I'm sorry I didn't attend the discussion last night, which focused on ways our culture thwarts community, and those occasions when community triumphs--despite the challenges.

This entry this morning is my nod to that rich topic.

In bed, I was recalling a craze that swept the Bay Area, and probably the nation, about 15 years ago. This was the transient, explosive growth of the Twelve-Step movement, which had started decades before as a self-help forum for addicts and their loved ones. For a brief period, 1988-1992, "the Twelve Steps" became a shared self-improvement argot and culture for droves of alienated modern people, whom I believe otherwise would not have had adequate human contact in their lives. For many, not merely those grappling with addiction, Twelve-Step meetings and functions became a substitute clan, neighborhood, and place of worship.

As chimerically as it had burgeoned, Twelve-Step participation dwindled, and the Twelve-Step movement survives today to serve purposes much closer to those for which it was originally intended.

What was the appeal of "Twelve-Step meetings," in the form we saw them for a time, and what eventually killed the phenomenon?

The shared vocabulary and culture of Twelve-Step movement, were both keys to the success of the late-80s phenomenon, and the seeds of its destruction.

Any two strangers, anywhere in the broader culture, could connect instantly, if they were both Twelve-Step participants. One would talk about "working the Steps around a problem," or "the will of Higher Power," and the other would know instantly what was meant. The Twelve-Step lingo was so seductive because it was supposed to be "one-size-fits-all," applying to any personal problem whatsoever.

Years after I last went to a meeting, I find the most poignant Twelve-Step dogmas concerned the promotion of a venue for "honesty" and "trust"--for meeting participants, the freedom to talk freely about sensitive, personal, "important" matters presumably lacking in the outside world--also "kindness."

Besides the irritating flourishes of cliché, I can still recall singular things said, stranger-to-stranger, in Twelve-Step meetings. I think of "Ron," a haggard, fortyish construction worker, shifting around in his chair, sighing, as he talked about quitting smoking.

"I..uh, I've...uh, realized, when I crave a cigarette, the nicotine hit really isn't what I'm after," Bob said hoarsely, rubbing his face and scalp.

"What I really want in that moment is love and comfort," he continued, his voice trailing upwards and cracking in a sob.

I also think of "Marianne," a plainish, youngish married graduate student, talking about her birthday.

"They set the cake with all the candles down in front of me," Marianne looked down shyly a moment and then continued, "Believe it or not, the first thing that came into my mind, when I went to make a wish, is that I've had a really good life," she said, beaming incredulously through a rush of tears.

Then I remember "Eleanor," an older woman who I think did live somewhere, but who routinely fell sound asleep, sometimes snoring, in meetings.

"The meetings are the only place where I feel safe enough to rest," she explained once.

Twelve-Step burgeoned because it set out to fill human needs not readily addressed in the culture at large, those of fellowship and intimacy. It foundered because it blunted the confidence, the passions, and the critical thinking of its individual participants with its mis-applied dogma.
9:59:20 AM    comment []