When Death Trumps Life

Why do the people think so little of death?
Because the rulers demand too much of life.
Therefore the people take death lightly.
~ Tao Te Ching, portion of Seventy-Five ~

This particular passage is very timely. With the US economy in free fall, a recent article posted on AlterNet, "The Financial Crisis Is Driving Hordes of Americans to Suicide" only underscores how more and more people are viewing death as a viable alternative to life.

The body count is still rising. For months on end, marked by bankruptcies, foreclosures, evictions, and layoffs, the economic meltdown has taken a heavy toll on Americans. In response, a range of extreme acts including suicide, self-inflicted injury, murder, and arson have hit the local news. By October 2008, an analysis of press reports nationwide indicated that an epidemic of tragedies spurred by the financial crisis had already spread from Pasadena, California, to Taunton, Massachusetts, from Roseville, Minnesota, to Ocala, Florida.

In the three months since, the pain has been migrating upwards. A growing number of the world's rich have garnered headlines for high profile, financially-motivated suicides. Take the New Zealand-born "millionaire financier" who leapt in front of an express train in Great Britain or the "German tycoon" who did much the same in his homeland. These have, with increasing regularity, hit front pages around the world. An example would be New York-based money manager René-Thierry Magnon de la Villehuchet, who slashed his wrists after he "lost more than $1 billion of client money, including much, if not all, of his own family's fortune." In the end, he was yet another victim of financial swindler Bernard Madoff's $50 billion Ponzi scheme.

An unknown but rising number of less wealthy but distinctly well-off workers in the financial field have also killed themselves as a result of the economic crisis -- with less press coverage. Take, for instance, a 51-year-old former analyst at Bear Stearns. Learning that he would be laid off after JPMorgan Chase took over his failed employer, he "threw himself out of the window" of his 29th-floor apartment in Fort Lee, New Jersey. Or consider the 52-year-old commercial real estate broker from suburban Chicago who "took his life in a wildlife preserve" just "a month after he publicly worried over a challenging market," or the 50-year-old "managing partner at Leeward Investments" from San Carlos, California, who got wiped out "in the markets" and "suffocated himself to death..."

These sobering facts should cause those in Washington, D.C. to take pause. Whatever legislation they end up passing to deal with this new Great Depression (and let's be honest about what's happening -- it's not a fleeting economic downturn -- it's a bona fide depression), it must contain strategies to get lots of people back to work. If not, then articles like the one above will become...ho hum...commonplace.

The only way for death to become a popular avenue is when people start to view life as unbearable. Being out of work with no realistic prospects of finding a decent job, lacking the ability to pay one's monthly bills, having no health care or no roof over one's head and being unable to feed one's family are surefire ways to make life unbearable for many.

Where there is no hope, there is no joy.

Where life seems like death, death itself becomes a perverse joy.

Private Grief in Public View

In November 1963, I was a 1st grader in Mrs. Thrall's class at Hale Cook Elementary School in Kansas City, MO. I had just turned 6 years old the previous month. Life seemed good...until one fateful Friday afternoon.

I certainly don't remember what we were doing in class that day, probably immersed in discussions of Dick and Jane or working on critical theorems like 1+2= 3. At some point, however, the principal showed up and asked our teacher to go out into the hall. While we couldn't hear the conversation, I do remember hearing Mrs. Thralls' gasp.

When she returned to the classroom, she was in tears. This was probably the first time most of us had seen an adult, other than maybe our parents, cry. In a barely audible voice, she told us that the president was dead. Now we were all crying.

The import of this event was lost on us. Yes, we vaguely knew that John F. Kennedy was the president of our country, but that fact doesn't mean a helluva lot when you're only 6 or 7 years old. I believe that our anguish was motivated by our teacher's obvious anguish. If she was upset, then the president's death must be a really bad thing.

The bus ride home from school that day was surreal. It was the only such bus ride I can remember in which there was no yelling and screaming, and nobody acted up. We all sat quietly in our seats, awaiting our time to disembark.

For the next 3 days or so, the Kennedy assassination and proceedings dominated our small television screen. I remember watching the casket of the slain president moving its way slowly up Pennsylvania Avenue. I remember the state funeral and the flag-draped coffin.

More than anything else, I remember the public view of the Kennedy family's private grief. There, for all the world to see, stood Jackie, Caroline & John Jr., grappling with their own personal loss while light bulbs flashed and video cameras rolled. Even worse were the ridiculous questions posed by the various reporters to members of the Kennedy entourage -- "So, how are you feeling about now? I bet the president's death must have come as a shock to you."

These echoes, whispers and images came bubbling up to the surface this afternoon as I briefly watched the service for former President Gerald R. Ford. There, in the glare of the camera spotlight, was Betty Ford. Just like Jackie Kennedy before her, she was trying to keep a stiff upper lip and not completely breakdown.

Whether one agrees with the politics of a president or government leader, on a base human level, my heart goes out to their families during their time of grief. It's hard enough saying goodbye to a loved one; it's quite another thing to do it with millions of people watching.

A Shadow of her Own

When Martin Luther King, Jr. was struck down by an assassin's bullet, it felt like someone had kicked us in our societal stomach and we couldn't breath. It was the end of an historic era. Many felt that King's dream might never be realized.

But out the void of his death walked Coretta. His widow, though beset with grief, decided to dedicate the rest of her life toward turning her late husband's words into reality. She became the first lady of the civil rights movement. Sadly, Coretta Scott King died yesterday.

She founded the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change. She was an outspoken defender of civil rights and justice. In essence, she stepped outside of her husband's shadow to create one of her own.

I think Rev. Joseph Lowery, a co-founder of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, said it best, "She wore her grief with grace; she exerted her leadership with dignity."

Ain't Coming Back

Throughout the past two days I have seen a lot of comments about how much we need Martin Luther King Jr. today. While I devoted four separate entries yesterday to this man (who is one of my heroes), I believe it borders on dangerous to wax eloquently about a leader who died nearly 40 years ago. It shifts our focus to the past when we need to be sharply focused on the present and future.

There's no question that MLK would serve today as the same kind of beacon for hope and dedication as he did in the 50s and 60s. But folks, he's dead. He ain't coming back. Rather than rehash our grief at his assassination in 1968, we need to develop NEW leaders who will embody his spirit and more.

That said, there is one trait in our new leaders that should emulate the path taken by Dr. King. These new leaders must be chosen by the people, not chosen by themselves.

Martin Luther King, Jr. didn't set out to be the voice of the civil rights movement. He was often a reluctant leader. He would have been more than a happy to let the spotlight's glare fall on others. But the people chose him to be their standardbearer and he served because of them.

Today, we have a lot of people who go at this from the opposite direction. They tell us that they are leaders and then they go around trying to drum a devoted flock. They are consumed with fame and recognition and being a "player". We don't need that kind of leadership.

As I believe Dr. King exemplified, the best leaders are those who would rather not lead. Their emphasis is on the movement, not themselves. Because they are NOT so self-centered, they are more apt to listen to the counsel of others and to bring people together in solidarity to accomplish goals, not get "their" name in the paper.

As great as he was, Martin Luther King Jr. is dead. Dead men AND women don't lead movements. Live ones do.

End of the Line?

Death. It’s one of those unnerving topics that most people try to steer clear of. About the ONLY time most of us are willing to talk about it is when someone we know dies. We talk about it quickly in hushed tones. And we welcome anyone who can provide us with a diversion.

My wife learned yesterday that her foster grandmother (the woman was my mother-in-law’s foster mother) died. Both my wife & I have mixed feelings about the woman’s passing. On the one hand, we feel sympathy for those family members in grief. On the other hand, however, this woman was one of the most miserable people either of us have ever met, so there’s not much grieving going on at our house.

Grandma was miserable by her own choice. She was a Christian fundamentalist who viewed the world as solely black-and-white, no shades of grey anywhere. She was willing to be your “friend”, provided that you believed just as she did. If you didn’t (and even trivial differences counted), then she would x you out of her book.

Since no one that I know of agreed with her world view 100 per cent, as the years went by, almost everyone – children and other close relatives included – were cast aside. At the end of her life on planet earth, she was alone in her self-righteousness.

This woman missed out on weddings, births, first words and first steps, promotions and everything else her once friends and/or relatives experienced in their lives. In essence, by shutting her heart to so many people, she robbed herself of sharing in the joys and heartaches of the very people she should have held dear. In my book, that’s the definition of self-imposed misery!

All of this might not be for naught, if heaven is the kind of place she believed in. If it is, then maybe she will have the last laugh.

But what if her spirit rises up out the primordial mist and, instead of finding herself at the pearly gates, she is dropped down next to a simple handwritten sign, “You had your one big chance and you blew it”.

This is something I think more fundamentalists should ponder. If heaven turns out to be each of our lives here on earth and not some place in the hereafter, then it will mean that far too many lives have been wasted. Such people will have squandered their one opportunity for happiness and fulfillment, waiting for a day that had already arrived...the day they were born.