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The Wonks Who Cried WolfMay 06, 2006 Now the latest slog really is most dearly departed: endnotes, foreword, style sheet, and (most important) invoice went off today. Now I've got a couple of days to breathe in: next job arrives Monday, but it's a proofread, and I liked the author's last novel a lot; Tuesday I'm driving up to Portsmouth for Lisa's memorial service, so I don't really get back to work till Wednesday. Well, OK, I've got a horse-sit starting Monday, and a friend is filling in for me on Tuesday, but the word work doesn't start again till midweek. What could I have done to improve the most recently dearly departed? Short answer: Take it out behind the barn and shoot it. Long, or at least more thoughtful, answer? That's tough. If I had to make a constructive suggestion to the author, what would I say?
When the guy relied on his own experience and listened to real people he did pretty well. When he hobnobbed with think tankers -- well, garbage in, garbage out. My author was writing about megadisasters and pandemics (one thing I learned from this book is that we don't have mere disasters or epidemics any more) and particularly about why residents of the U.S. of A. are not only woefully underprepared for same, we are generally unrepentant about our lackadaisical approach to preparedness. It seems the policy wonks and all kinds of experts obsess endlessly about this. Professor 'enry 'iggins wondered "Why can't the English teach their children how to speak?" Policy wonks wonder "Why can't the Americans teach their children how to plan for the Big One?" I confess, I wonder about pretty much the same thing, but from different angles. Why can't Americans see the connection between their big honking gas-guzzlers and the latest war in the Middle East? Why don't Americans think much about global warming? Why would Americans rather bash immigrants, commies, protesters, and the French than think about how their economy works? Why are right-wing talk shows and reality TV so popular? My story for most occasions is "The Emperor's New Clothes." For this occasion I call "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" to center stage. You remember this kid: he cried "Wolf!" to get attention, and when a real wolf finally showed up nobody listened. The U.S. economy is based on scaring people half to death about what they do have or don't have, then selling them something to make it better. We've gotten a little jaded. We won't get scared unless we want to get scared, and that's usually because we like the payoff. Another thing the wonks (and those who wonk with them) tend to forget is how distant they are to most of us on the ground. Despite the rhetoric of representation and responsiveness -- they represent us, so they're supposed to respond to us -- I suspect many of us regard our "leaders" pretty much the way we regard blizzards and hurricanes: we deal with them when they get in our faces, are grateful when we survive the encounter, and forget about them the rest of the time. Except when we wind up with a good story to tell, of course: both the blizzard of January 2005 and the Clinton visit of 1993 have already lived half-lives far longer than the original event. My exasperated author might benefit from reading Jane Jacobs's Death and Life of Great American Cities. If he doesn't have time, I'll make him a tincture of the Essential Jane: planners need to pay attention to what real people do and what real people want. The tricky thing is that you can't learn this by taking polls and asking questions, because that's when the shoulds and the oughts kick in. We'll tell you what we think you want to hear, or whatever we think will make you go away. You can't learn it by holding "focus groups" either: for some people, going to meetings is more important than sleeping, and others think it's their civic duty, but it's the meeting-resistant multitude that will subvert your plan and leave you grumbling (as my author did at one point) that in our disregard for danger Americans are like "immature teenagers." Well, "immature teenagers" have often got their feet dug in about something, and until you figure out what it is their behavior can seem pretty mystifying. (I could say the same for myself.) The wonkers could learn a few things from any new kid on the block (any block, or no block at all), or from a good anthropologist. Don't just march in and start laying about with your priorities and prescriptions. Listen. Watch. Develop your plan from what you learn.
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