The Ehrlich Report

I was giving a lecture on the highlights of American immigration history and had just come to introduce the War Relocation Authority. That was the 1942 bill that authorized the roundup and imprisonment of Japanese Americans. As I described the prison camps, a young woman raised her hand and with great agitation told me that she did not believe what I was saying. “This is a Christian nation,” she said. “We would never do a thing like that.” With that pronouncement, she left the class and I never saw her again. It is likely that she is one of that 16 per cent who believe the Constitution established the US as a Christian nation. Americans are profoundly politically ignorant.
Being politically ignorant is not the same as just being ignorant. Consider that forty-eight percent of Americans believe that oatmeal is made from wheat or that one-third believe in ghosts. That is a high level of ignorance that may or may not affect a person’s behavior. But political ignorance affects the way we are governed and the way we go about opposing that governance. Two incidents occurred this week that forcefully reminded me of the fragility of civic literacy. While talking about the pending appointment of Judge Alioto to the Supreme Court, I mentioned the issue of Rowe v. Wade. My conversational partner, a well-educated woman in her early thirties, stopped me. Although a strongly self-identified feminist, and pro choice, she had heard of but did not know what Rowe v. Wade referred to. The other incident occurred in my class at the Free U. I had just shown a video on the racist, right-wing white supremacist movement and one of the class participants, very bright, educated, in his forties, told me that he was confused by my references to right and left wing. Who are they he asked and what’s the difference.
One more story. This happened to me a few years ago and is worth the telling. I showed up for my appointment at a downtown office wearing on my lapel an antiwar button. The button, white with black lettering, featured a peace symbol with lettering circling around it that said “Back by popular demand” The receptionist greeted me and started giggling. “Mr. Ehrlich,” she said, “you’re the only one I know who would wear a button like that.” It took a little while but we finally pieced it together. She had focused on the “back by popular demand” inscription and found it humorous that I would announce myself that way. As for the peace symbol, she had no idea what that represented other than a decorative addition.
So here, as in the other incidents, I thought I was communicating a political message when in fact I was not. This is serious stuff. Those of us who see ourselves as political writers, as organizers and activists, may well be articulating good ideas but not in a language spoken by our audience. Part of it is our own insularity. For example, everyone in my social circle knows what the peace symbol looks like. Part of it is that we have our own argot. Left and Right is only one minor example, but what about capitalism, neoliberalism, globalization, platformism, social anarchism, and so on. (Add your own favorites to the list.) There is nothing wrong with having a special language, but you need to know that your audience also knows it or that you are teaching it to them. One of the problems of such language is that it is often not well-defined and that even in-group speakers don’t share the same connotations.
Finally, part of the problem has to do with the Left’s ambivalence towards education. While that is the subject of another column, let me take you back three years to a well-attended meeting of peace activists. Among others present, I had become increasingly disturbed at the level of political ignorance displayed by many participants. Matters of substance and of group process were being sloughed off in the group’s eagerness for “activism.” A motion was presented to set aside half an hour of every meeting for internal education. The motion was strongly defeated. A counter proposal was then put forward to allocate 15 minutes of each meeting for group educational activities. The absurdity of a 15-minute education break was not lost on the group and after much hassle they agreed to allocate half an hour every other week to political education. The discussion was oddly contentious with a narcissistic minority claiming they did not need any further education while others, perhaps recalling years of boredom in school, were fearful of recapitulating that experience.
The underlying question then, as well as now, is: How can we set ourselves up to educate others when we fail to educate ourselves?
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