Snippets: “Old” from the outside, movies, and winter walks

I’ve been feeling a little like a whirling dervish the past few weeks, too busy to do all the things I want to do (does this sound familiar?). As I whirled, a whole flock of thoughts have landed along the wires of my mind, although you’d never know it from this blog. So, seeing no large chunks of free time ahead, I thought I’d pass along a few “Cliff Notes” on this mental aviary.

“Old” as a culture—the view from the outside

Last week, my partner and I went to Houston for the biannual National Multicultural Conference and Summit. This conference is put on every other year by several sub-groups of the American Psychological Association. It’s intended to offer a space to consider in some depth the issues that arise when psychologists put their collective mind to questions of diversity and multiculturalism. It’s always a thought-provoking few days, and it regularly pushes me to think on new levels about these things.

This time, I attended one session that framed aging as a culture in its own right. Now, I’m not personally persuaded that this is a worthwhile framing. We old people for sure create communities, and we might (emphasis on might) be able to identify some commonalities about us. But the “culture” label seems a stretch to me. Anyhow, I was prepared to consider this notion and to be stretched by the process. Unfortunately, I was not only disappointed but a bit irritated (cranky old woman that I am). Here’s what got me going:

Throughout this presentation, the speakers (three mid-life-ish women) kept referring to old people in the third person. “They” do this or that. “They” need something or other. “They” have one or another characteristic. I can’t quite express how odd it felt to be sitting in the room, being talked about as if I weren’t there (and I wasn’t the only older person in the audience). I’ve had this experience as a lesbian before, many times. In that case, at least there’s the excuse that my sexual orientation is (rather) invisible to those who don’t know me. But my age is not—nor was the age of the other old folks in the room. Still, the speakers completely invisibilized us. In the language of diversity educators, they “othered” us. They made us “others” who didn’t belong to the group with the power—the power, in this case, to describe us and our lives. It was really creepy.

Now, I knew that these people were undoubtedly well intentioned. They were trying to present old people in a positive light and themselves as appreciative of old people. But in the process, they were doing this thing we so easily do when we really want to do the right thing by a group: we create an idealized image of them, we dress that image up in all the best stereotypes about the group, and we smile at our creation. In the process, we objectify and dehumanize the individuals that make up that group. 

For instance, the lead presenter kept saying how much she “just loved” old people. “They're the most amazing people!”, she said. The problem is that we're not. Some of us are extremely cool; some of us are jerks; most of us are somewhere in between. Most of us are cool sometimes and jerks at other times. We're complicated human being with good and bad moments. Given her idealization of old people ("exoticizing," diversity folks call it), you have to wonder whether she'd care about us at all if/when we aren't amazing. Like when we're crabby or when we complain or when we're frail instead of matching her view of vibrant retirees who dance and jog and adventure their way through life. Does she “just love” old people, or does she love her idealized, imagined version of old people? 

As I reflected on all this afterward, I had yet another troubling realization: none of the presenters was herself an old person. Think about this: It would be totally unacceptable to present a session about virtually any other group and not give that group a chance to speak on their own behalf. I can’t anyone planning a panel about, for instance, people of color, people with disabilities, LGBTQ people, or religious diversity if the group in question was not included in some significant way. Yet, these presenters apparently thought it was completely appropriate to speak on our behalf. Creepy.

So, did I say anything about this at the tinme? No. I can argue that the session ended without time for questions—which is true (and all too common). But I could have spoken to the presenters afterward. I didn’t. Why? I was sort of dumbfounded. I’m basically shy. I hadn’t quite articulated to myself what felt so uncomfortable. All true … but I realize that those answers simply permit their approach to go unchallenged and prevent them from realizing something that may not have crossed their minds.

Dang! All right, I get it. I’ll send a thoughtful, reasoned (vs. flat-out cranky) letter to the lead panelist. Thanks for the nudge.

Movies

“Cliff Notes” about some of the movies we squeezed in over the holidays and the long (MLK Day) weekend:

Skyfall: The latest James Bond flick, different (I think) from others in this series. Less violence (although some), fewer gimmicks and contrivances (also, some), more actual drama, great scenery. I liked it partly because it was sort of an ode to age and change: the old guard is moving on (dying, even), and the youngsters with new ideas and new techniques are moving in. I mean that in a good way.

Les Miserables: A familiar story from the stage version. Great acting, good music, thin plot line … but hey, it’s a musical!

Django Unchained: Terrible, over-the-top violence and gore bring awful realism to the horrors of slavery. This one has received really intense commentaries—pro for dealing directly with slavery and the completely understandable Black anger it aroused; con for its historical and psychosocial inaccuracy, it's disempowerment of slave women, and its gratuitous violence.

Lincoln: Excellent acting really brought Lincoln to life for me. I learned a lot about the Civil War era and the end of slavery—like about the questionable legality of the Emancipation Proclamation (BTW: you can now get an Emancipation Proclamation commemorative stamp at the post office). Don’t miss this one. Really.

Silver Linings Playbook: Getting good press, but some psychologists I know are conflicted: They’re glad to see mental health issues addressed as (potentially) manageable. But they’re bothered by the the overly-simple message: one still-troubled person rescues another still-troubled person and they live (apparently) happily ever after.

Zero Dark Thirty: The story behind the killing of Osama bin Laden. How could it not draw big? But I hated the not-at-all subtle message that torture is OK and that good information was gleaned through torture. The research is really clear that people who are tortured can be made to say things. Some of it is true, and much of it is false (either because they really don’t know and make stuff up or because they lie). Also, good interrogators can get as much, equally good information without torture. This stuff was dramatic (and sometimes graphic) but unnecessary. Maybe they used it to keep the audience engaged because otherwise, it’s sort of sloooow until the final moments.

The Impossible: The story of a (wealthy, Spanish) family of 5 who were vacationing in Thailand when the Dec. 26, 2004 Indian Ocean tsunami struck. I found myself scrunched down in my seat, practically sucking my thumb (an understandable if not especially functional response to terror) as I watched. The movie pulled me right into the vastness and power of the waves and the relative insignificance and powerlessness of the people in their path. And then, after the water receded, it pulled me into the pained struggles and heroic resourcefulness of the survivors. The intensity never let up (although there were isolated happy moments), and the film stayed with me for a day or so. Some have criticized the focus on this rich foreign family when millions of local people all across the region suffered equally, and hundreds of thousands died. A legitimate critique. Still, the intensity of the movie changed forever how I understand the impact of natural disasters. I'd say see it for sure. Take your blankie.

Still to be seen: Life of Pi, The Hobbitt, and Amour (if we can find it). And any others you all suggest. Time permitting.

And finally ... Winter walks

Among the (many) blessings of the place I live is the weather—although climate change may make me eat my words. Colorado is graced by lovely sunny days, even in the midst of winter. Add to this the fact that the Boulder area is woven together by bike and walking paths, including many along creeks and beside wetlands. That combination makes for scenes like these on winter walks:

                    

          

What a gift to live here.