What's In A Name?

They're reading the list right now. It's September 11^th. And when two hijacked planes destroyed its towers in 2001, 2,753 people were killed. There were additional people killed in Pennsylvania and the District of Columbia. Each year we read the names of the victims of this act of war.

While most were our own citizens, there were many from places around the world. It was an act targeting not only Americans, but the entire world. The perpetrators were killed as well, though they chose their own fates, believing they were martyrs for a holy cause. It's harder to track down those who planned the attack however that is and has been a goal of our government ever since.

But back to the names. The reading is going on as I write. What does it accomplish? Is it appropriate in view of the events, or simply an emotional act meant to pacify the relatives and friends of the deceased? Should the practice go on in perpetuity? The reading of names has been extended to other similar tragedies, although none matches the horror with which we remember this one.

But millions died in the second world war. Millions died in the various bouts of “ethnic cleansing,” the African genocides, and numerous other similar catastrophes. Many of the same unnatural fates are suffered in annihilations all over the world every day. But we don't read their names. We may, from time to time, commemorate the events surrounding their murders but we don't read their names. It would be impossible to do so because we don't know all of their names. If we did the amount of time necessary for the recital would preclude any such act. And those events didn't happen in our country. Only 9/11 did.

But the Civil War did. And like the natural disasters, like the hurricanes just past and those still occurring, and like the calamities that have occurred in the past, it did not result in any such ceremonies and name readings. And it would be a sad commentary on our own level of compassion if our only concern were for the lives of our own people. Without in any way minimizing the tragedy of our lives lost, however – without questioning the heroic nature of their final moments – the significance of reading their names is problematic. Certainly it is meaningful to loved ones, but so would the reading of names of those dying under other circumstances. Yet we do not do so. It's a private matter.

There are several reasons why this particular incident resonates. It occurred as a part of the attack by terrorists on the “civilized” world. It could have happened to us as individuals. A large part of the reaction echoes the idea that “there but for the grace of G-d go I.” We are angry that we were attacked, but relieved that we were not directly affected. Except for the families of those who died. They were affected.

So in gratitude we honor those who perished. We do so, for the most part, not just for their benefit, nor as an expression of our patriotism – our love for America and hatred of our enemies – but because “it could have been me.” Reading their names is the least we can do.

As the years go by, however, fewer and fewer will remember the attack, fewer will remember the victims, and more and more will be bored and confused at the attention being given to people who in reality mean nothing to them. And fewer will attend any commemoration of their lives. It's already happening regarding the Holocaust. Millions died in the evil of that inhumane calamity, but the annual commemorations of the tragedy are attracting fewer and fewer attendees. It's history. People no longer connect. Especially the young.

9/11 was a catastrophe. The people were important. But their names weren't. It's far more important that we teach our children about the events and why they are to be remembered than the names of those who perished. We're saddened by their loss and we're grateful to them, but their names are not the issue. We didn't know them.

“What's in a name? That which we call a rose By any other name would smell as sweet.” Shakespeare knew that the experience was what counted, not what we called it.

We cannot forget the attack. We're saddened by what happened sixteen years ago. But less so by the names of the victims. Were the names different we'd feel the same sorrow.

Baby Face

According to Art Linkletter,ⁱ “Kids say the darndest things.” I guess they don't know any better. They say whatever comes into their heads, and they're unguarded – they don't filter it.

Not so, adults. They're more “sensitive.” More guarded. And far more conventional. They've been taught what to say in various circumstances and, for the most part, will say the “right” thing even if it isn't true and they don't believe it. For example, it's become fashionable, whenever an inquiry is made about almost anything personal,ⁱⁱ (such as “How have you been” or “How is _____,” although you know the questioner doesn't really care what your response is, and you'd prefer not to talk about the subject anyway) to reply, “Thank you for asking.” Of course you don't mean it, but it's the right thing to say. Then you make up an answer – usually as short as possible – so you can move on to other subjects which also interests neither of you. (Conversation like this is typical of what you're likely to hear at a cocktail party – small talk that is banal until after you've had a few drinks. Then, of course, it is brilliant.)

The observance of such conventions is commonplace, and completely without meaning. After all, what can we possibly have in mind when we write “Dear” ______ to someone we don't know, or “Sincerely” or “Love” after almost anything we've put in a letter to a stranger? And should we assume that someone who doesn't write “Sincerely” is insincere?

There are times when the comment is clearly insincere. “Call me sometime. We'll have lunch.” The significance of a remark like that might be ambiguous if the party speaking were to disclose his telephone number, but too often he's careful not to do so. However that's all right since you can't remember his name. So when he asks you to extend regards to the family you won't be able to do so, though you'll certainly agree to do so. Not that it matters to him. He's already forgotten both the request and you, if he ever really took note of you in the first place. And if the request was more than a formula for disengaging from the meeting.

There are times when we don't know the origin of what we are saying, for, if we did, we'd say something else. “Goodbye,” with which, as a matter of course, we end all conversations, is a contraction of "God be wyⁱⁱⁱ you." I suspect that many an angry telephone call, which ends with one party slamming down the receiver, would be terminated with a different valediction if that origin were considered.

Nonetheless, we seem to be stuck with a group of things we always say. I realized this when someone commented on the appearance of a new grandchild of mine. “Oh, what a beautiful baby.” It was a comment I had heard innumerable times.^iv I'm not so discerning. All babies^v look the same to me. They all look like Winston Churchill. (All of them look kind of nondescript except for newborns, who are all ugly.) But I'd never say that to a proud new father showing off the video he took in the delivery room. Nor to the mother who is just recovering from the ordeal. But mine is not a unique perspective. Indeed, Churchill himself said “All babies look like me. But then, I look like all babies.” What you hear from all the friends and relatives, though, is that this one is unique - and uniquely beautiful. Have you ever heard anyone tell the truth to a parent? “That's as ugly a baby as I've ever seen.” Truth is not the issue. Stroking is. So we all say what the parents want to hear. We may see them at another time and want that meeting to be as pleasant as possible.

I don't mean to suggest that all children are nondescript or ugly, though this may be the case just after they're hatched. Johnny Mercer hypothesized that a pretty girl “must have been a beautiful baby”^vi but I doubt that such was the case. Later in the song he wrote “when you were only startin' to go to kindergarten,^vii I bet you drove the little boys wild.” That makes more sense. At birth they're all the same but once a baby starts to develop a personality, individuality and beauty are more likely to be apparent. Not that someone would insult a child who has grown up ugly. He won't. Silence or a compliment would be the response no matter what if a comment on such a child's appearance were solicited – either outright or by implication – because an insult is not an appropriate description from an adult. A child might not hesitate to tell the truth, but adults don't do that.

An example of this phenomenon occurs immediately after the stroker has seen the baby or a picture of him. “What's his name?” To which you dutifully reply, and then you hear: “What an ugly name. That's a joke, isn't it? How can the parents saddle a poor baby with such a horrible name?”

No. That's not what you said. Only a child would say what he really believes. An adult would pronounce the name – however silly it might be – “beautiful.” I've always wondered about that, even more than I've wondered why people ask the name when they don't care, and probably won't remember it anyway. And of course they ask about the weight, with some kind of inane comment following.

So we're left with the problem. Should we tell the truth or not? The simple solution is to keep a kid handy at all times. He'll do the dirty work for you.

Next episode: “Hate Speech” – Don't you just love it?

i      Try Google^TM or another search engine if you've never heard of him.

ii     Though it's usually about something the questioner knows is distressing.

iii    No. That's not a misprint. It must be the way they talked at the time in Shakespeare's neighborhood. That's what he wrote in “As You Like It.” There were many variations of the sentiment which derives from “God be with you,” and Shakespeare's was only one of them.

iv    Actually, I'm sure it's numerable. I just don't know the number.

v     Well, almost all babies.

vi   “You Must Have Been A Beautiful Baby” was published by Harry Warren (music) and Johnny Mercer (lyrics) in 1938 and first appeared in “Hard To Get.”

vii    The lyric suggests that kindergarten was likely to be the baby's introduction to social interactions. That was then. Now with play groups, nursery school, day care, and pre-K (all carefully chosen with the goal of preparing the baby for an Ivy League school), kindergarten is the last of a series of social experiences prior to elementary-level education, and will probably be capped (and gowned) by a commencement ceremony. Then they can start getting some kind of education.

Enough Already

I heard on the radio recently that the International Bullying Prevention Association was holding its annual meeting in New Orleans. That sounds like a good place to hold it. Stella Kowalski would certainly approve, even if Stanley wouldn't be amused. New Orleans must be the ideal place for the IBPA to meet.ⁱ

But it set me thinking. When I searched for “Associations” in Yahoo! I got a return of 243,000,000 results. Google had 246,000,000, but I don't think the additional three million will make much of a difference.ⁱⁱ Both engines gave me too many results. And that sent me in two different directions. First of all, there's altogether too much information out there. Too many people are putting stuff on line for the search engines to find. Which makes it all but useless to try to study a subject exhaustively.

More to the point, though, there are too many associations, and organizations with special interests. Things have gotten out of hand. When I was growing up there were a few major American charities that pretty much covered all problems, while the English were accused of being eccentrics – of having too many organizations with weird agendas. Often they were interested in preserving some form of animal life (though it never seemed that they were equally committed to preserving humans). Now there are various American conservation organizations that are devoted to more species than I knew existed. In fact, since the internet and Facebook have appeared, there has been a penchant for forming groups of all kinds. I'm convinced that a large part of the impetus for such activity is ego.ⁱⁱⁱ I suspect that the new organization man (or woman) is thinking: “I know what's important, so just join my group, follow me, and I'll lead the rest of you to the GOOD.”

One of the most prominent manifestations of this effort is the formation of foundations for research into all manner of diseases – some of them virtually unknown to the public. It often appears to be a quest for the immortality of a lost loved-one. For every disease there appear to be several foundations named after people who suffered with it or died from it.^iv (The same is true of laws, only those statutes seem to be named after children who were victims of kidnaping, abuse or sexual crimes.)

I don't mean to suggest that any of these foundations is unworthy – that its aims are anything less than virtuous, or that the problem that it was established to battle isn't deserving of public aid and attention. I'm cheered that there are so many who are eager to help their fellows. But at a time when voluntarism is less than it has been in the past, and when the state of the economy doesn't contribute to generosity, the multiplicity of organizations that will increase the burden on these resources may act in a way contrary to our interests. Too often a new organization is created whose aims parallel those of one or more bodies already in business.^v Either the new founders are unable to identify existing organizations,^vi or would prefer to start their own – perhaps to obtain the immortality of their loved one (or of themselves). In doing so, however, there is duplication of administrative support structures as well as a competition for resources and publicity. It's hard to avoid the conclusion that if the same amount of money and effort were devoted to fewer organizations, far more could be accomplished in accomplishing the goals which they all proclaim.

Mae West is famed for (among the other attractions) saying “Too much of a good thing can be wonderful.”^vii I could be wrong, but somehow I don't think she was referring to helping others. It's not up to me to decide which is the best organization in a particular field, but before starting a new one, I suspect that it would be beneficial to see what institutions already exist that deal with the problem you'd like to address, and then to use your resources to support one of them.

Unless, of course, your goal is to immortalize your own name or that of a friend or relative. It's a bully great way to do so – in New Orleans or elsewhere.

Next episode: “One Liners” – Humor and politics.

i     Lest anyone misunderstand the level of brotherly love in that city, it should be noted that “The Big Easy's homicide rate (52 homicides per 100,000 residents) is 10 times higher than the national average and almost five times that of other cities of its size.” Douglas McCollam in The Wall Street Journal, November 12-13, 2011.

ii    I probably won't read all the references.

iii    In that way it's a lot like writing a blog.

iv   It's hard not to view the establishment of so many foundations – so many philanthropic memorials – as overkill.

v     In fairness to the International Bullying Prevention Association, at its founding in 2002, only a few such organizations existed.

vi    A “Google” search using “breast cancer organizations” listed more than 68 million “hits.” While these do not indicate separate organizations, the actual number must be quite high. And that is the case even if we allow for actual differences in their missions.

vii    She said many other delightful things, but I leave it to the reader to find them.