Prisoners of the present

“Neither a wise man nor a brave man lies down on the tracks of history waiting for the train of the future to run over him.” — Dwight D. Eisenhower

We closed our Haggadahs – a special text that contains the narrative of the Israelite exodus from Egypt along with various blessings and rituals, songs, and rabbinical commentaries. The history portion of our Passover Seder was over. It was time to eat.

The group was eclectic. Our host, of course, knew everyone, but few of us knew each other, so conversations settled geographically around the table. 

Talking politics with relative strangers is probably the last thing one would have expected, but the Sirens of political discourse, like the Sirens of Homer’s Odyssey, beckoned us toward the rocks: “Come on, you know you want to,” they sang. Besides, one can only talk so long about the seemingly endless Northeast winter.

Skating on thin ice

No one was immediately blatant about where they stood on the hydra of current events. We were all aware that the thin ice of political conversation beneath us could crack at any moment. For safety’s sake, we all gravitated toward the center, expressing only disillusionment about the lack of productive discourse in government and society at large. I think I quoted a recent article from the New York Times Magazine that detailed how even gun-rights’ activists were sometimes in disagreement.

Conversations like that ebb and flow, but one thing we could all agree on was that we were living in a unique moment in history. The millennial in our midst bridged from that point to explain how 9/11 had impacted her – it being the first real event she could remember. Others recounted being similarly impacted by other recent events. I eventually joined in with my unintentional conversation stopper: 

“1968: the assassinations of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King. The Tet Offensive in Vietnam and anti-war protests. That was a year of tremendous upheaval, hate, and pain.

Everyone at our end of the table turned to me.

“But then we had this amazing event right around Christmas. The three astronauts aboard Apollo 8 became the first humans to journey beyond earth’s gravity and the first to circumnavigate the moon. A tremendous uplifting event – a spiritual event – that demonstrated the best of American ingenuity.

Nothing?

I quickly added: “You know, the famous picture of earth rising above the moon’s horizon. The reading from Genesis?”

One member of our enclave offered a polite, but low-octane “Oh, yeah….”

“I was only three,” confessed another apologetically.

“Matzoh anyone?” offered my wife.

Hooked on history

I am a lifelong student of history. My fascination probably began with my mother’s and father’s stories about what it was like to live on the Homefront during World War II. My mother recalled how she made a butter lookalike product by squeezing a yellow dye capsule into a mass of lard. My father trotted out some tin pennies, and the “E for Excellence in War Production” certificate the Army and Navy awarded his factory for producing portable diesel engines. Those engines wound up supporting our troops during various Pacific island battles. Twenty-five years later, and my father's eyes still welled up.

I’ve been an avid collector of World War II Homefront memorabilia ever since.

The only high school teacher I remember by name was my World History teacher from sophomore year: Mr. Timothy Little. He wore a tie and white shirt every day, and he would roll up his sleeves when he got revved up during a lecture. 

He rolled up his sleeves every day.

I went on to study history in college, but only after I discovered that a degree in mathematics was a lot like mutual fund performance: Earning “As” in high school math was no guarantee of future success.

Pivot.

I graduated with a Master’s in the Art of Teaching History and went on to teach United States History at the high school level. Mr. Little sat on a stool next to the blackboard, nodding his approval. My kids couldn’t see him, but I could.

Got roots?

If someone were to ask me for an elevator speech on why I appreciate history, I would probably respond with: "History shows us the roads we took to get where we are today. And if we understand the backstory, we’re in a better position to understand what’s staring back at us in the mirror."

Black nationalist, Marcus Garvey, once wrote “A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.” A case in point: Amid my feverish chopping of vegetables for our chicken stir-fry dinner the other night, I was listening to the radio as two activists from the late 1960s were being interviewed about those tumultuous times, understandably lamenting how many of the themes then remain the themes now: civil injustice, racism, inequality for women, xenophobia and so on.

“I'm concerned about the loss of memory,” concluded one of the interviewees.

I stopped chopping.

“We have deep historical amnesia,” added the other.

Caution – Rough Road Ahead

I Googled “lack of historical knowledge,” and just over 8.5 million results came back in under a half a second. One source, a May 2015 article in Smithsonian, caught my attention:

“Last year, PoliTech, a student group at Texas Tech University went around campus and asked three questions: ‘Who won the Civil War?’, ‘Who is our vice president?’ and ‘Who did we gain our independence from?’ Students’ answers ranged from ‘the South?’ for the first question to ‘I have no idea’ for all three of them. However, when asked about the show Snookie starred in (Jersey Shore) or Brad Pitt’s marriage history, they answered correctly.”

That 2014 study was done with college students! And our knowledge hasn’t improved any if the following is any indication. As NPR host Scott Simon recently reported:

“A study conducted by the Conference on Jewish Material Claims Against Germany reported this week that 41 percent of Americans and 66 percent of millennials say they don't know about the Auschwitz death camp where more than a million Jews and others, including Poles, Roma people and gays were executed. Forty-one percent of millennials believe 2 million or fewer Jews were killed in the Holocaust. It was 6 million. And 22 percent of millennials say they haven't even heard of the Holocaust.”

I find those findings particularly frightening as a Jew and as a student of history. So must former Secretary of State, Madeleine Albright, who recently wrote about the rise of global fascism:

“Today, we are in a new era, testing whether the democratic banner can remain aloft amid terrorism, sectarian conflicts, vulnerable borders, rogue social media and the cynical schemes of ambitious men. We may be encouraged that most people in most countries still want to live freely and in peace, but there is no ignoring the storm clouds that have gathered. In fact, fascism — and the tendencies that lead toward fascism — pose a more serious threat now than at any time since the end of World War II.”

Fascism again?

“History does not repeat,” Yale historian Timothy Snyder observed, “but it does instruct.” 

True, but if we don’t know our history – if we lack historical literacy – it offers nothing in the way of guidance.

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I am a certified executive coach and principal at Quetico Leadership & Career Coaching. I partner with individuals to remove the obstacles that stand in their way of being truly engaged and fulfilled in their work or career. We work too many hours not to be.

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