May 2020
We live in an era of celebrity. The nation’s top elected official came into our collective consciousness through reality TV. From musician to athlete to celluloid hero, celebrities use the megaphone of fame to tell us how to live. When they’re raising money for hurricane victims, we adore them; when they’re telling us how to vote, we abhor them.
Recently, I went on a half-vacation, half-pilgrimage to the childhood home of Bruce Springsteen. Born into the home of a manic factory worker, Springsteen’s working-class themes have led some to describe him as the finest author of post-World War II American life. Rather than telling listeners what to think, Springsteen’s narratives ask the listeners to think reflectively. Best known for the anthemic songs “Born to Run” (1975) or “Born in the USA” (1984), Springsteen’s idealized portrayal of the American spirit is best captured in the title track to his Grammy-winning album “The Ghost of Tom Joad” (1995).
Lifted from John Steinbeck’s “The Grapes of Wrath,” Joad is the son of white Okies who, in desperation, take to the road as migratory farm workers. It was a journey my own mother and her parents took, moving from rural Nebraska to Oregon to pick peaches. In the song, Springsteen casts Steinbeck’s images of the 1930s into a modern America, highlighting the plights of the forgotten and downtrodden. Joad’s character symbolizes the American spirit by extending a hand despite his hardships.
Springsteen uses Joad’s character to reflect Jefferson’s and Madison’s ideas of citizenship when he sings, “Wherever there’s somebody fightin’ for a place to stand/ Or decent job or a helpin’ hand/ Wherever somebody’s strugglin’ to be free/ Look in their eyes, Mom, you’ll see me.”
No other event since the mid-20th century has touched as many lives as the COVID-19 pandemic. For baby boomers and younger, this experience is the tie that binds. In an ironic twist, people around the globe simultaneously shared the experience of being alone. For many, it was our first experience with far-reaching deprivation and extended anxiety. For others, it was just another day not-at-the-office.
In 1835, French aristocrat Alexis de Tocqueville noted that the difference between Europeans and this new nation was that Americans formed associations and accomplished great things. One hundred and sixty-five years later, noted research scientist Robert Putnam found that while Americans continue to be active, we were no longer participating in associations.
He chronicled his findings in the 2000 book “Bowling Alone.” Putnam found that American engagement through group membership was dropping. As they withdrew, social capital fell, we became less trusting, and society became more coarse. Whether it’s the media, elected officials, religious organizations, the education system or our neighbors, trust was falling.
Recent research indicates that before the current pandemic, Americans, particularly whites and African Americans, have increasingly chosen to segregate themselves into same-race neighborhoods. We’ve become a nation that no longer knows our neighbors.
Baseball philosopher Yogi Berra once said, “When you come to a fork in the road, take it!” Amid a time of fear and death, this shared pause from the hectic pace of modern life presents us for a moment for cultural reflection.
In the aftermath of Sept. 11, for the first time in a very long time, it felt like springtime in America. There was a collective sense of “we” permeating our lives. Today, understandably, some are eager to get back to normal.
After weeks of Zoom meetings, hand-washing and the death-defying act of shopping for groceries, we’re lonely for human touch. Perhaps, as we enter this next phase of pandemic, we should use this time of reflection, not go back to normal but, rather, to go forward in fulfilling the shared visions of Jefferson and King. Perhaps:
“Well the highway is alive tonight/ But nobody’s kiddin’ nobody about where it goes/ I’m sittin’ down here in the campfire light/ With the ghost of old Tom Joad.”
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