Shutting the door on it

I am fascinated by what people will and will not allow on their Facebook Timelines.

The much-ballyhooed "Timeline" is an online biography. It is therefore especially interesting to note what people allow there, and what they won't.

Today, on the radio, I fussed that our history is being forgotten, and ordered everybody to post their radical history online ... or (quite honestly) ANY history.

I have long been amazed that certain events have seemingly been completely forgotten, dropped down the proverbial memory hole, and cannot be found even after extensive online searching. They have evaporated into the ether, or they have been totally buried in dusty academic archives. My antidote was: tell your stories, share your histories. And then I decided I should probably practice what I preach.

I opened my long-forgotten cedar chest and created a photo album aptly named Daisy opens her magical cedar chest. I unearthed a bunch of old leaflets and posters of radical events, benefits, rock bands and even now-defunct businesses (such as the old Trotskyist-themed bookstore in the photo above, Red Rose Books), and hoped people would pass them on. And some of them did.

If you know how Facebook works, you know what it means when I say I "tagged" various people in photos or notified them if they were at various events. This means these events had to be vetted before they would be permitted to appear on these folks' Facebook feeds or timelines. And yes, I get that. I don't want Republicans posting political propaganda on my timeline (and I know plenty of em), so I am grateful for the feature. But that's what I mean when I say: I was fascinated by what was allowed to be shown and what was not.

Certainly, I understand when pro-marijuana activism is not posted on one's timeline, even if it WAS from 30 years ago and easily explained away as youthful indiscretion. If I used my legal name on Facebook, which I don't, I would be reticent about that, too.

But what about something you should be proud of, like helping to organize the American Rock Against Racism tour? I would be proud of that, even if I used my legal name. I have always been proud of my involvement in that cause.

Other people aren't.

I am wondering: Is anti-racism as a cause UNCOOL now? Is it possible that people are afraid anti-racism from white people is somehow too weird or too radical? Are they concerned it might get them fired? What would be some possible reasons for not wanting to own up to it?

If you have done an about-face in your political alliances, I can understand not wanting to own up to your past radicalism. But the few people I know who HAVE done such an about-face, do not seem to be the ones worried about that.

The worried people seem to be the ones who have moved up, who now have the good jobs.

Aha, thought Daisy, is THIS why the history is disappearing? Have people been just plain BOUGHT OFF?

The baby-boomers often like to brag about having done all kinds of great political stuff (I include myself), and yet, it seems plenty of these same baby-boomers are not proud of actually OWNING their political stuff and putting a name and date to it. Their one-time radicalism is a warm and fuzzy memory, but nothing they want to seriously contemplate now. Perhaps because (as one of my friends suggested) they are no longer doing anything political, and feel the reproach of their past-selves?

Whatever the reasons, it bothers me.

After all, those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

And so, as I listen to a diehard Republican statistician on C-Span assure me that Mitt Romney WILL win the presidency (and gives us the electoral-vote numbers, backing up his assertion), I wonder if that will be what it takes? Or do the masses of baby-boomers now only worry about obtaining ample medicine and antidepressants? Have they (we) conceded the fight?

I have (wholly unwelcome) visions of turning into Mother Jones, an old lady rabble-rouser, leading a bunch of young kids (probably immigrants) into the fray, raising hell all the way up to the house of Mitt Romney (as Mother Jones once organized a children's march to the home of Teddy Roosevelt). I find this an unnerving vision, as I ask myself: Where were her contemporaries? Why was she the only one left? Why were there so few others?

I am starting to get it. I don't WANT to get it, but I am getting it nonetheless. I don't think I will be all alone out here, but I don't think there will be very many of us. And I once thought there would be droves. In fact, I worried I could not keep up.

One of the "promises" of Alcoholics Anonymous is: We will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it. Which of course, is a pretty tall order.

But you know, it was not an ORDER, it was a PROMISE. I was startled when I discovered that this promise has come true for me. And like so much else, I wish I could share this reality with other people, who did not have the benefit of needing recovery... and as a result, they have had to muddle through their lives without making friends of their pasts.

Thus, they never learned how.