Skip to content

Unfriendly Fire

I got into one of my infrequent yet regular Facebook arguments this past week.

As per usual, I dip into these discussions purposely and only when something “clicks.” Usually, the click comes when one of my good-natured, earnest, and liberal Facebook friends posts a bit of pointed social or political commentary, but nothing too directly confrontational. The fighters can defend themselves; I don’t think it’s either correct or productive to promote a quick demise for all conservatives or sterilization for Trump supporters, and anyone with that much venom is apparently equipped to fight their fight.

This particular case involves a dear high school friend and a meme she shared making the point that it isn’t “efficient” for companies to not pay their employees a living wage—it’s cheap, inhumane, and incredibly inefficient when the government must step in to provide that missing support.

My dear friend has two other dear friends that I either don’t know or don’t remember. They must be dear friends to her, because they harangue her with snippy, ridiculing, almost condescending Facebook counter-arguments, almost every time she posts something; and she hasn’t blocked them yet.

Well, why am I telling you (my vast blog audience) all of this? I guess this is the public version of those inner conversations one has when reliving conflicts, usually with two main objectives:  (1) confirming one’s righteousness and (2) giving all of the clever or inappropriate comebacks that either didn’t present themselves at the moment or would have sent the argument into a new level of nastiness that absolutely would not have been productive.

On the first count, of course I do believe that I am correct on several counts. A living wage does matter. Companies have responsibilities to all of their stakeholders—whether owners, shareholders, the community they serve and operate in, the employees, or the government. Some are mandated, and some are just common sense. Ultimately, if your business is doing more harm than good, then you are dampening the macro economy. You may not feel the crunch from your harm next week or even next year, but harming people, harming animals, harming the environment, and harming the community—all of these things will circle back on your business at some point.

But what of the counter-arguments I was presented with? Was I too dismissive of them? Well, you judge. I was told (with all the condescension appropriate for a deluded socialist such as me) that the market determines wages and that people are responsible for getting jobs that demand a wage that is sufficient for their economic needs.

Having not had the luxury of being a deluded socialist in real life, I have more than lived this advice. I worked at an ice cream shop out of college, making around seven bucks an hour.  By fits and starts, I pushed my hourly wage up to around $13 an hour by the time I started my professional career as an accountant, 11 years out of college. I racked up $45K in credit card debt in the meantime, coming dangerously close to bankruptcy, and found that the only way for me to almost comfortably support myself was by working two jobs.

Going back to school to get my accounting degree cost me more than $35K, and I just barely managed to pay for the small part of tuition that wasn’t rolled into the loans. I studied online while working over 60 hours per week.

Things have eased considerably for me since beginning my professional career. But it was a huge uphill battle for me to get that foothold. Some conservatives like the two I wrangled with this past week would hold my story up as a paradigm demonstrating the nonsense of companies worrying about a living wage. Some jobs just aren’t meant to sustain a person—you move on to one that does—it’s as simple as that.

Except—not simple. Not at all. I made it happen for myself, and I am exceptionally proud of my accomplishments. But I just barely made it happen. I had just barely enough money, enough credit, enough resources, enough lucky breaks, enough connections at the right time, enough people willing to take a chance on me to make the pieces come together the way they did. So I feel lucky.

Oh, and a couple other things. I am a white male. I have no children. I have no other family members to support—no elderly parents or grandparents, no disabled brothers or sisters, no mooching cousins. I have no health issues. For those years I struggled below or at the level of the living wage, I could contribute 100% of my sparse income to my food, rent, and utilities (and credit card minimums). Plus I had an unexpected roommate for about three years during my most dire straits, and that extra few hundred dollars a month in rent saved me. That, and spending $20 a week on groceries. (Yes, it can be done.)

Oh, and one more thing. I’m smart and educated. Not everyone has the aptitude or the opportunity to gain the credentials needed to land a big chunk of those available living wage jobs. I graduated as valedictorian of the best public school in the state of Tennessee, then graduated from arguably the best college in the entire southeastern United States.

Yet and still, I bounced around at a handful of practically entry-level jobs for a decade after graduating college.  And just to clarify, this circumstance was not due to poor job performance or lack of planning. I went into each job understanding that some level of advancement was available to me. And it’s entirely possible I would be chugging along as a mailroom manager or an ice cream shop manager these many years later, making an OK salary, if I hadn’t gone back to school. However, I stayed at the ice cream shop for over seven years, and it just wasn’t happening for me.

Please tell me again how anyone can just decide they want a better-paying job and then execute. I’m dying to know how that works. The level of privilege that presents in that statement is staggering, and that’s what really lit a fire under me in this Facebook discussion.

So, in the course of my explanation of why I think I’m right, I think I covered some of the snappy comebacks that I withheld during the actual discussion, as well. Besides, name-calling, even in absentia, is not productive. So I think I will forego covering here all the names I wanted to call these two guys.

I think they revealed themselves sufficiently in their viewpoints, and more importantly, in the arrogant way they expressed those viewpoints. They called themselves the names that I won’t.

I’m not sure if I did any good or opened any minds by engaging in the discussion. At the very least, I hope I let these guys know that an alternative viewpoint can be well considered. And that they can’t run roughshod over my friend, a single mother of three who no doubt felt the sting of judgment in their comments.

I also hope by extending the discussion into this post that some other folks who are on either side of such an online thread gain some insight about how they behave and present themselves when discussing political issues. People take these things seriously because they take them personally, so it always helps to understand and honor that personal connection.


Don’t Forget Where You Came From… Unless You Can’t Remember – Part ONE

On the way to work this morning, I was reflecting on how far I’d come. No, not the block or so I had walked from the house at that point. That was not very far at all.

How far I had come in life. And I like to be quite self-congratulatory.

My dad’s side of the family were literal hillbillies: tobacco-growing, possum-consuming, Tennessee hill dwellers who lived in shacks on the side of Haydenburg Ridge at the foothills of the Appalachians. My father had dreams beyond the ridge, and was a voracious reader. He left high school, joined the Army, got himself stationed in Arkansas and then Alaska, then moved back to Tennessee, where he was drawn to the relative big-city life of Nashville. After years working odd jobs and preaching on the side, he retreated to the country again in response to my birth. As a God-fearing minister, he knew that he owed me a childhood away from the sinful life of the big city.

My mom’s family was from one county over in rural middle Tennessee. They were more townfolk than my dad’s family, but her dad was also a farmer. I have no clue what anyone else on either side of my mom’s family did. My mom met my father when she was about 17, and she was 19 when they married. As far as I can tell, she spent her life chasing behind my father while he chased his whims. She was smarter than she gave herself credit for, and way more grounded than my father, but because of her perceived duty as a wife, she ended up living in a state of reaction to him. I say all this to explain why I have no idea what she wanted to be or do.

What I just told you is 90 percent of what I know about my “heritage.” It’s just enough to make the knowing joke I make when people try to guess my background. Because of my chosen friends, my chosen family, and my chosen interests (and apparently a good deal of squinting), I have variously been identified as Italian, Latin, Middle Eastern, or even “mixed,” despite what I perceive as a rather Northern European countenance and an objectively verifiable melanin deficiency. I typically set folks straight by saying I’m half-hillbilly and half-redneck. In other words, the very opposite of the euphemistic “ethnic” designation.

So I’m really only proud of my background as a marker for how far I’ve come since then. I have two college degrees, one from Emory, the other in business administration. I’m a CPA, a city slicker of over a quarter century since moving to Atlanta after high school. I own two homes, I take economical but “real” vacations at least twice a year, and have traveled to London, New York, all around the Caribbean… and to Minneapolis!

And perhaps most importantly, I’ve severed almost all ideological connections to the place I was raised. I’m a bleeding-heart liberal living in the oldest historically black neighborhood in Atlanta with my partner. His name is Hasahn… and he gets stopped by TSA every single time we fly out of Hartsfield. I am the living, breathing nightmare of the majority of my former classmates at Macon County Middle School–but of course, I could have cleared that hurdle by admitting that I voted for Hillary for president… twice.

But enough about me…


Telleth Me Why This Sounds Holy

I try not to be anti-religion, because a majority of my friends keep religion in their lives in some capacity, and for some it’s a central part of their lives. But the whole idea is troublesome to me.

And what’s worse: the connection I have to my friends’ religion is, if anything, more troublesome than the idea of religion itself.

That connection is language. How some folks communicate their faith frequently makes it impossible for me to take them seriously. And that makes me feel like a jerk: my friends share their most spiritually intimate thoughts, and my unfiltered response is to make fun of them. So I want to take a step inward to understand myself, and a step outward to understand what sometimes make these expressions of piety disturbing.

I’m a word geek. The jury is still out on whether I’m a good writer, and my vocabulary is only a little above average. What I think I’m good at, though, is understanding the way words fit together to create meaning. That dynamic is what I geek out about.

It’s also what I nitpick about in my evaluation of the language I encounter on a daily basis. I find myself screaming in my head at the incongruous email conventions of my coworkers. “Please kindly reply with the requested information.” Say what? How in holy hell does “kindly” even make sense with that sentence? You’ve made a very dry, clinical information request, but you want me to supply it to you in a humane, considerate way?

I can see that’s a different essay for another day.

But when it comes to religion, that outrage just exponentiates. So it’s a function of my word geekiness on one hand. But, to be candid, it’s also the bottled-up fury of the repressive Church of Christ upbringing I endured as a child. Then, I thought every adult was wise, but now I look back on the cast of characters that inhabited the church buildings of my youth and see very little but ignorance, peer pressure, and social cliques.

And all of it was couched in holy-sounding language that many didn’t believe and many others didn’t even understand. So when I see that language echoed in social media posts, I bristle.

So, if you ever engage me in a religious discussion and use the word “thee,” what you have in fact accomplished is a double-whammy of activating the syntax police officer in my head and triggering the PTSD from not being able to turn on my Magnus organ in Gamaliel, Kentucky on a Sunday because my parents were worried that the churchgoers across the street might think we were trying to add instrumental music to God’s day, which is mentioned NO WHERE IN THE BIBLE and therefore can be considered sinful.

Yes, I’m serious.

So, OK, now you know about me. Now let me tell you about religion and language.

I’m not a theology scholar, but the armchair guide to Western civilization has as one of its short stubby, legs this idea that knowledge is power. And that, as a convenient way to both save resources by not investing in its citizenry and to keep it under its thumb, the various Christian churches (notably the Catholic Church but most all the others, as well) did not promote literacy and made people reliant on the “scholarship” and reading skills of their religious leaders, who essentially read sacred texts to them, then interpreted them.

And I am aware of the way this translates directly into the way most people consume religion today. Even the most devout Christians do little more than attend Sunday services, where they listen to the professional religious dude (or, thankfully and finally, gal) tell them how they’re supposed to feel about the things that God told them to do in the Bible, and then read the Bible in a mostly pedestrian way throughout the week in between services. There’s only so much demand for full-time religious dudes–the rest of us have to live in the secular world and make it function. That leaves us at the mercy of the religious dudes.

Literacy and language are integral to the way we think about religion. So, to me, it’s more than a cosmetic faux pas when someone lapses into 16th century English when conveying their religious viewpoints. It signifies a thoughtless, cosmetic approach to religion.

It’s beyond the scope of my analytical powers right now to dissect all of the problems with how people talk about religion. But here are a few of my personal pet peeves.

  • Archaic or obtuse language. People use King James language because they’re used to the King James biblical translation, which from what I hear is a great translation, but itself needs translating after 400 years of language evolution. When it’s strictly a matter of comfort, I don’t mind people quoting verses the way they learned them when they were in Sunday school. But when language is used as a weapon, and it often is, it loses all quaintness and becomes reprehensible. By making concepts and rules more distant from everyday language and everyday experiences, people seek to confer divine status on their own words and promote problematic ideas with flowery or hard-to-understand language.
  • Advancing one’s beliefs as truths in mixed environments. Your telling me what Jesus said, what God rewards, or what afterlife experience your favorite loved one is experiencing seems benign enough, but I believe that is because we’ve been incubated in a religious bubble in the U.S. If I just blurted out what my Wiccan* deity has in store for all humankind, you’d be at a loss and I would seem presumptuous for putting that proclamation out there in the world. Muslims in particular have to be particularly guarded about what they proclaim in non-Muslim forums like social media. The ease with which Christians make self-assured statements about spiritual “truths” makes me uneasy.
  • Discretion-shaming. And for double insult, a lot of Christians will double-down on their “truth-telling” by either directly or indirectly calling out their fellow Christians for being ashamed of their God or their religion. These folks should actually be applauded for having the decency to not assume the entire world is Christian and to tailor their interfaith communications accordingly. This conceit is the impetus behind the phantom “War on Christmas.” Under the guise of “witnessing,” many are  sending the message, “My beliefs are genuine and truthful, and yours, if they are different, are not.” And for those whose intent in “witnessing” is not malicious, there’s often an element of fear that I see in their actions–that if they’re not loud and obnoxious enough in their self-centered approach to religion, they may end up going to H-E-double-hockey-sticks.
  • “Witnessing” actually brings me to my last pet peeve, which is similar to my first pet peeve, but a little different. There are archaic terms, and then there are nebulous terms that are current, just poorly defined and understood. They’re the equivalent of corporate buzzwords, full of potential but ultimately empty with overuse and misappropriation. Praise. Testify. Bless. Heck, sometimes “Love” even falls in with this crowd. They become empty symbols of something presumably more profound. Ask your average churchgoer to explain the mechanics or value of these actions, or their origins in any formal religious teaching, and my guess is that you’ll get back some blank stares.

And this brings me back full-circle to what may be one of my largest misgivings about religion the way it is leveraged today. Religion serves the practical purpose of making people feel good about themselves, their lives, and more broadly, their existence. To the extent that people seek to deceive themselves or others in the service of this process of making themselves feel good, my antennae go up.

And to the extent that language is used as a tool of this deception, my antennae go up even more. Because words are my friends, and I don’t want them drafted in the service of deception.



* I’m not Wiccan, by the way. It’s sort of my go-to pagan religion that a Christian would take issue with.

How to Bare One’s Soul Without Showing One’s Ass

If you mine back into my earlier blog posts, you will find Bouncing Baby Blogger Micah broaching some dangerous personal territory: allegations of emotional abuse, TMI disclosures, and questionable editorial judgement.

It is no fun for the other parties involved when they see themselves depicted in an unflattering or downright nasty light. I tried to be fair, and I tried to find places where I was also at fault, but I know that I have a persistent self-righteous streak. In print, this comes across as, “Look at how fair and objective I’m being, but really he’s awful.” Such posts also come off as passive-aggressive when you know that your reading audience is largely limited to people who know the exact identity of this unnamed bad guy.

In my defense, I started a blog to indulge the idea of having a potentially worldwide readership. Anyone in the world could type in ten characters on their browser and have access to my words. It’s a thrilling conceit. But in the real world, anonymity is harder to come by. They knew who I was talking about.

So I laid off those types of personal posts to keep peace in my relationships.

But I’m tired of that. I want to speak my mind. I don’t just think about the news cycle and politics and the common good. And I can only comment so much about pop culture. How do I proceed? How do I bare my soul without… well, you read the title of the post.

I’m blessed to have a partner who, as a general rule, doesn’t mind what I do or say. He regards me as a totally autonomous human, and he is self-possessed enough not to feel lessened by anything others say about him. If I were to get into confessional mode, he would be the most exposed. I assert this only because of the closeness of our relationship–these confessions could be good, bad, or indifferent and simply embarrassing.

Still, it’s bad business to discuss one’s personal issues on a blog when you haven’t articulated them to the affected party. And believe me, something would come tumbling off my keyboard and onto the internet that I hadn’t hashed out with him–there’s no stopping that without some deliberate effort. And my other friends–they are more sensitive and would not appreciate my oversharing their lives, even “anonymously.”

I don’t expect to resolve this issue in a blog post. But I do appreciate you all brainstorming with me.

Maybe this is the jump-off point for my career as a novelist! I could channel all my relationship anxieties into a fictional character and then spend the entire book tour downplaying the autobiographical elements of my novel and their connection to this stray blog post I just happened to write before I started work on my novel.

Maybe I start a totally anonymous blog elsewhere where I expose my innermost secrets. Then my readership could be absolutely zero, since I would have no way to promote it without attaching it to my bankable personality. Or I could call the site Deep Dark Secrets of My Life… Acted Out by Cute Kitties who Misspell Words. (I Can Haz Long-Term Relationship?!)

Nope… I think I should continue to post as myself and post my real-life concerns. If there’s something personal that I’m itching to post, I will vet it with anyone mentioned in the post.

*Sigh* I guess that’s the only responsible thing to do, even though it violates my lifelong policy of just putting words down on paper and not doing any additional legwork.

Chalk it up to my growth as  a writer in 2018.



At the Mercy of Experts

Without making direct reference to the turmoil in the executive branch of the US government, the whole situation in Washington makes for an interesting (if terrifying) experimental control for one of our baseline assumptions about the functioning of government, business, and society.

Does having experts in charge of things really lead to a better result?

Examining my own professional career, I have always made it a point to make myself an expert in whatever job I find myself. “Expert” would have seemed like a presumptuous word for the younger me, but after several entry-level jobs and over a decade as a trained business professional, I now realize that expert-level performance is simply what I have always recognized as learning my job.

When you spend even 20 hours a week doing the same thing, it behooves you to invest some effort in understanding what you’re doing–that standard has always existed as a given to me. Even now, after *incoherent mumbling* years in the workforce, it still shocks me when I see manifestations of the opposite standard. (Namely, “I’m only here to fill space and do what I’m instructed to do and not one thing more.”)

In some ways, I have more respect for slackers who explicitly don’t care whether the job is done than for people whose version of responsibility is to maintain a short-sighted checklist of duties that will keep them from getting fired. At least the slacker’s philosophy  is internally consistent. Maintaining the self-righteous air of “I’m doing my job”–and its dangerous corollary, “that’s not my job”–while not comprehending the import or context of your job, says to me that you’re only interested in checking the boxes, punching the clock, and going home. That’s not meaningful job ownership.

You can be useful in some work environments while checking the boxes. If you don’t poke your head out of the checkbox, however, you won’t be able to confirm whether that is the case.

So goes my philosophy of work. But have I made my various workplaces over the years better places to work? Have I made them more profitable? Have I made the world any better by being an expert?

Does the world work better with experts in charge?

On its face, this is a nonsensical question. An expert, by definition, is someone who understands how to do something better than someone who is not an expert. If you’re not adding value, you lose your expert label.

Looking just a little deeper into the definition of “expert,” you’ll find the disconnect that Republicans and anti-establishment types love to exploit.

(I did not want to inject politics into this discussion, but the irony of Republicans presenting as “anti-establishment” at this upside-down point in history is too delicious to not note in a parenthetical comment.)

I can be an accounting expert and walk into the door of your company and give you a bunch of expert accounting opinions that will sink your business. Also, I can be an expert in a highly speculative field, and I can just be wrong, even with all my expertise. Investment advisors would fall into this category.

So the two holes in the airtight loop of hiring experts to do jobs they’re experts at doing are: (1) experts’ guesses are no more likely to be right then anyone else’s; and (2) all expertise is not transferable, and some expertise is more transferable than others. I think it’s plausible to explain the outcome of the 2016 presidential election in these two points. Any attempt at a rational explanation of said election clearly has to revolve around the dismissal of expertise as a criterion for performing a job.

What of these two objections? The first is somewhat legitimate, and we can play battling statistics all day to defend or reject the ability of experts to predict the future. I’ll presume a concession–experts can’t reliably tell you what’s going to happen.

The second is pure evasion. If you want to undermine someone’s credibility,  under this argument, simply relabel their expertise as incompatible with the actual job at hand.

Going back to my personalized example, a business owner should not be operating his business based on out-of-context accounting guidance, and an expert accountant would not give unqualified advice that could sink a business he has not taken time to understand. Both parties compromise their expert status by allowing such an event to happen in the first place. An expert knows her place, and hiring experts know what experts to hire for which jobs. This is all built into the system of experts, if I may coin a concept.

The only nagging issue is that no one is an absolute expert. That poor business owner I walked in and bankrupted may have been an otherwise fully qualified expert with a weakness in his understanding of the exact role of an accountant.

Taken together, the only real issue with experts is that they aren’t perfect. The undermining of experts is usually the result of a double-standard. The standard for experts is, “You’re an expert; why did you make a mistake?” The standard for non-experts is, “Look, you got something accomplished! Who needs experts?” Such reasoning makes a 10% success rate for a non-expert superior to a 90% success rate for an expert.

And while experts can’t predict the future, they do know how to respond to unpredicted outcomes. Apart from ladies who wear headscarves and gaze into crystal balls, no one’s exclusive job is to tell you what’s going to happen in the future.

Not unsurprisingly, my conclusion is that the tautology holds. Hiring experts who know the most about how to do their jobs results in better outcomes.

As for me, I do not feel compelled to bore you by rationalizing my value to my current or former employers. I will instead rely on the preponderance of expert research that confirms the value of employees like me, doing what we do well. And a lot of anecdotal evidence that would bore you further.

It’s not really fun for either of us for me to try to prove a tautology. It’s even less fun to entertain toxic ideas that have been given credence by a bend-over-backwards approach to understanding and explaining what’s happened in the public sphere over the past couple of years.

But that’s just me. I’m no expert.

Hapless New Year

It’s a new dawn / It’s a new day / It’s a new life / For me / And I’m feeling good

–Newley and Bricusse (I didn’t know that, either), popularized by Nina Simone


What happens when your New Year’s resolution ruminations backfire? In the process of assessing progress on your major life initiatives, what happens when you end up dwelling on what you haven’t done? The places where the needle hasn’t budged? And even worse, the places where you don’t even feel like you have control of whether the needle budges in the first place?

When I say “your,” of course, I mean “my.” Today and yesterday, as I first considered my options for 2018, I kept my resolutions focused, simple, and understated.

Then I started thinking. That was the beginning of the end.

As I’ve related to numerous friends over the past couple of weeks while nursing a foot injury, I am a hopeless hypochondriac. That mindset spills over into non-medical concerns on a regular basis. Less is wrong with my life than I fear, but any frustrations I feel devolve into a morass of total perceived dysfunction.

But, as Ms. Harmon would say (inside reference for my high school friends), I need some more concrete imagery. Like, Micah, what is the damn problem? How exactly do you feel unfulfilled or unsuccessful?

OK, fine. I want to be more organized. It’s a big psychological deal for me. But my life has gotten so complex over the past few years. I have a partner, an extended family, a large, functioning residence with loads of critters, a professional license, a demanding job, and I still want time to write, read, learn, reflect, and enjoy the things I have accomplished.

And I still want to veg out and watch Food Network, House Hunters, and Golden Girls reruns. And keep up with current pop culture.

I could keep going. But you get the idea. Time is scarce to even begin to organize, much less become organized and stay organized.

And organization is just one of my concerns. There are others. And I’m at that annoying point in my relationship where everything I decide impacts my partner and vice versa. I want to believe I can fix everything alone, because that’s the way I have gotten ahead in the past.

But I need him. And I may need others. Maybe even the critters can help.

Resolutions are almost unquestioningly instituted as solitary endeavors of self-improvement. But every other day of the year, we ask for assistance with our needs. Even if it’s something as simple as “please pass the potatoes,” we organically and socially rely on the courtesies of others to grease the wheels that make our lives run.

That’s possibly the awareness I need to stop my head pounding against the wall. As much as I recoil at the thought of needing assistance to fix “my stuff,” I may need to re-evaluate the ownership of both the stuff and the effort to fix it.

Happy New Year, and how about we keep an eye toward helping each other toward our collective goals? We could call it Twenty Aid-Teen.

Or not, if you think that’s too cutesy.



Sophistry as Conservative Bluster – A Primer


Sophistry – n. a method of argument that is seemingly plausible though actually invalid and misleading
–Collins English Dictionary

Initially, I was quite upset with the above statement blaring in my Facebook feed. And I was upset that it was making me upset. Was it that one of my few social media relationships with family and friends from the rural area where I grew up was being frayed yet again by partisan politics? Partly.

Was it that the statement was smug and self-satisfied? Partly.

As I crafted and discarded response after response to the maddening meme, the whole thing came into focus more clearly. There was a slimy residue of intellectual dishonesty that coated the whole thing. There was no one thing to be upset over–there were actually a multitude of issues here that are bubbling right beneath the calm veneer of the statement. And I wanted to yell at all of them.

First and most significantly, the assertion is based on a false premise that even a fairly thoughtful conservative would be tempted to gobble down indiscriminately. Why, yes, it would in fact be ignorant to blame an inert statue for problems we face in the world today! But… let’s find someone, anyone, who stated that our social problems are the result of Confederate statues. I’ll wait here while you look for someone who said that.

Any rabid liberal worth his or her salt would recite to you a litany of causes for the social issues we face today: systemic racism, the Reagan-incited extinction of the middle-class wage earner, the prison-for-profit system, unfettered corporate lobbying and corporate welfare, insufficient support for at-risk populations, housing discrimination, lack of investment in education and infrastructure, and so on. But statues–probably not on anyone’s list.

So Mr. Nichols’ argument is over before proceeding past the first word. No one “blamed” any statues for anything other than being insensitive. They are not the source of our problems, but they are, I would acknowledge, a side effect of our problems.

(Incidentally, since there’s no value in treating side effects, I will be confiscating Mr. Nichols’ Tylenol pain reliever, Kleenex tissue, and cough syrup the next time he gets a cold. Obviously, by wiping his nose, he’s blaming the mucus for making him sick. Leave that snot exactly where it is!)

The second issue with the statement is how oblivious it is to the implications of arguing irrelevance. If the statues are SO old and SO irrelevant, the argument goes, how could they possibly have any impact on us today? Well, fair enough, but wouldn’t the same argument apply to those claiming that the statues hold historical and cultural value? Such impotent, useless slabs of cheap metal in the shape of soldiers and horses could just as easily be recycled for scrap metal. But something tells me the bandwagon for this argument makes a U-turn when discussing the living relevance of the statues for Southerners. Unfortunately, you can’t have it both ways. They’re either old and irrelevant for everyone or they’re not.

Finally, the kicker: “…only highlights the ignorance among us.” This is either ingenious or disingenuous, and I can’t really decide which. It is the point of the post, its only true reason for existing. It’s the cherry on top of the sophistry sundae Mr. Nichols has served up for us. After the fictitious premise builds, expressed with a tone of knowledgeable detachment, it is separated from its conclusion by a thoughtful-looking ellipsis (…), and then concludes with an oh-alas! sigh of resignation at what the state of polite political discourse has come to. “Among us” is a bit of rhetorical genius–it’s a wonderful way to sound non-partisan while really saying only one thing: “Liberals are stupid.” (Or “People who don’t agree with me are stupid.”)

This statement is not part of a real, meaningful dialogue. It’s a soliloquy of hopelessly circular reasoning, where someone contorts a reasonable position (“Confederate statues on public display in shared spaces may be insensitive to certain people and we should consider taking them down”) into an unreasonable position (“We’re going to solve our social problems by taking down some old statues”) and then shaking his reasonable, conservative head at how misguided this position (the one he made up out of thin air, that no one is arguing) is.

The real hat trick here is that the only real ignorance that is being put on display is that of the people who buy this argument in the first place. Nice try, Mr. Nichols, but the ignorance among us, in this instance, is pretty heavily concentrated on your side, and good thing, too, or no one would be sharing your post.