Copenhagen Hold Em

Hours into a recent, and far too infrequent, poker game with four of my best friends in the world, the wife of my buddy who was hosting came home. Upon hearing ten seconds of the topic of conversation she remarked astutely that we sure don’t talk about the things we used to talk about on poker night. Thankfully it’s true that what seemed important in our twenties seems embarrassingly unimportant in our thirties. So involved were we in our discussion about the proper role of the state in the control of fossil fuel emissions that over the first hour or so we had only played about ten hands. We had to establish a rule whereby the dealer was held responsible for the fluid progression of the game--read, crack the whip--just so we’d remember to play.

One of the interesting things about growing older with a tight knit group of childhood friends is that you get to see them develop their own political outlooks, and not all of them develop along the same trajectory of political ideology. If nothing else, this makes for more interesting and spirited discussions on poker night.

This particular night the discussion revolved mostly around climate change. When an exciting flop didn’t rudely intrude, we discussed the severity of the issue at bay and debated the merits of different political solutions.

Unsurprisingly, for a poker game held amongst residents of Southern California, most participants agreed that climate change is a very serious problem that should be addressed swiftly and directly. But one of our buddies took the counter position. Despite tendencies towards more conservative political positions, when the evening was over he admitted that while he didn’t feel the urgency that the rest of us did about climate change he was largely playing devil’s advocate for shits and gigs. In addition to serving as the key ingredient in what would have otherwise been a more mundane discussion where all conversants agreed with one another (yawn), he enabled us to respectfully challenge each other’s positions while engaging in an important and crucial dialogue. I could only hope that similar poker games were being held across the country.

As the night progressed we challenged one another more and more. As can happen, as the empty beer bottles accumulated the conversation grew livelier, to the point that the devil’s advocate actually began to feel ganged up on. After we date raped him- sorry, different poker night. And don’t worry, we all learned a valuable lesson… just like on Different Strokes, but I digress. Anyway, he felt ganged up on. Admittedly, my own emotions ran hotter as what I perceived to be reasonable and logical points were largely discounted; and no doubt vice versa. But what really stuck with me was an argument he made that I had heard before from Dennis Miller along the exact same lines. It must be orbiting through the Republican cosmos which means soon it’ll be rattling through the right wing echo chamber like oxycontin and hatred through Limbaugh’s bulbous belly or crazy trying to escape from Beck’s vapid porcine noggin like Tim Robbins in Shawshank… New game, the never ending simile.

Anyway, the argument goes something like this:

“Okay, here we are facing what some so called experts contend is a catastrophic challenge. But in a situation that affects the great masses, isn’t it always beneficial to maintain some semblance of healthy skepticism? And why, when I try to impart some healthy skepticism into the discussion am I shouted down and made to feel ostracized by those who have obediently swallowed whatever information the scientific community has spoon fed them? None of us are climate change experts, so we shouldn’t just accept the present current of scientific contention as gospel. It’s like the believers in climate change are some sort of pagan cult that vehemently shout down the opposition at the slightest inkling of dissent. To curb your collective hysteria, you need a sober voice like mine; someone who doesn’t jump the gun whenever someone tells you that they think the shit’s hitting the fan.”

When I heard this argument from Dennis Miller it bothered me. When I heard it from my buddy it bothered me more. At the time I couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, but after thinking about it for awhile, I think I figured it out.

First and foremost, no one who calls themselves a friend wants their buddy to feel ganged up on, ostracized, and unable to speak his mind amongst his own pals. Dennis Miller I give two shits about, upsetting one of my closest friends is a different story.

Second, it’s an annoyingly effective argument. Astounding as it no doubt sounds to conservatives, liberals like to think of themselves as the sober voice of reason in the national political discussion. When you tell them that they’re acting like members of a hysterical pagan cult it catches them off guard. In their minds, that’s how the other guys act. The argument momentarily demolishes their self identity and they’re immediately forced to rethink their position and reflect on their behavior. It’s just in the liberal DNA. Most conservatives aren’t stricken with the burdensome ailments of self reflection and it can make for a stronger, if less logical, debate style.

Finally, it’s logically fallacious. Being emotional about something doesn’t mean that you’re wrong about it. Being a member of a group of people who are emotional about something doesn’t either.

I wanted to understand why I was more emotional over this particular issue than I was over others that I feel just as strongly about. There’s no shortage of hysterical, angry liberals who’ve earned the caricatures bestowed upon them by their conservative counterparts, but I pride myself on being able to hold a polite conversation about volatile issues amongst even the most fervent members of dissenting ideologies. Why was I getting worked up?

Sometimes it’s easier for me to work things out through analogy (read, LSD trip), so I gave it a go here and it helped clarify things for me. Hopefully it translates.

Imagine that you live in a house with only one other person; a roommate. (Awesome so far, right?) Okay, one of the stipulations of your living arrangement is that in order to make any decision about the house, you both have to agree to it. (Just go with it.) So one day you’re in the kitchen and you begin to smell smoke. You tell your roommate that you smell smoke and he says, “Yeah, maybe”. You tell him that you think you should call the fire department, but he says not to be hasty. (In this fantasy scenario, it costs money to call the fire department and he doesn’t want to incur the costs if it’s just a false alarm.)

Now, in addition to this, you live in a neighborhood comprised solely of neighbors who are professional fire inspectors. (What are the odds?!) Slowly, they begin to gather on your front lawn. After a while, they begin to get agitated and start shouting to you that your house is on fire and that you should call the fire department. You look to your roommate who looks undaunted. He calmly points out to you that of the dozens of fire inspectors screaming at you, one or two don’t really seem too concerned. (They must be the smart ones!) He reminds you of the time a couple of years back when some fire inspectors encouraged a neighbor to call the fire department only to find out that there was no fire. He cautions you that it could be that these inspectors benefit in some way each time the fire department gets called and that he doesn’t want to jump the gun. (‘Cause people join the fire department to make money, just like scientists, see?)

So, every possession you care about is in this house. It seems ludicrous to you to ignore, not just the fire inspectors, but the smoke that you can smell as well, just to protect against a nominal fee or a chance that the inspectors might be getting kickbacks. Rational as you normally are, you start to get a little worked up. Minutes pass. Hours go by as you debate with your roommate about whether or not to call. You get more excited. As smoke begins to billow from your vents you get even more worked up. When the inspectors jump and down on your lawn like chimps on meth, stopping just short of flinging their own feces at you as a warning, you can’t take it anymore and you lose it. “Hey dipshit, it seems pretty clear that our house is on fire! You might not give a shit about this house but I sure as hell do! WE NEED TO CALL THE FUCKING FIRE DEPARTMENT.”

He looks at you calmly but sternly and then hits you with it. “Hey, I’m just maintaining healthy skepticism here. I don’t know why every time I suggest that we think about this more and not act hastily, you get so emotional. It’s like you’re a brainwashed member of some pagan cult.”

(Okay, how good was that?!)

To my buddy who played devil’s advocate I offer my apology. You deserve a calm and respectful discussion regardless of anything else. But for guys like Dennis Miller and anyone else who has a role in swaying national sentiment and a hand in generating political capital, try to understand. We’re emotional because we’re pretty sure that our house is on fire. Sadly and obviously it would seem that we can’t call the fire department without your say so. Most issues discussed at the national level have some measure of urgency to them, but the stakes of climate change couldn’t be higher. The urgency with which the vast consensus of credible experts demand we address this issue ensures that it will continue to be an emotionally charged one so long as some of us think all of our shit is about to go up in flames WHILE THOSE WITH THE POWER TO MAKE THE F%@$ING PHONE CALL THAT WILL EXTINGUISH THE GODD%@$ED FIRE CONTINUE TO PLAY KEEP AWAY WITH THE MOTHER@#%@ING TELEPHONE!!!!!

And I’m spent…