What’s Wonderful about this Life

     It’s A Wonderful Life premiered in December 1946 and, nearly eight decades of Christmases later, we keep watching George Bailey peer over a bridge railing, his head filled with a dark certainty that the world would be better if he had never been born. Clarence, an angel, disabuses Bailey of his dark notions by revealing a dystopian counter-factual: a world without him.  

     Bailey’s impact is apparent. He has built half the homes in Bedford Falls, helping to thwart the heartless Henry Potter.  

     For many of us who aren’t George Bailey or Jonas Salk, the impact is harder to measure.  Robert Putnam was recently interviewed by the New York Times about his life’s work, including the 1995 book, Bowling Alone: America's Declining Social Capital.  He told The Times that over the past quarter century, the problem he outlined in 1995—the weakening of communities and political engagement—has gotten worse.  

     “I’ve traveled to every state and to hundreds of towns, big towns and little towns, all across America,” he said.  “There are some groups, largely around community foundations across America, that actually are now, they would tell you, following my agenda for trying to fix their communities, who have spent a lot of their time over the last 20 years trying to do what I said they should do. Has that made a difference? I don’t know. I’d be hard pressed to make the case. But that’s, you know — believe me, I’m more aware than you are of my failures.”

     Putnam’s work inspired me to write a book in 2004 about why many young Americans don’t follow the news.  The book argued that many younger Americans were ignoring the news, particularly political news, which could lead to the rise of sloganeering, pandering, and even fascism.  Twenty years later, many Americans are still ignoring the news, which has led to the rise of sloganeering, pandering, and even, perhaps, fascism.  We shall see on January 20. 

     The point is that Putnam’s writing, and mine, haven’t stopped the problems we’ve been warning about.   

     I have never leaned over the railing of a metaphorical bridge of despair.  I’ve never believed that the world is worse because of me.  And while my tangible achievements are limited—two amazing children and three books—I do believe that I’m a positive force in the lives of my family, friends, coworkers, and students. 

     But It’s a Wonderful Life asks existential questions that give me pause: What is my measurable impact?  In baseball, there is a term called “Wins Above Replacement,” or WAR, which evaluates how much players improve a team’s standing over hypothetical average players they would replace.   Many of the writers and readers of “Writing About Our Generation” are near or past retirement age, and our decisions to keep on keeping on may very well revolve around whether we can imagine a work world without us. 

     One interesting note about Frank Capra’s movies: the bad guys don’t disappear. At the end of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, the evil political bosses are still there. In It’s a Wonderful Life, Potter still controls the bank.  In our world, George Wallace kept getting elected governor of Alabama. Stephen Miller is about to resume working for Donald Trump.  Whether we can or can’t measure our impact, the need to fight for just causes remains. 

     Ultimately, It’s a Wonderful Life’s answers to existential questions mostly revolve around the impact of one person, George Bailey himself.  Without George, Mary becomes an “old maid.” But why doesn’t she marry someone else?  Without George, his brother doesn’t exist and can’t rescue his fellow troops in the Second World War. But why can’t other heroes emerge? Maybe one person’s impact is too narrow a focus. The efforts of one person never rescues places like Bedford Falls from becoming Pottersville. That takes a village. The movie ends with the idea that Bedford Falls is big enough for George Bailey. But maybe the better lesson is that the collective goodness that is Bedford Falls is bigger than one person. Even a person like George Bailey.

     David T. Z. Mindich is a journalism professor at the Klein College of Media and Communication at Temple University, where he served six years as chair.  He is the author of three books and numerous articles, including pieces for the New York Times and Wall Street Journal.

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