Tag: Trump

Escaping Norway

Escaping Norway

A bright blue Volvo FH750 stands on the side of the road only miles from Sor Vanger, last town on the Norwegian side of the border with Russia.  The temperature has fallen quickly, and the road, already thickly covered with snow, is increasingly dangerous.  Two heavily muffled men reluctantly leave the relative warmth of the truck’s cab in order to meet twelve men, women, and children, blindfolded so they might never identify Steinar and Oddvar, “praerieulvs” or “coyotes”, who hide fleeing Norwegians in the large sand boxes located under the truck’s chassis, above the wheels.  On nights such as this, only sand dropped from the truck’s entrails will keep the wheels on the icy road into Russia.  Steinar and Oddvar know the roads and know just how much space they have, putting the heavier border busters over the rear wheels where weight is as important as sand.

Steinar, the praerieulv in charge, is a wiry man of about fifty, dressed in conventional Norwegian casual clothing under his winter gear, slacks, blue shirt with open collar, brightly patterned sweater presenting reindeer bowling.  This is not his first rodeo, but the current flood of Norwegians fleeing Trondheim has crested in the past few weeks, leaving him exhausted and his resources worn thin.  He is resigned in describing the work ahead.

“Ever since President Trump opened the floodgates, I have more business than I can handle.  I see twenty or thirty families a day, all trying to bust out of Norway.  I’m not sure I can keep up.”

Oddvar, the younger and more excitable guide chimes in.  “Me too.  I’ll go when I can.  People don’t know what it’s like here.  Medical care for everyone, high salaries.  We got almost no crime here in Trondheim.  A guy got trapped under his van last week.  Big news.”  Steiner nods.  “You think you know dull, but you don’t even begin to know dull.”  Oddvar spits with contempt.  “I get excited, you know, when I hear the president wants us to come.  He didn’t even mention Sweden.  Maybe too many Swedes already.”

Einar Pen, an engineer with Norsk Hydro has waited for weeks for this opportunity and has arrived with his wife and three sons in tow.  Steinar explains the ground rules as Pen shrugs into the jumpsuit he will wear hiding in the truck, as his family will as well. He  grumbles a bit as he is to be  wedged into the few square feet of space above the truck’s right rear wheel.  He is six foot and seven inches of university trained metallurgist with a head the size of a watermelon.  Groaning, his labored breath turning to frozen mist as he labors, Pedersen assures his wife that all will be well once they get to Russia where an easy train ride gets them to Pulkovo airport in Saint Petersburg.

“Yes, sure.  Hardship now, but in only a few months, it will be beautiful.  Just like the Wild West.”  Pedersen coughs broadly, scattering chunks of frozen phlegm onto the dark night.  “Right now, we have it so good, you know?  Good for everyone.  No excitement.  Everybody has a good life.  Money.  You know.”

“Now, Eidar…”  Pedersen’s wife interrupts.  “We do this for the kids.”

The three Pedersen boys stand quietly.

“Sure.”  Pedersen grins widely.  “But we live in Alaska in a few months, hunt bears, have guns.”

Berit Pederson shuffles uneasily; the Pedersen boys fist bump.

Nerves are on edge as the praerieulv hands out parkas and backpacks.. With practiced certainty he separates the Vikings from the victims, the younger from the elders.

Do not fall behind, I will have to leave you, we MUST leave you, there are going to be casualties, but we have to keep going.

Berit slumps anxiously as she is seated in the cab of the truck.  The boys have been placed inside sacks of turnips which will be delivered to grocers in the small towns on the Russian border.    “We thought about El Salvador or Mexico, exciting too, and warm, but Eidar, he wants to be a cowboy, like John Wayne, and he says US is just as dangerous but clean.”

In the wake of the president’s encouragement of Norwegian immigration and the flood of emigrants deserting the Norwegian economy, the Storting resorted to draconian measures, placing guards at the airports and monitoring the highways.  Only commercial vehicles have been allowed to travel into Russia.  In December, Erna Solberg, Norway’s Prime Minister, spoke with grave concern before the Parliament.

“Americans have taken so much from Norway, stolen some of our greatest human treasures.  Yes, certainly, it was hard to see Sonja Henie skate off to Hollywood, but since then, look at who could have been honoring Norway:  Marilyn Monroe, the Olsen twins, Eliot Ness, Knute Rockne, Paris Hilton, Rene Zellweger, Adam Lambert, Kristen Wiig, Roald Dahl.  The American entertainment industry has been built in the broad shoulders of Norse immigrants.

No more.  We keep our people now.  Did I mention Mary Kate and Ashley?”

Then, we are insulted.  This Prairie Companion mocks the Norwegian bachelor farmers in Minnesota.  “Ya, sure” and so forth.  From Garrison Keillor who is not even Danish much less Norwegian.  Canadian and Scottish.  Maybe never even has been to Norway.  Maybe some jokes about Canadian bachelor farmers would be a good thing.  Maybe he jokes not so much this day.

A brittle snowfall continues to cover the highway as the truck rumbles from the dark bypass.  The Pedersens, like countless thousands, will soon land in Anchorage, secure in the knowledge that there, at least, they are wanted.

 

 

 

 

Flying Monkeys

Flying Monkeys

In the midst of writing an article about witches in film, momentarily sidetracked by memories of the goon squad sent out by the Wicked Witch of the West, I set out to find an image to assure myself that they were as disturbing as I had remembered them to be.

They were and are.  Let’s remember that by the time the monkeys arrive, Oz is saturated with color; slippers are sparkling, Glenda is numinous, but the blinking monkeys  are trapped in vile carpeting, matted greyish blue quasi-fur.  Yes, they wear hats, but that doesn’t make things better.  At all.  I found that they present the same frozen grimace in every shot; they can fly, swarm, and bark in laughter, but their eyes are dead and their features immobile.  All of which would be more than enough to find them off-putting, and then we recall that small actors, largely uncredited actors, are stuck inside that greasy fur, suspended over the Technicolor landscape by wires, and almost certainly not writing home about the part they played in this American film masterwork.

Disturbing then.  Disturbing now.

Disturbing also the information that came unbidden as I searched for “flying monkeys”.  It turns out that the term “flying monkeys” has been appropriated as an economical way of describing those who act as minions of true narcissists, the idea being that apologists, enablers,those who work to smooth things out, allow the narcissist to persist in abusive behavior.  The number of websites dedicated to the protection of victims caught in abusive traps by narcissists and their enabling minions indicates the existence of a problem I had only vaguely understood.

Let me backup a bit.  I’ve met my share of bullies and know a number of people whose lives have been affected, in some cases violently affected, by individuals who acted in their own self-interest without regard for others, common decency, or the rule of law.  In every instance, I saw well-meaning, compassionate, intelligent people attempt to mediate between the bully and the victim, and the outcome was always the same.

Bullies win.  Every time.  As long as the response to bullying is anywhere on the normal spectrum of human reaction, bullies win because they don’t play by any rules.

Narcissists are not simply self-centered or self-absorbed; We’re all self-centered and self-absorbed to some degree; even Gandhi and the Dalai Lama had to work to escape the self.  Most of us at times hold exaggerated appreciation of our own abilities and our own capacities, and most of behave in our own self-interest for some (ok, most) of the time.  But .. .we can summon empathy for others, feel some regret for behaviors that have been harmful, occasionally see ourselves as we are.  We may fall into selfish behavior, but we don’t feel great about that behavior when our selfishness is noticed, and although our attitudes may not always be altruistic and charitable, we exhibit a range of responses to the world and our experiences; we aren’t stuck in one persistent and malevolent self-aggrandizing mode of being over considerable periods of time.

Truly malevolent narcissists belong to a special cadre of personality disordered, mentally ill people whose qualities include profoundly exaggerated grandiosity, a grotesque sense of entitlement, and consistent exploitation of others to assure their personal gains.  The emotional tapestry of the narcissistic disordered person pulses with feelings of envy and aggression; this person is often fearlessly exhibitionistic, consistently anticipates betrayal, metes out punishment for perceived disloyalty or lack of approval.  Words such as dominating, vindictive, contemptuous describe the true narcissist, and relationships with this type of disordered person are characterized by  manipulation and exploitation.

One school of psychology focuses on “The dark triad”, narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy, the three overlapping traits that describe what can be called the malevolent personality.  Leaving conceptual descriptors aside, and bidding a fond farewell to diagnostic markers, the most pertinent reality about malevolent personalities is that they are among us.  I’ve heard fictional Jay Gatsby described as a narcissist, and Charles Foster Kane, but despite the all-absorbing and needy ego of characters such as these, despite their grandiosity, they don’t behave sociopathologically; they don’t set out to destroy people they believe to have been critical of them or less than loyal.  This is where the earlier reference to bullying comes into play. Bullies want what they want, they enforce an outcome that suits them, and they don’t mind the distress and pain they inflict; they feel entitled to  control and disable a lesser person.

I can’t guess at the number of domestic abusers who are narcissistic, but abuse arrives as vindictive and personal violence; no matter whether it is physical, psychological, verbal, financial, or sexual- it’s personal.  That is the bald fact of abuse.  Narcissist abuse is ugly, often publicly ugly, and yet it goes unchecked.  Narcissists invite those in a relationship  to play a game they cannot win because the narcissist makes the rules, and the rules only apply to others.

Negotiating with bullies means bullies always win.

I started with flying monkeys and need to tie their behavior to the dismaying reality that narcissists find the people they need to excuse and protect their behavior. While the witch stays out of the line of fire, her minions carry out her evil plans.  The difference out here, away from Oz, is that these flying monkeys often have no idea that they are being used.  They may feel needed, or endorsed, or emotionally blackmailed so that they apologize for the narcissist, inadvertently spy or carry gossip.  The narcissist is expert at playing the victim, turning the tables so that his or her target is blamed for the bad behavior the narcissist is forced to display.  When a direct attack might be dangerous or impolitic, the narcissist selects people who have reason or the inclination to attack and send them out to lead the charge.  It isn’t hard to know who gets a charge out of gossiping, who is inclined toward resentment, who has grudges or prejudices; they are the obvious foot soldiers.  Equally vulnerable are people who wholeheartedly believe in the inherent goodness of mankind.

“There are two sides to every story”, “She didn’t really mean what she said”, “You have to understand where he comes from,” “Everyone snaps a little now and then”, “Don’t you think he brought that on himself?”.  One of the many shocking aspects of the recent documentary and filmed series on the trial of O.J. Simpson was that his friends and acquaintances knew that he had brutalized Nicole Brown Simpson over the course of several years, but discounted the possibility that Simpson could have killed the mother of his children.  Until the end, they apologized for O.J. and discounted the accounts of his rage and jealousy.

There may be two sides to every story, but we will never get to hear Nicole’s.  Apparently he really did mean what he said when he threatened to kill her.  Many, many people came from the tough background that O.J. escaped.  Snapping now and then does not include double homicide.  I’m not inclined to agree that Nicole or the collaterally dispatched Ron Goldman brought murder on themselves.

In the end, however, children are always the most vulnerable to narcissistic manipulation.

Even well modulated parents will occasionally slip, presenting themselves to their children as the better parent.  “I know Mom doesn’t let you stay up to watch Saturday Night Live, but I don’t think that’s such a big deal.”  Not good.  Not helpful.  Ordinarily that sort of self-aggrandizing ploy ends up with a conversation between parents, who as partners, are determined to respect and support each other.

I don’t know if my wife’s father was a narcissist.  I have reason to think he was somewhere on the spectrum of narcissistic behavior as he compelled his children to testify against their mother in court when he sought a less costly divorce settlement.  It’s one thing to throw a partner under a bus, quite another to ask her children to do the throwing.

It is difficult to deal with a narcissist when you are a grown, independent, fully functioning adult. The children of narcissists have an especially difficult burden, for they lack the knowledge, power, and resources to deal with their narcissistic parents without becoming their victims. Whether cast into the role of Scapegoat or Golden Child, the Narcissist’s Child never truly receives that to which all children are entitled: a parent’s unconditional love.

The blogsite, The Narcissist’s Child, encourages children of narcissistic parents to tell their story and find support in the company of others who understand the legacy of growing up with a narcissistic parent.  It was on that site, in the entry “Flying Monkeys in your life”, that I found devastating accounts of how the narcissist’s minions operate.

As has been the case in almost all that I write, this piece came to me without my intending to look at the subject at all.  A semi-whimsical search for an image carried me far from whimsy to something like comprehension of events in my own life that have long seemed inexplocable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Apocalypse When?

Apocalypse When?

I suspect we will look back on the last fifteen years as the era in which post-apocalyptic literature and film became the imaginative default in our own perilous world, in the same way that ill-tempered aliens and radioactive mutant insects appeared as the threat of nuclear war became chillingly real in the 1950’s.   Contending with monsters on the screen allowed a sense of mastery over forces we feared and could not control in the same fashion that fairy tales brought children face to face with ogres, trolls, goblins, witches, and adults capable of unspeakable cruelty.  It’s possible that kids’ fascination with dinosaurs and sharks also allows a sense of mastery of large and fearsome forces, as does, in later years, spiraling into space on death-defying thrill rides.

Just a theory.

Theories such as those abound, and the supposition of environmental end times is certainly at work, particularly among writers who will live beyond the Baby Boomers.  Raised in prosperity, distracted by their own life journey, that generation does not leave a secure future.  The theory currently held by the President’s advisor, Steve Bannon, derives from his somewhat idiosyncratic take on speculative work done by William Strauss and Neil Howe.  The Strauss-Howe Generational Theory was first presented in their book, Generations, and then expanded in The Fourth Turning to suggest that four particular sorts of generations move through history, each producing a cycle of moods, which they call turnings.  In recent history, the generations have cycled in this order:  The Lost Generation,the  G.I. Generation, the Silent Generation, the Baby Boom Generation, Generation X, the Millennial Generation, and the Homeland Generation.

The four turnings describe the cycles of history with particular attention to two notable polar opposites, generations experiencing Awakening and generations experiencing Crisis.  Awakening describes the attack upon institutions in the name of autonomy and personal spiritual growth.  Strauss and Howe considered the consciousness movement (Boom Generation) which began in the 1960’s as the most recent Awakening.  Awakening, they posit, is followed by Unravelling, the third turning.  Institutions weaken, individualism is more important than coalescence.  The Long Boom and the Greedy 80’s are evidence of an Unravelling leading to Crisis, the fourth turning.

Crisis often involves war in which existing institutions are destroyed and then rebuilt resulting in renewed civic involvement and the creation of stronger institutions.  1929’s Wall Street Crash and the outbreak of W.W.II were the last Crisis.  The generation that came of age as the nation went through Unravelling became adults during the Crisis, they, the G.I. generation,were  a generation that pulled things together, a civic generation as personal sacrifice was necessary in order to survive. In Howe and Strauss’ terms,this was  a Hero generation.  The next generation, born during Crisis, came to an age in which all attention was directed toward the Crisis.  These, the Silent Generation, were adaptive, in the authors’ terms, an archetype they call the Artist.  As this cycle ended, the next generation, the Baby Boom, born near the end of Crisis, inherit a rejuvenated nation and the freedom to become idealists, Prophets, a self-conscious force toward Awakening.  Good news/bad news is that it is this generation that is at the helm when the cycle takes the nation to Crisis.  The theory observes that, for the most part, leaders in almost all arenas today are members of the Boom generation.  Waiting to take their place is Generation X, what is called a Nomad Generation or Reactive Generation, a generation bringing Awakening.

Bannon’s interpretation assumes conflagration and the most damaging war yet.  As he sees it, the Boom generation moved up at a moment of great prosperity and success, the dawn of what was the height of American global supremacy. The Nomads, GenX, are moving into Awakening, in reaction to the mess the Boom generation leaves behind.  Right behind them,  Millennials have to pick up the pieces as we hit yet another Crisis, and for Bannon, the Fourth Turning, Crisis, means global war.  His take is that the cycle of Crisis has played itself out with the American Revolution, The Civil War, Depression and World War Two.  He predicts the next cycle will bring war on an even greater scale.  Apocalypse.

Bannon’s mission has been to find a leader willing to bust up the existing systems in order to be able to deal with a Crisis already underway.  Given his place in the halls of power, should crisis mean war, it won’t be easy to separate this supposed generational mood and the self-fulfilling convictions of a presidential advisor.

I am intrigued by generational theory, but on a bad day, my more personal impulse toward thinking apocalyptically has to do with the Antarctic and Greenland’s ice sheets melting, and that’s a lot of ice, about the size of the United States and Mexico combined.  I’m made uneasy in learning that more than half of all the animals in the world have disappeared since 1970, and a quarter of all species of mammal are in danger of extinction; I don’t want to say goodby to Polar Bears, Rhinos, Snow Leopards, Mountain Gorillas, Albacore Tuna (Sorry, Charlie) .  The Great Barrier Reef is well on the way to becoming the OK Barrier Reef.  Species after species are throwing up their paws and fins in a final salute to a planet that can no longer support them.  Oklahoma has become Earthquake Central, experiencing more than a thousand quakes per year greater than 3.0 on the Richter Scale.  More than a billion barrels of wastewater injected near faults have the state rocking on a regular basis.

So, there’s that.

Apparently, however, there is reason to hope that many of what seemed irreversible trends are actually capable of reversal, and that all is not necessarily lost.  We may not need Mad Max on Fury Road in the next few years; maybe we won’t have to host the Hunger Games instead of the Olympics.  Despite the reluctance of some camps to give science and scientists the credit they are due, economic advantage goes to those who find ways to make thing work, and scientists are generating new, economically advantageous solutions to real problems on a daily basis.

Finally, the apocalyptic impulse, I’ve been advised is not out there, but in here, and by in here I mean in my Baby Boomer mindset.  We, the Boom Generation, have had it our way for so long, held on our positions of authority for so long, continue to live for so long, that, at some point we begin to believe (because, I mean, Come On!) the world probably can’t go on without us.

I’ll admit that I do equate my extinction with total extinction because I’ll be extinct.  That’s about as far as my projections can go.  Can I conceive of planting a tree that my grandchild might swing on after my personal extinction has taken place? Absolutely.Beyond any positive legacy I can leave behind,  I actually think that my children and their generation have the ability to make the world work at least as well as we have – not much of a challenge there!

So, whether the generational cycles are predictive or things just happen to happen, those who follow my generation will have to work quickly to set things right.  I’ll be as extinct as the Snow Leopard, but I really don’t believe the world ends with me.