A few years ago I flew out to visit my sister and her family. When I was introduced to my sister’s book club friends, one of them wanted to know if I was one of those “liberal media types.” She apparently assumed that because I wrote for a newspaper, I was a leftie and could be lumped in with the commie hordes of broadcasting.
I asked The Forb once why he read the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, but never the local paper in which my column appeared.
“I don’t read that rag,” he said. “Too conservative for my tastes. Besides, I get enough of you here every morning.”
It’s funny how those labels get thrown around and stuck on people. The Forb sounds like he despises political conservatives, but in practice he hates both conservatives and liberals and speaks boldly about his views. He is an equal opportunity despiser.
As I sat with Winnie this morning in The End of Time, I watched Father Gene come in and sit down, his warm smile bringing grace to the room. What was he? Since he didn’t take a hard line on same-sex marriage, but responded with reflections on theology and the Bible, was he a liberal or a conservative? I didn’t know.
As I thought about it, the labels as we use them today only serve to describe opposing agendas. But at their heart, the descriptions both have value and should, ideally, work together in creative tension.
At its best, conservative means that there are traditions and practices that have value, and they should be protected—conserved. There is a built-in caution in conservatism that is concerned about abandoning the past too quickly in favor of things that may not have lasting value.
At its worst, conservative means fearful protectionism, naming demons and villains when its sacred ground is challenged.
At its best, liberal means that all ideas may come to the table for consideration. Traditions may still have value in this sense, but they shouldn’t lock us into the past, but rather give us motivation to engage the future.
At its worst, liberal means to embrace “progress” at any cost, regardless of history and consequence. In this way to be liberal is to be like budding flowers that have been severed from their roots. They’re attractive for awhile, but soon will be discarded for freshly amputated pretties.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that I want the best of both those categories if I have to have anything at all. Being locked into one or the other is suffocating to me, and risks being linked to people and ideologies that do not speak for me.
I need a new label. Liberative? Conservatal? How about person? Or human? Or maybe just Maxwell.
I was disturbed from my reverie by Winnie sniffing as she leaned her head on my shoulder. She was crying. I put my arm around her and looked at her face.
“What’s going on, Winnie?”
“I miss my mom,” she said. I handed her my paper napkin and she wiped her eyes.
“I know,” I said. I thought about the funeral service, and the people in her hometown, and wondered if she had any contact with them. I remembered the imposing figures of her father and brother, and tried to imagine what comfort they might send her way.
“Have you heard from your family?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No, and I won’t.”
“They won’t contact you?”
“No,” she said. “And I don’t want them to.”
As much as my heart was surrendering to Winnie, I still realized that there was much under the surface that I didn’t know or understand. She was a much more complex person than I thought when we first met at the café. I was content in the knowledge that I was simple and shallow. She probably had me figured out before our first kiss.
I made it my intention to rattle some of the family skeletons in her closet.
I miss reading your blog.
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