Polarization is rampant in society today.
People spend our time in ideological social media silos, surrounded by
those with whom we agree, isolated from those whose opinions differ from ours.
Civil discourse is dead.
People cannot hold rational arguments or even “agree to disagree” with
respect. Sociologists,
philosophers, and theologians decry the current state of mankind. We
blame the overuse of technology, the economy, the educational system, the break-down
of family values, systemic racism and the backlash against social justice, and,
of course, the current presidential administration. All and any of those
factors are believed to lead to the political and personal fury that citizens
unleash on each other daily.
Perhaps the experts are correct.
I pose a different theory.
Society’s breakdown lies in the way we make our coffee.
Coffee is the life-blood for so many people--the
common ground (pun intended), the proverbial water-hole. The strong,
dark, hot liquid fuels our
population, sparking our intellect and our conversations. Coffee drinkers understand each other.
We recognize and resonate with the need for caffeine in our fellow
travelers. We can see it in each
other’s eyes. Random
strangers waiting in line at Dunkin Donuts can commiserate in the desire for
that first cup of joe in the morning. We might like our coffee sweet, or
sweet and light, or strong and black.
But we all need the same thing, from the same pot, brewed at the same
time. Coffee makes
connections. Caffeine addicts, who
prefer our drugs in the steamy, bitter liquid, take the basic substance and
make it our own. We drink from the communal pot and add what we need to
make it our own.
Consider the humble pot of coffee, brewing in
the kitchens and workrooms across middle-America. When I was a kid,
neighbors and friends dropped in to my parent’s house frequently. The first thing my mom did when someone
walked through the screen door was put on a cup of coffee. Friends sat
for hours, drinking cup after cup from the same carafe, sharing conversations,
stories, and feelings across the vinyl table-cloth. My mom’s coffee wasn’t fancy, but she brewed it hot and
strong. You didn’t leave until the pot was empty and you were all talked
out. Sitting around the kitchen
table, friends and neighbors discussed politics, religion, community life,
family struggles. They sipped and
shared and listened.
In teacher’s lounges, churches, and lunchrooms
around the country, workers gathered around the coffee pot. The first
person to arrive in the morning started the brew. The last one to take a drop made a new pot, or at least
cleaned it up. Someone bought the supplies, and usually put out a
donation can--a Folger’s or Hill’s brothers of some sort--for people to
contribute to the coffee fund. Someone stocked the cream and the
sugar. Each coffee pot is just a
bit different from another. Good
friends can even tell who made the coffee by the strength of the brew.
In churches and staff lounges, learning how to
make a good pot of coffee is a rite of passage for newcomers. In order to
make an acceptable pot, a person has to pay attention and learn from a friend
just how much to measure of the grounds and the water. Making a pot means
you belong to that place and that you care for the people there. If a pot of coffee can build a
community, perhaps the breakdown of our community lies in the advent of the
Keurig.
Coffee is gracious and universal. Keurigs
are concrete and specific. They
are limited to the individual. There is something a little sad to go to a
friend’s house and be offered a K-cup to make my coffee. (Not to mention that
the K-cup brew always seems so very small. My eight cup a day habit just
can’t be satisfied by four ounces at a time.) It’s like sitting down to what could be a family-style
chicken dinner and receiving an individually wrapped package of McNuggets.
No matter how delicious the coffee, I am on my own. It’s all mine and I don’t have to share
it. No longer the pot of
coffee sitting between two good friends who want to talk all morning long. No longer the cry, “Come in! Sit
down! I’ll put on the
coffee…” No longer do we sit
around a pot and share it until it is gone (and then discuss if we should make
another one). Now, for each
refill, we open another separate container for our own individual self.
We have traded abundance for allotments.
Coffee pots in a staff lounge are communal.
Keurigs are self-serving. In staff rooms and churches, no longer do we
gather around a shared experience. We bring our own particular pods,
which we purchase on our own, with our own special brands and our own special
flavors. We use a machine to make just enough for us. We throw away all the garbage (which
can’t be recycled and fills up our landfills), but hey, it sure is convenient,
right? We don’t have to consider that anyone else might like some coffee
when we start our day. We don’t
have to make another pot if we take the last cup. We don’t have to pay attention to who left the pot on at the
end of the day. We take care of ourselves and only ourselves.
I have a four-cup coffee pot in my classroom and
I keep it running most of the day. It’s not fancy. Sometimes it splutters
and spills and makes a mess. It is
part of our community life. My friends know where to go to get their
coffee. There is always enough and
I can always make another pot. If they need some and I just finished it,
they make another. We are
considerate and we share the load.
We don’t always agree with each other. Some days we might not even
like each other. But, we do understand each other. We see a need in our fellow travelers and we meet it. We care for our coffee pot and we care
for each other. Maybe my silly little coffee pot and my Folger’s brew is
making the world a better place, one pot at a time. So, open up your hearts and minds and return to the shared
pot of coffee. Care for each other
through caffeine.
Maybe it’s time to throw out your $200 machine
and buy a $20 Mr. Coffee. Ask your neighbor if he wants to visit and tell
him, “I’ll put on a pot…”
