a collective national paralysis.  We seem completely incapable of doing anything.  Hell, build a giant McDonald’s or something.  Anything would be better than that damn hole.

If, as a nation, we can’t rebuild something that was so ruthlessly destroyed by others, how can we possibly “fix” more esoteric problems?  Health care?  Climate change?  Economic recovery?  Our dependence on imported energy?  Where are the John Muirs and Franklin Roosevelts of today?

Sadly, most of our “leaders” seem capable of nothing more than poison rhetoric delivered in 30 second sound bites.  One has to wonder: if the future of Yosemite, Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, or Acadia had been in the hands of folks like John Boehner and Nancy Pelosi, what would they look like today?  It’s a scary thought.

When the Lights go Out

Old Stonington Light, Stonington, CT

A landmark in southern Connecticut, the old Stonington lighthouse was built in 1840 and “retired” from service in 1889.  It has been dark, therefore, for 120 years.  If you look closely at the image, you can see that the tower is empty.  Today, it serves as a museum of maritime and lighthouse history (as well as a photographic target).

I have long been an admirer of lighthouses, not only for their architectural beauty and structural longevity, but also for their pure symbolism.  In many respects, they represent all that is good and noble about humans.  We are at our best when we are selfless, when our actions are driven only by our desire to preserve life and protect others from the ravages of catastrophic events, whether those events be manmade or natural.  And that’s what lighthouses did.  Today’s onboard navigational electronics have essentially made these marvelous structures obsolete, but boaters will tell you that they still prefer to have them around and lit – they like to know that they are there.  They feel more at ease if they can see these pulsating lights, each with it’s own distinctive pattern, even though their electronic gear is telling them exactly where they are.  The light provides comfort and assurance.  They know exactly where they are. 

Eventually, however, most of these lights will go out.  Nothing lasts forever.

But they are not the only “lights” being extinguished in this world.  I watch the news and I’m appalled by what I see.  Without a doubt, the lights are going out.  How can anyone not believe that after viewing what happened in Washington on Friday during the “Million Moron March”?  That phrase, by the way, was coined by one of my favorite comedians (Bill Maher).  I don’t know about you, but I get a little scared when I see tens of thousands of people standing in front of the U. S. capitol saying idiotic, nonsensical things.  It was nothing short of a dangerous mob.

How do you respond to people carrying signs that say:

“Is this Russia?”

“Traitors and Terrorists Run Our Government”

“Don’t Blame Me – I voted for The American”

One woman, interviewed on the nightly news, said that Muslims were taking over the country.  Then, of course, there was the outburst from South Carolina congressman Joe Wilson during President Obama’s address to congress last week (“You lie!”).  This was an unprecedented verbal attack on a sitting president in that chamber.  I can’t help but think that if Obama were white, it wouldn’t have happened.  Too many people are simply refusing to believe that an African American is actually their president.  Joe Wilson was simply revealing his roots.  As were all the morons who descended on Washington Friday.

Make no mistake – much of this is racial.  All of this other stuff is just code – most of these clowns wouldn’t know a socialist from a fascist if one came up and bit them in the butt.  This is just good old fashioned race baiting without the old rhetoric.  Same old crap, different language.  But just as dangerous.  Because, you see, we haven’t changed all that much over the last couple of hundred years.  The bigots are still out there and they’re still very, very loud.  And their lights have been out for a long, long time.

Legacy

Brown Eyed Susans at the Edge

Like millions of others, I’ve been transfixed by the events following the death of Senator Edward Kennedy last week.  I don’t normally get caught up in the passing of celebrities – the death of Michael Jackson held my attention for maybe 15 minutes.  But for me, the loss of Senator Kennedy was different.  While it may or may not be the end of an “era” in American politics (only history will determine that), it seemed very much to be the end of something for me personally.  And I think that that ”something” was nothing less than a living connection to my own youth.

I was a young teenager when the Kennedy name first became part of the national vocabulary in the election of 1960 (believe it or not, I thought Nixon was the better choice!).  I remember exactly where I was when I first heard that JFK had been shot in Dallas.  I was standing on the steps of the library at the University of Rochester when a friend ran up and said that the president had been shot.  Why, I asked, would anyone want to shoot President Wallace?  W. Allen Wallace was at the time the president of the university.  As you can see, I’ve always been a little slow.  More to the point, I just couldn’t fathom anyone shooting the President of the United States.

I also remember where I was when RFK was assassinated in 1968.  I was halfway around the world, standing on a hill on the island of Okinawa (courtesy of Uncle Sam).  By this time my political bent was decidedly liberal.  There was no doubt in my mind that Robert Kennedy was going to be the next president.  As no one else could, he would lead us out of the darkness that was Vietnam.  Instead, the darkness intensified.

But there was still hope.  There was still Ted Kennedy.  While many believed he would not run for president to save the family from further tragedy, he had not said categorically that he would not.  It might be a longshot (there was Chappaquiddick to deal with), but he was, after all, a Kennedy.  His primary fight loss to Jimmy Carter in 1980 ended all of that.

I never met the man, of course.  But I did see him up close once.  I’d been on a business trip to Boston and was waiting  in Logan airport for my flight back home.  I had some time to kill so I wandered down one of the concourses.  The concourse was essentially empty – only a few people (like me) wandering around aimlessly.  After reaching the end, I turned and started walking back.  Before recognizing him visually, I instantly recognized the voice.  He was walking toward me with someone I assumed was an aide.  I just stood there looking dumb as he walked past.  My only conscious thought was “gee, he’s shorter than I thought he was”.  Brilliant.  I couldn’t even muster a “Good afternoon, senator”.  And then he was gone.  A chance encounter with living history and I turn into a lump of organic goo.

Now that living history is gone.  Just like my own parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles.  The generation that preceded mine and played such a large part in determining who I am has become inanimate memory.  I can still see them and hear them in my mind, but I can no longer touch them.  Physically, they are part of the past.

Suddenly, my own mortality seems a bit more real.  Thoughts of personal “legacy” are less abstract.  It’s time, perhaps, to stop putting off things that matter.  The clock, as they say, is running.

Free Fall

Cavern Falls in Watkins Glen SP, NY

The other day, while trying to read a book and watch some news at the same time (my version of multitasking), I heard some guy compare geologic epochs to human history.  The world’s natural history, of course, is divided into epochs or time periods  lasting millions of years each and characterized by differences in climate, life forms, and geologic activity.  Two of the more recent designations, for example, are the Paleozoic and Mesozoic periods. 

But the guy wasn’t talking about old rocks.  He was talking about us.  And one of the things that he said really caught my attention.  To paraphrase, he said that at some point in the future historians would look back at us and say, “oh yes, that was the tribal period” (the emphasis is mine).  That assumes, of course, that we survive as a species long enough for there to be future historians.

Honestly, I think the guy nailed it (I wish I remembered his name, but I don’t).  What passes for “discourse” these days is, in reality, nothing more than “tribal” conflict and posturing.  The notions of consensus and majority rule are fast becoming endangered species, soon to go the way of the dodo bird.  Everybody seems to have their own little niche, their own piece of turf that they seem willing to defend to the death.  Searching for common ground and compromise is dead – long live anarchy and the cult of “me”.

Even within the normally quiet, unprovocative, staid, laid back community of photographers – especially those with their own little bully pulpits – temperatures are rising.  The nasty side of politics (believe it or not, there is a “good” side) is making serious inroads.  If you don’t agree with what I say, I’ll simply resort to name calling and other means of character assassination.  I’ll verbally beat you to a bloody pulp for no other reason than “my dick is bigger than yours”.  Rational debate is for sissies and the weak minded.  If I’m the last dick standing (or shouting), then I win.

Now, most photographic blogs, at least the ones that I frequent, are not like this.  Most photographers that I know are not like this.  I’ve always thought that as a group, photographers were by and large intelligent, reflective, thoughtful, and verbally nonviolent.  As a group, we tend to be observers.  We see things and then we mull them over.  We explore different angles and different perspectives.  We  know that the world is not pure black or pure white.  Rather, it’s infinite shades of gray.  It’s nuanced.  It’s complex.  There is never just one “correct” point of view.

Of course, we all fall off the wagon from time to time.  None of us are immune to knee jerk reactions or allowing our mouths  to get way out in front of our brains.  Especially in today’s highly charged atmosphere.  We all say things we wish we could take back.  It’s part of being human.  But more than anyone else on the planet, I think, photographers are students.  The world is a classroom.  We are the ones who should be asking the questions, not pontificating.  If we already know all the answers, then what’s the point in using a camera at all?  There’s nothing left to learn.