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Publication Date 4-24-08 I had an interesting time last week. Here's the deal. Minnesota Public Radio was scheduled to record a show about the way our national defense and energy independence are tied together. I'm on some sort of list – I suppose because I've been on the board of an ethanol plant and I'm working with a group of my neighbors to get a wind turbine farm going, so I was invited to attend. My wife and I took off early from work and made the four hour trek to the Twin Cities for the event. We got there a little early and sat down in the lobby. The room was full of people networking – shaking hands, exchanging business cards, establishing connections and credentials…all stuff I'm really bad at. My traditional way to network is to sit quietly in the corner, or else go out on the loading dock and talk to the janitors. After a while they opened the door to the studio and all fifty or so of us trooped in. It was very interesting – a lot of smart, opinionated people expressing their strongly held views. I spoke up a couple of times. Once to mention that when our son was in the Marine Corps he spent his first Christmas away from home in a tent in Kuwait and I think that sort of thing should be added to the price of oil. The other time was when people were talking about how ethanol was the worst thing since the Black Death and I tried to offer a more moderate opinion. But mostly I sat and listened, and then spent the next couple of days thinking about what I'd heard, and seen. Almost everyone in that room, except us, was well-educated, well-groomed, well…connected. They all spoke with certainty about issues where there is a great deal that is uncertain. And, more to the point, speaking about energy independence was what they did – I didn't hear anyone else in the room who had actually done anything. I mean, they worked for think tanks and law firms and lobbying organizations, but if there was someone in the room who'd actually distilled some ethanol or built a solar cell, they didn't speak up. That's where I got a little feisty – when someone behind me spoke about how ethanol wasn't the best choice for a fuel I almost stood up and said, “Well, what the hell have you tried?” It's really easy to point out the flaws in what someone's done, but I don't think your opinion counts unless in addition to telling me what I've done wrong, you also give me your alternative. For some reason, I started thinking about 1925, when Nome, Alaska, was in the grip of a diphtheria epidemic and they had to send the serum by dogsled (yeah, I'm not saying it makes sense, but that's just how my mind works.) The guys who ran the dogsleds weren't well-educated, well-groomed, or well-connected, but they knew how tough a job it was going to be. It was February in Alaska – dark, 50 below zero and a storm coming in, but babies were dying and it was going to get worse, so they volunteered, even though they knew they were going to pay a price. It's a great story, with lots of heroes, but the one vignette that sticks in my mind is how one of the mushers hit a tree in a blizzard and the sled tipped over, spilling the container of serum into a snowbank. By this time it was nearly 60 below zero, with a hard wind blowing, and in the cold and darkness, wearing his heavy mittens, he couldn't find the serum. So, he took off a mitten and searched in the snow with his bare hand, getting severe frostbite, but rescuing the canister, because that's what he had agreed to do. The other night as I sat in that comfortable room, full of earnest, well-educated, well-connected, well-groomed people, talking knowledgeably about serious things, I did find it interesting. But I would have found it a lot more reassuring if I could have looked around the room and seen one person, just one, with scars and a bad attitude, someone who knows how to get things done and pay the price. Because babies are dying and things are going to get worse and we need less talk and more action, by people who can step up and volunteer, take responsibility, and pay the price Copyright 2008 Brent Olson Brent Olson |
