Where have all our heroes gone?

Who are our heroes?

Villains are easy. Hitler, Joe McCarthy, Pol Pot, the 9/11 attackers, the current guy in the White House.

But who are our heroes?

Growing up, Cesar Chavez was mine. When I was a young teen, my friends’ heroes generally were sports stars—Mickey Mantle, Willie Mays, later Muhammad Ali. I wanted to be different, perceived maybe as more serious, and bestow my admiration on someone not that well-known who quietly fought for justice and the rights of the oppressed. Someone who battled for the universal values I professed to believe in.

Chavez, the down-to-earth political activist who valiantly led the United Farm Workers, seemed perfect. He seemed noble. I was proud to call him my hero.

And then…

We have recently found out that Chavez, a civil rights icon who died more than 30 years ago, was a serial sexual predator and abuser. While purporting to battle for equal rights for the under-represented, he repeatedly took advantage of the powerless.

He’s off the pedestal because, of course, we know too much these days.

Coming of age, our generation admired our new youthful, vibrant president, John F. Kennedy. We have since found out he was a serial philanderer and took massive amounts of medications to hide a serious disease. Martin Luther King Jr. was not faithful to his wife. He engaged in numerous extramarital affairs throughout his marriage.

Maybe still on the pedestal, but definitely chinks in the statue.

Then there’s Joe Paterno. Lance Armstrong. Going deeper into history, Thomas Jefferson, Woodrow Wilson, Charles Lindbergh. We admired them all, elevated them all; not so much anymore. Probably no longer even on the pedestal.

Because we know too much today, our generation has become skeptical and even cynical, disdainful of even the idea of heroism. Our cynicism has fragmented us—or has our fragmentation made us cynical?—and so we have mostly rejected the concept of universal, broadly admired “heroes.”

Of course, when we had them, back in the 1950s and early 1960s, we were not riven by differences but joined by common beliefs. We shared the same television shows, newspapers and cultural experiences. Our heroes like JFK had few public blemishes and were admired across broad segments of society.

But we no longer consume the same news and entertainment. We no longer have the same touchstones. We have, as well, lost much of our sense of shame as we delve deeper into private lives that seem increasingly messy. Meanwhile, social media, in particular, exposes the flaws and contradictions that once remained hidden, resulting in even greater skepticism toward authority and celebrity.

Skepticism, even cynicism, can be useful, of course, and can make us examine those flawed statues up close and discern the blemishes we should see. But after closer examination, what, then, are we left with, who are our heroes? Or is it simply that we don’t need them anymore?

Maybe Tina Turner was right when she sang “we don’t need another hero/we don’t need to know the way home.” Maybe, but please don’t tell me that Mr. Rogers was a sociopathic kleptomaniac.