“On April 17, 2011, CBS News' 60 Minutes and correspondent Steve Kroft alleged inaccuracies in Mortenson's books Three Cups of Tea and its sequel, Stones Into Schools: Promoting Peace with Books, Not Bombs, in Afghanistan and Pakistan and improprieties in the operation of the Central Asia Institute. In particular, CBS News disputes whether Mortenson actually got lost near K2 and ended up in Korphe, whether Mortenson's capture by the Taliban in 1996 is accurate, whether the number of schools built and supported is accurate, and the use of funds for Mortenson's book tours. 60 Minutes asked Mortenson for an interview in light of the allegations; he did not respond to their request.” (from Mortenson’s Wikipedia entry
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Greg Mortenson’s writing inspired a lot of people to donate to his charity (Central Asia Institute) that in turn built schools that educated thousands of young women who would otherwise probably not have had access to an education at all. For this reason alone, Mr. Mortenson is to be commended as a humanitarian.
That does not mean he gets a “get of telling the truth” card for misrepresenting various accounts of his life or from accusations that his charity only spend 41% of its donations building those schools, or that he may, in fact, be guilty of major tax evasion. His friend, Nicolas Kristof, says that Mr. Mortenson is “disorganized.” If that is true it does not entitle him to anything more than readers following this story should try to maintain a willing suspension of disbelief until facts can be sorted out by the courts, his publisher, and (alas) the testimony of the Taliban.
Here’s the thing: some charities and some memoirs often get a bad rap for the same reason. They misrepresent the truth in order to create excitement. That excitement translates into book sales for authors/publishers and donations to charities. In other words, the crime they share in common is a cultural form of highbrow robbery. It’s all about the money. And in the case of Mr. Mortenson, we are talking about (at least) tens of millions of U. S. dollars. This is not about chump change. But it is about chumps.
Which brings me to politics.
If Mr. Mortenson were a politician we would see the allegations now made against him as what happens when an office-holder “overreaches.” Think of Scott Walker, the governor of Wisconsin, in relation to the attempt to restrict the federal rights of public employees. Or think of Paul Ryan, the congressman, in relation to proposing draconian budget cuts for services to the poor and middle class without a single increase in taxes on those who can best afford it. Or Joe Arpaio, High Sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona, in relation to immigration/migrration issues, wherein his Old West solution is to make a suspect out of everyone who is brown and if they can’t prove they are real ‘Murikans, let God sort ‘em out.
Or Donald Trump, aka “the Donald,” who somehow confuses stirring up the long dead Obama birther issue with having a real good idea about solving our nation’s economic problems, other than with the real bad idea that we should just take the oil in Iraq and Afghanistan because we can. Oh yeah, Donald. That should put the Crusader narrative to rest. You know, that deeply ingrained cultural analogy about the invasion of Muslim lands that is used by extremist recruiters globally to inspire further hatred of the United States?
David Brooks says we tolerate “the Donald” because he fits a long American tradition of “accomplished blowhards.” But that’s not the only reason. And “the Donald” isn’t the only blowhard.
Back to Mr. Mortenson. Back to the idea that what he wrote in Three Cups of Tea was neither the truth, certainly not the whole truth, so help me to the money, so much as it was “an emotional truth” that recalls the past, if not entirely accurately, then at least with the pain of all the years in between that clarify the true meaning of things remembered, and that justify an imagined literary license to “compress” places and persons and events for rhetorical ends.
In Mortenson’s case, it’s for the rhetorical end of inducing readers to part with cash in exchange for massaging a national guilt over the tragic plight of young women in war-torn regions with a heroic story that promises of the triumph of hope over despair. Hope that donations make possible, based on a semi-true story that made the charity asking for donations possible.
Massaging guilt (and fear) in exchange for stories of hope is what charities and political parties do, after all. Their constant is a narrative designed to conflate financial donations with political actions. We give money to them because we can. We do little else to change the world because it is easier not too.
So who is the more guilty here? Mr. Mortenson, who told a good story that made himself out to be a hero in order to do good work that apparently is so mismanaged that even his friends are embarrassed by it? Or certain politicians, who tell good stories to make themselves out to be heroes in order to do dirty ideological work that is so mismanaged (and, in Trump’s case, also misguided) as to wreck our economy and the lives of millions of Americans?
Or are both of these occurrences merely symptoms of the same narrative desire? When times are tough we Americans need heroes. We want inspirational stories. We demand them. And when we find out that the stories are fairy tales, we are less insulted because the stories aren’t true than because we have been duped. Take my money but please don’t tell me you lied!
Ladies and Gentleman, here’s the secret that unites some politicians and some authors of memoirs: In America, the truth is exactly what we want to believe in, regardless of facts. Just don’t rub our faces in it. Because really, despite the hype, we’d rather not know we’ve been had.