California - Land of Children?

George F. Kennan was one of the most influential policy-makers during the peak of America's influence. A remarkably thoughtful man who warned against involvement in Vietnam – in the 1950s – and warned against warming up to the USSR – in the 1940s. Back in 1989, the Atlantic published excerpts from his diary, including these two on California.

Just visiting here, Kennan had keen insights into California. Here in San Diego, evacuation centers have been characterized by live bands, roving clowns, and what participants and observers describe as harmony. At one point, there was one volunteer for every one evacuee down at Qualcomm. (Where else but California would the numbers work out to allow one personal trainer for each disaster victim?) For those of you living in other parts of the country, Kennan’s diary entries from 1951 and 1956 might help you to better understand this odd creature called a Californian. As the father of fifth generation Californians, I'm a little ashamed to say that his words are very much on the mark.

From Kennan's diary:

California again, this time for research at the Hoover Library in Palo Alto.
MAY 13, 1956

California reminds me of the popular American Protestant concept of heaven: there is always a reasonable flow of new arrivals; one meets many—not all—of one's friends; people spend a good deal of their time congratulating one another about the fact that they are there; discontent would be unthinkable; and the newcomer is slightly disconcerted to realize that now, the devil having been banished and virtue being triumphant, nothing terribly interesting can ever happen again.

California is outwardly one-dimensional, in the emotional sense. Looking at the faces, listening to the snatches of conversation, one wonders whether such a thing as anguish exists at all—whether, in fact, there is even any anguish in love, or whether this, too, comes, is experienced, passes, and dies with the same cheerful casualness that seems to dominate all the other phenomena of existence.

These people practice what for centuries the philosophers have preached: they ask no questions; they, live, seemingly, for the day; they waste no energy or substance on the effort to understand life; they enjoy the physical experience of living; they enjoy the lighter forms of contact with an extremely indulgent and undemanding natural environment; their consciences are not troubled by the rumblings of what transpires beyond their horizon. If they are wise, surely the rest of us are fools.


NOVEMBER 4, 1951
PASADENA

I have today that rarest of luxuries: a day of complete leisure, with no obligations, away from home, where not even family or house or neglected grounds can lay claim to attention. I am out here for three days on business and am the guest of a friend whose home, swaddled in gardens, looks down from a hill on the rooftops and foliage of Pasadena. It is strange, and somewhat enervating, after watching the death of the year in the growing austerity of the East Coast autumn, to sit now in a garden, to listen to the chirping of birds and the tinkling of a fountain, to watch the foliage of the eucalyptus trees stirring in a summer breeze, and to feel the warm sunshine on the back of one's neck.

My thoughts are full of this southern California world I see below me and about me. It is easy to ridicule this world, as Aldous Huxley and so many other intellectuals have done—but it is silly, and a form of self-condemnation, to do so. These are ordinary human beings: several million of them. The things that brought them here, and hold them here, are deeply human phenomena—as are the stirrings of anxiety that cause them to be so boastful and defensive about it. Being human phenomena, they are part of ourselves; and when we purport to laugh at them, as though we stood fully outside them, it is we who are the ridiculous ones.

I feel great anxiety for these people, because I do not think they know what they are in for. In its mortal dependence on two liquids—oil and water—that no individual can easily produce by his own energy (even together with family and friends), the life of this area only shares the fragile quality of all life in the great urban concentrations of the motor age. But here the lifelines of supply seem to me particularly tenuous and vital. That is especially true of water, which they now have to bring from hundreds of miles—and will soon have to bring from much farther away. But equally disturbing to me is the utter dependence on the costly, uneconomical gadget called the automobile for practically every process of life from birth through shopping, education, work, and recreation, even courtship, to the final function of burial. In this community, where the revolutionary force of motorization has made a clean sweep of all other patterns of living and has overcome all competition, man has acquired a new form of legs. And what disturbs me is not only that these mechanical legs have a deleterious effect on man himself, drugging him into a sort of paralysis of the faculty of reflection and distorting his emotional makeup while they are in use—these things are not too serious, and perhaps there are even ways of combating them. What disturbs me most is man's abject dependence on this means of transportation and on the complicated processes that make it possible. It is as though his natural legs had really become shriveled by disuse. One has the feeling that if his artificial ones were taken away from him, he would go crawling miserably and helplessly around like a crippled insect, no longer capable of conducting the battle for existence, doomed to early starvation, thirst, and extinction.
One must not exaggerate this sort of thing. All modern urban society is artificial in the physical sense: dependent on gadgets, fragile and vulnerable. This is simply the apotheosis. Here the helplessness is greatest, but also the thoughtlessness. And the thoughtlessness is part of the helplessness.

But alongside the feeling of anxiety I have at the sight of these people, there is a questioning as to the effect they are going to have on, and the contribution they are going to make to, American society as a whole. Again, this is not conceived in terms of reproach or criticism. There is really a subtle but profound difference between people here and what Americans used to be, and still partly are, in other parts of the country. I am at a loss to define this difference, and am sure that I understand it very imperfectly.

Let me try to get at it by overstating it. Here it is easy to see that when man is given (as he can be given only for relatively brief periods and in exceptional circumstances) freedom both from political restraint and from want, the effect is to render him childlike in many respects: fun-loving, quick to laughter and enthusiasm, unanalytical, unintellectual, outwardly expansive, preoccupied with physical beauty and prowess, given to sudden and unthinking seizures of aggressiveness, driven constantly to protect his status in the group by an eager conformism—yet not unhappy. In this sense southern California, together with all that tendency of American life which it typifies, is childhood without the promise of maturity—with the promise only of a continual widening and growing impressiveness of the childhood world. And when the day of reckoning and hardship comes, and I think it must, it will be—as everywhere among children—the cruelest and most ruthless natures who will seek to protect their interests by enslaving the others; and the others, being only children, will be easily enslaved. In this way, values will suddenly prove to have been lost that were forged slowly and laboriously in the more rugged experience of Western political development elsewhere.

Disaster Purgatory and Other Random Observations About Our San Diego Firestorm

What follows are some odd observations about our fires here in San Diego County. Things seem to be gradually returning to normal. Well, as normal as one can expect in the wake of a fire that raged through about 150 square miles of the county, destroyed perhaps 1,250 homes, and made evacuees of 300,000 residents (10% of the county's population). Some communities are still threatened, but the number of people now threatened has plummeted in the last day or so. Chula Vista (my city) called off evacuations, as have Solana Beach, Del Mar, and parts of Poway. This is the best news we've had since the bad news began.

I saw the national news tonight - both Brian Williams and Katie Couric were broadcasting from San Diego. Based on that, I would have thought that things were getting worse instead of better. In fact, the situation was really precarious yesterday and has considerably improved today. Apparently, considerably improved doesn't make for interesting news.

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The biggest difference in the fires today didn't seem to follow from the governator's trip here, Bush declaring it a disaster area, the military helping out, fire fighters from other parts of the state and country coming to help, or even the hard work and good planning of our fire fighters and local officials. All that was commendable but would have been of little consequence if not for the winds dying down. The night before last the winds were incredibly intense - howling in uncharacteristic ways for our region. Today was calm and that seemed to make all the difference. Most of the fires are only 0 (that's right - zero) to 10% contained, so the fact that property is not being consumed at the same rate as yesterday seemed largely attributable to wind speeds and directions.

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In his new book, Daniel Goleman shares studies in which people play a "take it or leave it" game. You have a partner. You have $100 to split. The partner offers you some amount and keeps the rest. You take it or leave it. If you take it, you at least get something. If you leave it, neither you nor they get a dime. Economists might suggest that you'll take whatever is offered - anything is better than nothing. As it turns out, if people aren't offered some amount they consider reasonable, they will penalize the selfish person they're playing with by leaving the entire amount. Everybody loses when one person gets selfish. Further, if they track heart rates and stress levels, they'll find that people get very stressed when they are offered some paltry sum. Unless they think that they are playing a computer program, in which case they don't take it personally and just shrug off the low ball offers.

Why is this relevant to the fire? Although it has been little reported, it appears that arson is responsible for at least some of the numerous fires. If so, post-traumatic stress disorders are likely to be more acute. Because of the different levels of stress that accrue from the exact same outcomes administered by chance or evil intention, people recovering from natural disasters are less likely to suffer from post-traumatic stress. Earthquakes, fires, floods, and hurricanes are terribly stressful, but people recover from them better than if they suffered a comparable level of injury or property loss due to the actions of other people. If indeed this is arson, levels of stress will go up and long-term complications will be worse.

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Most evacuees went to Qualcomm Stadium, where the Chargers play. About 10,000 people were there. They asked people to STOP bringing donations at a particular point because they had more than they could use or store. Also, I heard one rumor that they had about one volunteer for every evacuee.

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I was touched that four different households - four different couples - offered to take us in should we have needed to evacuate. It's odd how such a stressful event gives a person a chance to feel less alone.

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Friends of ours built a place up in Tahoe - a place they intended to eventually retire to, toggling between San Diego and the mountains until then. This summer, they lost the Tahoe home to fire. Today, they lost their San Diego home.

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Once we learned that the evacuations in our city had been reversed, we felt a huge sense of relief. This evening we went to the grocery store for comfort food - ice cream. We stood in a line of people about 12 wide in front of the freezer. Apparently, we weren't the only ones seeking relief in something cold and comforting.

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Today we ate lunch at a little taco shop nearby. 6 fire fighters walked in. In response to compliments for their good work, one said, "We aren't doing anything. We're not out on the line. We're just on call for the normal problems here in the city." He sounded disappointed, like the younger kid who had to stay home when his older sister got to go to the aunt's wedding.

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An estimated 300,000 people evacuated - about 10% of the county's population. This is partly caution, partly conspiracy of "how bad can we make this?" (And I'm not belittling how it bad it was for many people - I've heard estimates of up to 1,000 homes destroyed. That's a very big deal.) I hadn't realized before that the evacuation numbers make it seem worse and thus better (as a story) for the media, make it worse and thus better (for the careers and recognition) for the city officials, and make it worse and thus better (for the story telling and sympathy) for us residents. In a sense, everyone involved is game to make it seem worse in order to make themselves look better.

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On the first day of an evacuation, it seems like an adventure. The poor folks who won't be able to get back into their homes for weeks are likely to go through stages of anxiety, depression, anger, and disbelief as the days drag out and life does not return to normal.

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For nearly two days, we were in disaster purgatory - neither safe nor sorry. We weren't really safe because we knew that the fire could continue to come at us and we'd need to evacuate. We had to be ready. We weren't sorry because we got to stay in our home. This is an odd state to be in - the emotional equivalent of leaning back in your chair and catching yourself at the last second, again and again.

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There is some talk already about how silly we San Diegans are to live in such a combustible community and then plan to rebuild in the same potential paths of future firestorms. This is similar to the chatter about how simple are the folks in New Orleans to build in a flood plain. I remember looking at a map of the US years ago - a map that showed the disasters likely to hit different regions. Tornadoes in the Midwest. Hurricanes in the Gulf. Earthquakes north of us in LA and San Francisco. Blizzards in the north. San Diego not only has great weather, but it stood out as a place with no legends indicating the disaster de jour for that area. Yet no one is immune. To be alive is be living in the path of some potential disaster and the reason we rebuild is not because we believe the last disaster will be the last disaster but because all of life is lived in the gap between disasters - personal or regional. The only option to building in the zone of a potential disaster seems to be homelessness.

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I’m digging in the closet for my kilt now and plan to perform the Scottish dance of high relief (an emotional antonym to high anxiety). The neighbors have already gathered to watch, so I feel obliged to finish this posting and move on.

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My dancing could quickly change into nervous movement. The fires that have died down and no longer threaten us are not really contained - just relatively dormant. It got better on its own. It could once again worse on its own. Life is like that sometimes.