Because You Never Asked

 

(2/11)

     Perhaps it is not obvious enough, so I will explain that the word forming the title of this essay pertains to the dreaded disease known more simply as “polio”. Its place in history now seems almost “Babylonian” remote, but it was once one of the most feared diseases in the pantheon of human suffering, especially since its primary target was children who had still not had their chance at life. It severely affected motor skills and rendered beautiful young sprouts into withered, twisted weeds. It was a cause of widespread sorrow.

     I can remember being on vacation in the Catskill Mountains when I was about 7 years old. Somewhere along the line, I developed a very stiff neck which was not only extremely uncomfortable, but pretty much ruined the vacation atmosphere for everyone. The primary reason for this was the fear of it being polio, which was an immense boogieman in those days. No time was wasted in whisking me off to a doctor --- don’t worry, sighs of relief, a bullet dodged. But the “p” word ruled supreme. It was a parent’s worst nightmare. When polio was finally suppressed, its conqueror, Dr. Jonas Salk, became a hero-celebrity of DiMaggio-like proportions. I’d guess most people still know the name.

     This essay got its start when I received in the mail what we used to refer to as a “file card”, more specifically, a 3 by 5 inch file card with the printed title “Poliomyelitus Vaccination Record” set forth at the top. My older sister must have been rummaging around in some ancient family documents when she found it and thought it might interest me.

     It did.

     That 3 by 5 file card was an informational record of a great scientific experiment I took part in when I was 9 years old. Dr. Salk had developed a polio vaccine that had shown promise wherever such scientific advancements show promise before being used by human beings. The last step was to actually try it on such creatures and it was decided to test it on New York City public school children, of which I was one. Before getting on to the most relevant philosophical element of this essay, I’d like to mention the following:

     There was a time when the 3 by 5 file card was one of the most foundational elements of information storage in the world. Of course, today’s digital world has rendered it as primitive as a caveman’s club for weaponry, and yet, it played a pivotal role in one of the great scientific breakthroughs of modern times. It makes me wonder as to the spiritual worth of all this Twittering-Facebook neurosis and what it means for the clods feverishly pecking away on hand held devices that seem as addictive to them as a pack of cigarettes are to a nicotine addict. My guess is that these incredible communicative devices will create a new human being, but they will be fundamentally neutral in creating a more fulfilled human being.

     In any event --- the file card in question here had some lines and boxes printed on it which were filled in by hand by whoever was receiving the tax dollars to do so. The first thing I noticed was they had gotten my middle initial wrong, something that seemed to have little effect on the outcome of the great social undertaking. More important was a rectangular box of about 2 inches in length in the bottom left corner, divided into 3 smaller boxes. Each box showed the date, in ink, on which I was inoculated, the last in a series of 3 dated “11/22/55”. In the lower right hand corner was something even more important: the words printed there said “Parental Request Received” with the date “3/29/55” hand written next to it.

     But of course --- the government didn’t just go around using children in scientific experiments without telling anyone, at least not the children of free, white, adult Brooklyn Dodger fans deemed the respectable foundation for the American juggernaut in the world. By now, we all know the swastika-like story of the black sharecroppers used in venereal disease experiments without their knowledge. But that’s another story ---

     So my parents, along with thousands of other parents, were asked by the government to loan them their children, like hey, don’t worry, you’ll get’em back just fine. And this is where this essay begins to heat up some.

     The question I asked myself as I looked at the date my parents agreed to all this, was whether there was any resistance or reluctance to the government’s efforts? As I searched through my memory bank, I eventually concluded it had not been an issue. I have no memory of any angst-ridden debates in the household as to the propriety of all this, nor any remembrance of a more general debate in the community as a whole. In fact, I’d go even further by saying most people were glad to participate, were happy to be part of such an important socio-scientific attempt to improve the human condition, were proud to display the solidarity of their good citizenship in conjunction with their neighbors. Their country, through its governmental organism, was asking for their help and they trusted it. Sure, go ahead, it’s our civic duty. Why wouldn’t we accept?

     This feeling managed to seep into our little kids’ minds as well. As I remember, the experiment was administered in the public schools (my file card referenced PS 205, in Queens). Even though no kid relishes the idea of getting stuck with a needle, my participation was angst free. This is not to say I marched down to the school nurse with a well defined sense of duty or purpose, but in some barely conscious, kids’ kind of way, we understood we were doing something good, and not just for ourselves, but for everyone.

     And this is where the ripest pulp of this essay began to mature. As I pondered my parents’ permission, I had to ask myself if such a great, “socialistic”, governmental undertaking could happen in today’s America . Could we pull together in such a way, under the umbrella of the government’s stewardship, to accomplish such a positive goal?

     After due reflection, I had to sadly conclude that such a possibility seemed somewhat remote. The turning point, in this man’s opinion, began with the rise of 2 men in the United States whose names I’ve mentioned together before in these pages: Ronald Reagan and Rupert Murdoch. Their importance in American socio-political relevance began at about the same time. Reagan was the first politician to make the anti-government rhetoric popular. His famous statement, “the government is the problem, not the solution”, has become Gospel for the special interests that want less and less supervision. With a huge media conglomerate like Murdoch’s constantly evangelizing this attitude, the anti-government rhetoric has sunk deep roots in the American psyche. The idea of a Social Contract administered for the common good by the people’s government, outside of a “market” framework, has been riddled with right wing machine gun fire led by Murdoch’s Fox News. And, in a circular way, it becomes self prophetic. Here’s how:

     We have an electoral process that is so expensive to compete in only those with special interest bankrolls (oil companies, drug companies, insurance companies, other varied and assorted Wall St. vultures) can get elected. This creates a government that does not want to govern, to supervise, to referee, because our elected officials work for special interests that want the government off their backs. The result of this is BAD GOVERNMENT! When things go bad, as they have since the appearance of the dynamic duo mentioned above (I defy anyone to claim things are better now than before our now deified presidential clod and the ruthless media magnate began working their spell on America), the only place the voter can put the blame is with this bad government. This further encourages the “government is the problem” rhetoric.

     For too long now, Americans have been confusing bad government with the idea that government is the problem. Our idea of good citizenship is being perverted. The empathy necessary to work for the common good through a Social Contract we’ve all created as working pieces in the grand scheme of our nation, is disappearing. The average American has been distilled down into little more than an individual island competing against all the other individuals for the spoils of the consumer society. Some win, some lose, some draw --- and who really cares beyond that?

     The ultimate perversion of this “every man for himself” attitude is reflected in the way the nation fights its grimy little imperial wars. The “volunteer army” (for more, see essay The Volunteer Army) is not a citizen’s army. It is not a patriot army. It is not a Social Contract army defending the country as part of one’s civic duty.

     No!

     It is a mercenary army manned by people who, for diverse reasons having less to do with patriotism or duty and more to do with their options in life, have been bribed by the rest of us who have better things to do. For the last decade or so, we’ve been recycling the same microscopic portion of our population through war zones while the rest of us watch football games rife with praise and appreciation for their efforts, deaths and mutilations. What, me worry?

     This is the attitude America now lives in. It is an attitude that may have sabotaged the great polio vaccine experiment I was proud to have been a part of.

     Post Data: In an amazing display of coincidence, while writing this essay the horrifying shootings in Tucson, Arizona took place, killing 6, including a 9 year old girl and a Federal Judge, wounding many, and leaving a United States Congresswoman in a vegetable state. Although it is dangerous to attribute this to anything more than the actions of a deranged lunatic, the perpetrator’s lunacy does seem to be fueled to some extent by this anti-government, libertarian strain of thought that has grown exponentially in post Reagan-Murdoch America .

     Relevant Material: I quote from a novel called “The Desert” (El Desierto) by a Chilean-German writer named Carlos Franz. The character named Laura was a young judge in the Allende government in Chile when the military coup that ousted him occurred. Franz’s novel is an ode to what happened and where Chile went from there. He writes, “If the fate of Laura’s era had been tragic, if her generation had been the last one to grow up with ideals, ideals they had the chance to see demolished and refuted along with their youth, the fate of her daughter and those of her age, and those that would come after, were worse than tragic, it was a farce. When the same tragedies repeat themselves, they do it as farces --- “