Nice, Nice, Baby

There was a minor disturbance in the goodwill of the Twin Cities' arts community this last week following the unexpected resignation of Frank Sonntag as executive director of the Cowles Center for Dance and the Performing Arts after just ten months on the job. In case you missed it, Mr. Sonntag was quoted as saying some things which hurt a few feelings: "After spending most of my professional life in New York, I don't feel Minnesota culture is one I'm well suited for." Beyond the bruising of a regional inferiority complex, Mr. Sonntag made the mistake of bringing up the irritating subject of Minnnesota Nice, saying "it's pretty hard to wrap your head around that until you step in it, and I stepped in it pretty early on." There's no question that there are big differences between the cultures of Minnesota and New York. Some like it that way. Some wish they could be more similar. Some never feel comfortable here and they should move on if they can and we wish them well. The complaint about Minnesota Nice, however, is a little harder to take. There are good things about Minnesota Nice. It springs, I think, from a wise and compassionate reserve. It's the reserve of pious, thoughtful farmers who knew too well the frailty of mankind and the unpredictability of the universe. Someone else's misfortune today may be your misfortune tomorrow. They were nice because they knew that some day they might need a little niceness themselves. Unfortunately, the frailty of mankind has transformed Minnesota Nice from a sort of quiet kindness into something darker. People like me have ruined it. Lacking courage and wishing to avoid conflict, we will never tell you what we think to your face, but we'll say terrible things about you behind your back. It's dishonest and frustrating. Sorry. But, come on. There is an infinite variety of ways to be dishonest. Minnesota Nice is just one of these and it's unfair to single it out. Even people from New York can be dishonest. It's possible to tell someone exactly what you think and be dishonest. Dishonesty is the norm. We lie to keep ourselves out of trouble. We lie to get something we want. We lie because we don't know the truth, but don't want to look dumb. There are the little white lies we tell to spare another's feelings. There are the lies that we tell because reality doesn't match up with our vision of the world. So we ignore reality and make stuff up and treat it like the truth. We may even believe it. We think we're being logical, blithely unaware of how much of our understanding of the world is wired-in perceptual bias. Then there's the whole grey, mushy sea of kind-of-lies that we slap around in everyday. Advertising, reality television, workplace banter, local TV news - have you been to Lunds lately? They have a new system for printing the price labels that stand next to things like produce and cheeses. Now, instead of simply stating the price, they include little randomly generated messages such as "what a deal!" or "mmm" or "yummy!" or "gotta get some!" Can I no longer be counted on to determine what is and what isn't yummy? All these are lies, of course, but they're the ubiquitous, lubricating lies that allow us to function in the modern world right up to the point where they all fall apart and we fling ourselves into the abyss. Then there are the lies we tell because we must. The world is too big and too weird and too frightening and words are too small and too thin and too weak to speak the truth. "How are you?" someone asks. And you can't possibly answer, not even with a song and some poetry and a little dance and five years and a Powerpoint presentation, so the best answer is a lie: "fine." The arts arose as an antidote to this. In a fighting-fire-with-fire effort, art uses artifice to try to illuminate something true. It’s a fine and noble idea. But most of the time, of course, we fail. Lies, lies, lies. It’s all lies, everywhere you turn. I’m lying to you as I write this. You’re lying to yourself as you read this. Surrounded by all this mendacity, let’s reconsider Minnesota Nice. Is it so bad to overlay our dishonesty with a little politeness? If we must lie - and we must - why not do so with a warm-but-not-too-warm smile and a bit of courtesy? Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!