Bully Pulpit: At the Intersection


In my boyhood, California’s San Joaquin Valley was infamous for its “tule fog,” a ground-hugging blanket so dense you couldn’t see a single white line in front of your car as you crept down the road. One night on my way to see a girlfriend who lived out in the boonies amid vineyards and cotton fields, I had to open my driver’s door and look down at the road to keep the white line in sight. I was going about 2 mph when the white line disappeared. I stopped, realizing I had arrived at an intersection.

And here I am today, at the intersection again.

I’ve been hearing talk lately of “intersectionality,” the idea that no individual or community lives a single-issue struggle. Our lives occasionally intersect with others who are not part of our identity group, but when a news event or personal circumstance wakes us to something important that transcends our own sphere of identity, we have a choice. We can ignore the intersecting roads and continue straight through the intersection — as we usually do — or we can turn and join others in their quest.

This happened in the 1960s when white college students found themselves at the intersection of Civil Rights Road and Status Quo Avenue. Many of us joined with our black sisters and brothers in their quest for equality, if not by marching in Mississippi, then at least in our hearts. But sometimes feeling the plight of others is not enough. Action is required for real change. And today we have a better chance of transforming our feelings into action, thanks to the Internet.

However, even an action like tweeting or signing an online petition pales in comparison to putting your body on the line and speaking out publically. It is too safe, too energy-efficient. On the other hand, donating to a crowdfunding request is a meaningful action, but there are so many crowdfunding requests that it can be difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff.

And so I am back at the intersection again, wondering which road to take. Only now, instead of an old-fashioned intersection, an either/or choice, there are literally hundreds. This is where my tule fog experience from my boyhood comes in. My purpose on that night so long ago was simple and straightforward — pursue the prize. Hold steering wheel tight, go straight through intersection, do not look right or left. Follow hormones.

So what is attracting me today? If I am shamelessly honest, I have to say, my recliner. That’s right. Forget the hormones. What I want is to relax at the end of the day, at the end of decades of working, and not worry or stress about anything. But when I remember that night in the fog so long ago, I wonder if such a single-minded pursuit is wise.

When I drove into that no man’s land of the intersection, with no white lines to guide me, I ended up running aground in a cotton field.


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