A few weeks ago, I found myself lost in exploration of reports that helium was escaping from the ground all over Yellowstone National Park, which might be a precursor to a supervolcano that would fundamentally alter the course of human history. Last week, when I should have been constantly grading, I found my attention drawn away by the Gordian Knot of confusion surrounding the disappearance of Malaysia Airlines flight 370, which is still an ongoing mystery and a raw wound for the families of all those involved. Between taking part in crowdsourced scanning of satellite images and reading about wild, speculative theories, I was as wrapped up in the drama as anyone could be.
Some current events are interesting, not for their content, but for they reactions the elicit from the masses. One event that is unfolding as we speak involves the founder of the Westboro Baptist Church, Fred Phelps, who is reportedly on his death bed. Reactions have been varied and swift. Even Grumpy Cat, the now-passé internet meme, had a predictable reaction.
Eloquent, timely, and full of compassion.
What else would you expect from the internet?
Phelps' former congregant, Lauren Drain released a statement, claiming that "that every man [and] woman deserves the right to make peace with themselves, their family [and] their God on their death bed." Some have called for massive donations to Gay Rights groups in Phelps' memory. George Takei, who has become far more famous as a cultural gadfly than he ever was as Star Trek's Sulu, called for taking the high road by informing his fans that "I take no solace or joy in this man's passing. We will not dance upon
his grave, nor stand vigil at his funeral holding "God Hates Freds"
signs, tempting as it may be."
The poster boy for endorsing less restraint.
The normal blog post I'd share would end with a warm, mildly articulate thought on how we should all meet hate with love, thus balancing out the world. Not this week.
Last night, I attended a rock show with my oldest daughter. The band was a weird blend of metal, emo, and a Hot Topic employee style guide. They were too loud and clearly not meant to appeal to someone of my demographic cohort. I'm fine with that. A thousand sweaty millennials, full of disappointment and angst, flung themselves around, threw their hands up, took pictures of the concert on their phones, or bobbed their heads arrhythmically to the music.
There were a variety of reactions, each with their own degree of validity to the person experiencing the moment. Within certain basic confines, such as "it's wrong to hurt others who wish not to be harmed" and "it is wrong to willfully damage the property of others," most reactions are understandable. The same idea holds true for the passing of Fred Phelps. For a man whose fame is predicated on hateful, insensitive, cruel rhetoric, a cemetery full of signs and boisterous picketers might finally cause the WBC to register shame at what they've wrought. Those who live by the sword, die by the sword. To a large number of people, the reaction seems valid.
I, for one, do not think the WBC will even attend his funeral. They're unethical people, but they're not idiots. Rather than being hoisted on their own petard, they'll likely decline attending and claim that he had become an untrue Scotsman at the end of his life. Ironically, the only people connected to Phelps who attend will likely be those estranged from him, which are not the people picketers should target.
Composing eulogies about hate only bringing forth hate are valid reactions as well, which can bring both a sense of closure and finality to the life of a misguided human. These kinds of codas also bear with them a strong sense of moral satisfaction, bordering on smugness, at having won by never stooping to the level of the departed. Whether we admit it or not, this is common response to the death of an enemy.
Some will rejoice, dedicating anthemic modern, GLBTQ-friendly songs like Philadelphia Freedom or Same Love to Phelps. There might even be a public celebration surrounding Phelps' actual burial. I suspect that his grave will become a sort of dark, depressing tourist destination, similar to the way that Jim Morrison's grave is in Paris. Though, I don't see many people celebrating in quite the same way (that's the same Lucien Greaves behind the Satanist statue at the Oklahoma Capitol complex, by the way).
Ultimately, I think the way I'll observe the passing of this person is the way that I observed his life: cold indifference, coupled with a healthy awareness. I firmly believe that ignoring the WBC protests and not giving them network coverage was the best possible course of action we could have taken. I believe that not reacting out of anger or resisting being drawn to them like flies to a picnic would have been better than trying to engage them directly. I believe that they would have eventually intensified their activities to such a point that they violated a law, thus inviting lawsuits and eventually, a cessation of their efforts. Perhaps we'll learn that sensationalized news brings out this kind of rhetoric and instead opt to avoid legitimizing it with coverage.
Elie Wiesel had it half right. The opposite of hate isn't love. The opposite of hate is also indifference. Because Phelps preached in favor of the violation of basic confines that protect us all, my reaction is not to enshrine him as an Ozymandias of a dying ideology or as a martyr of a lost-cause theology gone wrong. My reaction is to make no effort to conserve or preserve his world view, beyond reaching the conclusion for myself that it is irrelevant and of no value.
But that's just my reaction and it's only one of many possible reactions.
Have a good week out there. Stay positive. I promise I'll try to get back to doing the same.
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