Questioning Authority Figures

 

I am wonderfully blessed to be the firstborn son of a man who was an authority figure to others throughout my life. As a newborn, my father was a schoolteacher on an Indian reservation. As a preschooler, my father was a high school teacher on another Indian reservation. On yet another Indian reservation during my grade school years, my father was the administrative officer, with all of the government employees on that reservation reporting to my dad. On yet another Indian reservation, my dad was the superintendent of an Indian reservation in my high school years. During his career in the Bureau of Indian Affairs, I enjoyed observing my father functioning as a respected authority figure. I also enjoyed watching my father, sometimes questioning authority figures in situations where he was not the man in charge. All of this contributed to my approach to authority.

I have been the pastor of two churches since 1978, exercising some measure of scriptural authority in the lives of other people. I take this very seriously and am very careful not to Lord it over God’s heritage. Since I am my father’s son, I have enjoyed situations in which I have encountered authority figures of some sort who misused their position and misunderstood their function. Allow me to share with you six such experiences.

First. When my daughter was five years old, I took her and my wife on vacation to visit all of the places I had lived growing up, except for Florida, which was too far out of the way to see on that vacation. We left Monrovia, California, and went to Brawley, California. After Brawley, we went to Albuquerque, New Mexico, to show my daughter where my paternal grandparents had lived. We then went to Wheeler, Texas, to visit my maternal grandparents’ farm outside the little town where I was born. Heading north, we went to Cherry Creek, South Dakota, where my father taught in a one-room schoolhouse for several years and became acquainted with the last living survivor of the Battle of the Little Big Horn and the last living survivor of the massacre at Wounded Knee. We then went to Mount Rushmore on our way to Cheyenne Agency, South Dakota, and then to Fort Totten, North Dakota.

My first clash with an authority figure took place at Mount Rushmore [pictured] when a park ranger spoke to our group of tourists and sarcastically criticized the “environmental catastrophe” that resulted from carving the faces of four American presidents on the side of a mountain. Her bitterness was undeniable. At that point, I spoke up, saying, “None of us came here to hear you say that. We came here to admire Mount Rushmore and to glory in the blessing of four great presidents. Yet you have chosen to misuse your position and subject us to your political slant, your radical environmentalism, in an attempt to destroy our experience. How dare you. You are misusing your position.” The park ranger took great offense at my comments, while several of the tourists congratulated me and expressed their appreciation that I had spoken up.

Second. Years later, I was standing in line to go through passenger Security at Heathrow Airport outside London. On the walls, I noticed that stickers warned travelers not to criticize uniformed personnel, with any criticism of the uniformed personnel to be treated as criminal assault. I thought such signage was unusual, but I took little note of it as I stepped into line behind approximately fifty South Asian travelers. I noticed three things about them. They were very small in stature, very dark in complexion, and extraordinarily well-mannered and pleasant to me and everyone else.

As the line of passengers advanced, I could hear a uniformed security officer shriek at the first of the South Asians she encountered. “Can’t any of you read?” she asked. “Why is it always the same with you people?” she continued. Her tirade continued, a racist rant against each South Asian in the line in front of me. I was horrified.

I tried to figure out what her issue was with each of them. I could not detect that they had done or said anything wrong. When the line advanced to the point where she spoke to me, suddenly her countenance changed, her expression changed from a scowl to a smile, and the tone of her voice was unexpectedly charming. I asked her, “Are we having a bad day?” She looked up at me and said, “What did you say?” I repeated, “Are we having a bad day?” I was smiling, my tone of voice was pleasant, and my question was genuine. She did not take it that way. “Security! Security!” she shouted. When two male uniformed officers arrived, she handed me off to them, and they took me into an interrogation room.

They subjected me to about five minutes of examination, asking me a dozen or so questions. My answers to their questions were very calm, unhurried, and reassuring. “I simply asked her if she was having a bad day.” Eventually, they turned me out of the room. Since I still had a couple of hours before my connecting flight, I decided to deal with her problem.

I looked around to find out which door the uniformed personnel went through when they went on break. I continued to observe that door until a “suit” exited the door. If ever you have a problem and have the opportunity to deal with the problem, I learned from my father’s example that you should always talk to one of the “suits.” I walked up to the “suit” and very politely asked him if he could spare me a minute or two. He was very kind and responsive.

Rather than accuse the woman of wrongdoing, I chose a different approach. She had spoken so harshly to the South Asians and had reacted so negatively to my question that I knew the “suit” would disapprove of her conduct. I asked the “suit” to review the tape at her workstation from the time she spoke to me, backing up about 10 minutes to observe how she dealt with the people in front of me. He assured me that he would do that after I pointed out that I did not think Heathrow airport wanted any of their travelers subjected to a racist rant. He agreed. He also thanked me. I assume he dealt with the problem, and it would not soon be repeated.

Third. On yet another occasion, my wife and daughter, and I were in Sitka, Alaska. We decided to visit the birds of prey sanctuary, one of two facilities in North America where injured birds of prey worked on by very skilled veterinarians [pictured]. As a ranger was taking us on a tour through their facility, she indicated to my group as she pointed out a huge golden eagle, “This bird will never be introduced into the wild. It is a casualty of the intrusion of man.”

What? The intrusion of man? What does that mean? So, I asked her. She said something about the intrusion of man being mankind intruding into the environment. I thought, “Here we go again, pushing a political agenda.”

“Can you tell me precisely how that bird was injured?” I asked her. She paused for a bit and then said, “The bird flew into a powerline tower.” I sought clarification. “The bird flew into a stationary structure?” I asked. “Yes,” she answered. I then said, “The intrusion of man did not cause that bird’s injury, but its stupidity.” Needless to say, while she was furious with me, I received several congratulatory remarks from the other tourists in the group.

Fourth. A situation unfolded some years ago as I led a group of teenagers on an annual tour of Washington, DC and New England to cultivate their appreciation of our nation’s history and the arrival of the Pilgrims. We were touring the Plymouth Plantation, a place where actors reenact life as it was lived by those who arrived on the Mayflower, as well as the Native Americans they encountered. However, one Native American actor chose the opportunity to go on a racist rant against white Europeans for daring to come to North America.

Growing up in Indian reservations, I am quite familiar with Native American history. I could not allow the Native American actor to proceed with such an error in front of my teens without responding. I pointed out to him that the place the Pilgrims arrived was uninhabited since those who previously had lived in the region had been decimated by some plague, which was not the fault of the Pilgrims.

I further pointed out that the Native Americans who moved back into the area generally had excellent relations with the Pilgrims, and they interacted with each other very well. Of course, problems later developed with later arrivals into the area from both groups who sought only to stir up trouble.

When there is a 7000-year technological disparity between one culture and another, there will be severe problems in the best of circumstances. It is unavoidable. However, for the most part, the Pilgrims and later Puritans sought the conversion of the Native Americans to Christ. That is a good thing. I don’t think he agreed with me, but it needed to be said to benefit my teens.

Fifth. I recall an occasion when I was in Washington, DC, alone. With a bit of spare time on my hands, I decided to ride the tram around Arlington National Cemetery and across the river to the Vietnam Memorial site [pictured]. There were very few people on the tram, so I decided to sit at the very back, where there was only one other younger man, who by the kind of glasses he wore and his hairstyle was very obviously military. For those of you who are not familiar, the tram driver is a tour guide who wears a microphone and makes comments while driving the tram by historical landmarks.

Only this tram driver was a vitriolic hater, who spewed venom as we passed by the wall memorializing our nation’s dead in Vietnam, referring to them as “baby killers.” I did not like what I heard. I turned to the man sitting to my right on the other side of the aisle and said, “What she says offends me. Does it offend you, as well?” “Yes, sir,” he said. “I am very offended.” I said to him, “You are obviously military. What is your service?” He responded, “Sir, I am a major in the United States Army, and I serve as a tank commander. What she said, I find very offensive.”

I then told the much younger than me major, “I am not going to let this go. I’m gonna deal with this.” He then asked me if he could accompany me on my mission to deal with that problem, and I said, “Yes.” We stayed on the tram until it returned to its point of origin near the Arlington National Cemetery entrance. I then began to check out where the drivers went when they left the tram, figuring that would be where the “suits” can be found. You always want to talk to the “suits.”

You can imagine, at this point, what I did. A man walked out the door wearing a very nice suit. The major and I approached him and asked him if he had time to speak to us. I related to the “suit” what the tram driver had said, and the major backed me up all the way. The “suit” assured me he would deal with the issue because “That is not the kind of experience we want anyone writing our tram to have.” He then thanked me and headed back to the office through the door our tram driver had walked through. I feel confident that tram driver/guide would be unlikely to disparage our Vietnam War dead again soon. As we parted company, the young major was very appreciative.

Sixth. My final anecdote took place in the Capitol rotunda, yet another trip with our Christian high school students to develop an appreciation for our nation’s history. The tour guide (these problems frequently arise with tour guides for some reason) leading our group said, “The Capitol rotunda was built during the presidency of George Washington.”

I could not allow that misstatement to go by without correction. The students in our Christian school are taught accurate US history. My teens knew that the presidency of George Washington took place in the temporary capital of New York City, not Washington, DC. The Capitol rotunda [pictured] was built after George Washington had died. I said to her when she paused, “Excuse me, but that is not true.”

She took offense, of course, and insisted that the Capitol rotunda was built during the presidency of George Washington. I said to her, “I mean no offense. I have no desire to embarrass you in front of other people. But most of the people in the group you are leading know that you are mistaken. I spoke up only because these are rather important historical facts to know, and it is surprising that since you do this for a living, you don’t know the facts.” Once more, members of the group thanked me for insisting on accuracy.

I try to be nice. I don’t want to offend anybody. I want to get along with people, if at all possible. However, I am my father’s son, and I cannot stand by while those who occupy positions of authority or who officially dispense information misuse their position to misinform, disparage, or belittle others.

I am wondering if we Americans ought to cultivate our willingness to speak up when it is appropriate to do so.