Author: Stephen Reno

I had breakfast this morning with a fascinating person. She is an architectural historian who has studied Notre Dame cathedral in Paris for many years and is now one of the experts regularly consulted as the 800-year-old building is being restored after the devastating fire of April 2019. For many years earlier, she studied the gradual process by which the cathedral had been built, noting that, over the course of 100 years, its walls had been constructed in stages as the mortar of each course of stone had to dry fully — a process that could take years — before the next layer could be added. In the end, thanks to the patience and skill of the builders, one of the most loved and iconic structures was completed. But it was a very slow process.

As my friend described that process, a comparison was forming in my mind. Our country, too, is a construction in progress, I thought. Yes, the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution are the “foundation” of the U.S. — we regularly refer to “the founding fathers” — but the rest of the work of realizing the vision of our forebears has been entrusted to subsequent generations. As American historians have shown us, this has been a trial-and-error process. We make laws to clarify or safeguard something only to see how it works out and perhaps repeal or modify it later. It’s a slow process. Just as for Notre Dame, each layer is added slowly, waiting and monitoring and then working on the next layer. My friend described the cathedral as a “building in dialogue with itself,” and perhaps that’s true for us as a country as well.

Today, especially in these times of polarization, many of us are impatient with the give and take of the democratic process, and instead would wish to “build it all” simply, with a change of presidential administration or a shift in Congress from one political majority to another. Our fast-paced world, instantaneous global communication, 24/7 news and compulsive social media all make difficult the more fundamental task of thoughtful conversations with our fellow citizens. It takes patience and courage to talk about such critical issues as immigration, abortion, voting rights or gun control in a way that respects difference of opinion while having that conversation based on a shared commitment to our country. Like Notre Dame, this is a slow process.

The elections this fall offer each of us, individual builders in the construction of this country, the challenge of being informed, of listening to one another, not just those in our echo chamber, and registering and voting intelligently. We may not see the completion of the perfect edifice, but we shall have done our part.

Even though I am a transplant who has lived in this state for more than 20 years, there are occasions when I am especially aware of just what it means to live in a state the motto of which is “Live Free or Die.” Such a recognition came recently. Although the details of the attempt on the part of certain residents of Croydon, New Hampshire, to halve the annual school budget, as well as the successful later counter to restore it, are well known, the lesson for me, as well for all of us, is one worthy of serious self-reflection.

Like many of my fellow Granite Staters, I live in a small town. I am fortunate that mine is one that has an efficient and useful website as well as a robust email alert system. My neighbors and I receive regular announcements of all town meetings as well as their agendas. These I read dutifully, but too often my engagement stops there and I fear I’m not alone in that regard. It is a rare agenda item that would draw me to attend a meeting in person. It must be some kind of utilitarian criterion that I’m applying in such situations, the logic of which would go something like this: “If it’s a really important issue for me that will be discussed or voted on, then I’ll go; if it’s not I won’t.”

What is lost in that logic, however, is the other, equally important aspect of democracy, namely a shared sense of responsibility for our community and a corresponding obligation to participate. Something akin to the latter is what I often feel on town voting day, when, standing in line with neighbors, friends and strangers, I feel a sense of solidarity that together we are doing something important and are seeing one another in the act of doing it, voting on issues of common importance. It is a sense of a common will for a commonweal.

This year will be my 13th serving as executive director of Leadership New Hampshire, an organization founded as a recommendation of the gubernatorial Commission on NH in the 21st Century. Its mission statement is “Building a community of informed and engaged leaders.” Every year, from a large pool of applicants from across our state, LNH selects 32 people to participate in a one-day-a-month intensive program that seeks to familiarize them with the needs, challenges, people and resources of our state, so that, being better informed about our state and its communities, the graduates — and now, in its 30th year, there are more than 1,000 of them — will get even more engaged in their communities, region or state. But the “special chemistry” of LNH is the sense of solidarity the graduates develop over the 10-month together.

It does truly take a community, precisely because the members of one need to feel a sense of community. The people of Croydon found that out the hard way.

My flight from San Francisco to Boston was full and, as I learned, many of the passengers were on their way to graduation ceremonies across New England. Mine was an aisle seat midway in the Economy section, and across sat — as I found out later — a grandmother traveling with her son and wife to attend the college graduation of the granddaughter. Before long, the grandmother and I began exchanging pleasantries regarding everything from how Covid had curtailed our travel for the last two years to how we each were planning to spend the long weekend. She was excited about her granddaughter’s forthcoming graduation as she herself had graduated from the same college 70 years earlier. She confided to me her age: 92!

That detail of her age quickly led us into a conversation about college life and then the changes she’d lived through over her long life. As our topics moved to more political matters, I noticed other passengers had put down their reading and appeared to be listening. Because she was a bit hard of hearing, I was speaking a tad louder and so it was probably easy for folks seated in front or behind us to catch snatches of our exchange. But we were surprised when a passenger immediately ahead of us turned around and offered a thoughtful comment on our discussion of the forthcoming midterms. That must have prompted the woman behind me to join us also and before long we had a robust four-way conversation going.

The five-plus-hour flight passed quickly as we talked nearly all the way. It was clear we were not all of the same mind about current events and personalities, but we listened respectfully even when differences were very pronounced. As our plane began its approach to Logan Airport, the grandmother leaned over to us and announced, “You know, we’ve just had a substantive conversation ‘across the aisle.’ As a country, we need a great deal more of this.”

Ours was a fortuitous experience because such candid and civil conversations across divides of whatever kind are rare because they are hard and sometimes risky to have these days. In her book Becoming Wise: An Inquiry Into the Art of Living, Krista Tippett offers “Generous Listening” as a way to learn about both others and ourselves by seeking, through respectful questions, to understand another person’s views. On that flight, four strangers leaned across a physical as well as an ideological aisle. I certainly felt better for it.

With age come certain changes, one of which is that I find myself attending more memorial services than weddings these days. This week, it was to attend virtually the Celebration of Life for the actor Emilio Delgado. While all services for the departed carry the deep sorrow of loss, they also offer those so gathered an opportunity to reflect on their experiences of having been part of the late person’s life. The collective remembrances of those times not only console; they also inspire those of us who remain behind to assess our own place in the world.

As did so many others, and as a parent, I first came to know Emilio as Luis, the Fix-it Shop owner on the children’s television series Sesame Street. (He played the same role on U.S. television longer than any other Mexican-American actor.) My wife and I were sparing in the time we allotted our two children to watch TV and so Sesame Street became a special fixture in their early lives and the program inspired their love of Spanish. Many have extolled the early childhood education philosophy that informed the creativity of the program and noted its appeal to not only children but their parents as well. For our family, however, the character Luis was a standout for his gentleness, self-deprecating humor and optimism.

Many years later, when we lived in Ashland, Oregon, our family became friends with Emilio, his wife, Carole, and their daughter Lauren. For several years, it was our good fortune to encounter this wonderful person in real life as well as on the TV. There simply was no difference between the lovable character in the series and the man in our living room or at the supermarket. His kindness was contagious, his optimism uplifting, and his generosity exemplary. On those occasions when we were with him and a stranger who recognized him approached, we saw not only the genuine affection the person had for him but his for one of his admirers. It was never ego-driven, but a true encounter of mutual respect.

As the many speakers at Emilio’s memorial service shared their recollections, the rest of us learned even more of his insatiable curiosity, his love of books and learning, his musical accomplishments, and his deep and long-standing commitment to social justice. On that latter point, one friend cited Cornel West, who wrote, “Justice is what love looks like in public.” His life of activism was exemplary of that value.

Through his life and the character of Luis, Emilio Delgado brought the best to children and adults alike. His passing challenges those who remain behind to carry on those values.

You can contact Steve Reno at [email protected].

I worked for over seven years to increase awareness of an important health condition that warrants everyone’s attention as 1 in 10 of us have it, and 1 in 3 of us are at high risk of developing the mostly preventable version — diabetes.

Every year as November approached, we would see and begin the preparations for Diabetes Awareness Month, and yet I would think to myself: “Every day is diabetes awareness day!” Thus my mixed feelings toward awareness days even as I knew that 1 in 5 people with diabetes don’t know they have it, and more than 8 in 10 individuals with prediabetes are unaware. This for a health condition that has the potential for significant improvement or control, and potential prevention — if we have the understanding of how to care for ourselves and manage our diabetes or prediabetes.

There are other kinds of awareness events, such as National Wear Red Day (on Feb. 4, this year), which raises attention to heart disease being the No. 1 killer of women, and all of February being American Heart Month; June being Alzheimer’s and Brain Awareness Month, and Sept. 5 to Sept. 11 being National Suicide Prevention Week. The calendar is now full with these kinds of awareness events and it’s difficult to register their existence, let alone keep track of them. Which has helped me now realize there actually can be a benefit to focusing much-needed attention, and has me wondering: As all of us are touched by one or more of these health issues, how do we support and amplify each other’s concerns so that we can all, together, contribute to building a healthier future?

Health equity means that everyone has a fair and just opportunity to be as healthy as possible. And we have long considered the United States to be the land of opportunity. Yet our current standing among developed countries as having the worst maternal mortality — where most maternal deaths are preventable — reminds us that we face a significant threat to the opportunity for all to thrive and contribute to this country’s future prosperity. There are many contributing factors for our current situation — some relate to individuals, many relate to our living conditions, and even more relate to systemic factors such as the availability of health insurance coverage, access to health care, bias that may be built into how things are done and more. Thankfully, more attention is being focused on helpful policy solutions that impact how care is provided in the clinical setting as well as the supports that can help all birthing people have healthy and positive perinatal experiences and contribute to community well-being.

This year April 11 through April 17 marked Black Maternal Health Week — I hope we will all be curious to learn why we should all care enough to be aware.

Their kitchen is very like mine: a coffee maker, bowl of fruit, and a shelf of spices, under a window that looks outside. On their counter is a small TV or computer screen. Yes, it almost exactly mirrors my kitchen here in New Hampshire, but theirs is in an apartment building in Kyiv and one whole wall of their kitchen has been blown out from a Russian missile yesterday morning.

Their family is very like mine. Together today, we are three generations: my wife, our son and our daughter-in-law, and our two grandchildren. They are having breakfast at our house, stopping here on the way to Logan airport for a two-week vacation. I’ve been playing number games with my grandson and our granddaughter is learning to say “Aloha.” As a family, we look very much like them, but they, with their small children, are taking shelter in a subway station as the air raid sirens wail and the sounds of nearby shelling shakes the benches they are sitting on. I see joy and expectation in the face of my grandchildren and fear in the faces of that Ukrainian family. Mine knows where they are going. They have no idea where or when they will be safe.

Their neighborhood is very like mine. The houses are along a tree-lined street with cars parked outside. My neighbors are cleaning up after a snow storm, grumbling when the town snowplow deposits a plug of ice at the end of their newly cleared driveways. But the family outside Lviv is outside trying to halt a line of Russian tanks making its way through their otherwise quiet neighborhood.

Their neighbors are very like mine. Across my street lives a physician, next door is the owner of a construction company, further down is a retired school superintendent and a business executive, and beyond the owner of a tech company. Even in Covid times, we gather in one of our driveways to share a beverage in the evening and catch up on local news. But in Kharkiv, the neighbors gather to collect empty bottles — just like the ones we have — to make Molotov cocktails. And there, too, the counterparts of my neighbors — a physician, a builder, an executive, a retired superintendent, don makeshift uniforms and take rifles into their hands, many of which have never even held a weapon before. Why? Because their country means so much to them.

Empathy is the very human capacity to feel as another person might. The Russian invasion of Ukraine is like no other war in my experience. I do not read about it in a newspaper 24 hours later. Instead, it is broadcast live into my kitchen as it is happening and through those media relays from Ukrainian kitchens, families, neighbors and neighborhoods so very like mine, I am drawn deeply into their plight because it is now so possible to imagine what such a conflict would entail in my otherwise safe life.

They are fighting for democracy and their country. They are also fighting for us. We must help in any way we can.