So far this week I have been pursuing a line of thought dedicated to the striking similarities between extremist narratives at home and abroad. For the past two days I’ve shared some counter-intuitive lessons about countering those narratives, from the use of humor and ridicule to not selling our own story to DWYSYWD. Today I want to discuss the role of education in longer-term counter-narrative strategies. While the cultural and economic circumstances are vastly different between, say, Afghanistan under the Taliban and Texas under conservative Republicans on their School Board, I suggest that one of the most disturbing common elements between “over there” and “right here” is the extremists’ reliance on the ignorance of the general populace, and the control of thought and language, to maintain their authority and as an ideological vehicle to keep them in power.

Richard Holbrooke’s last words were “You have got to stop this war in Afghanistan.” The context and meaning of those words are now contested. Today’s White House spinturns what sounds to me like a sober pronouncement by a man who did not ordinarily joke about such things into the equivalent of a ribald comedy exchange with his Pakistani physician.   This spin treatment stands in stark contrast to President Obama’s words about Holbrooke earlier in the week, a career diplomat of unprecedented skill whom Obama described this way:

"As anyone who has ever worked with him knows - or had the clear disadvantage of negotiating across the table from him - Richard is relentless … He never stops. He never quits. Because he's always believed that if we stay focused, if we act on our mutual interests, that progress is possible. Wars can end. Peace can be forged."

Given that assessment, it is unlikely that Holbrooke meant his last words on this earth to be anything other than a straightforward statement of a real goal. But we may never know. Not for sure. As lamentable as arguments over that contested statement’s true meaning are, my goal in this blog post is not to offer the last word on Holbrooke’s final words, or to review his remarkable diplomatic career. Suffice it to say we lost a man we needed more now than we needed him when he created the Dayton Accords that ended the war in the Balkans.

Amid The New Year’s rush of predictions about the year ahead in relation to the troubled state of our suffering economy; to the continuing epic saga of divisive politics and the considerable shenanigans of politicians; to the forever wars in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and maybe Yemen and Iran; to meaningless hot media and entertainment newsgossip; to Google’s likely purchase of a film studio and maybe the YouTube rights to your life, and to much, much more, I thought I’d dedicate my first blog of 2011 to the Mother of all of those topics: the year ahead in narrative.

Narratives are, after all, what drives those storylines into our lives and how we make sense and meaning out of them. So this first posting is dedicated to how one form of those narratives—the master narratives—shape the political landscape at home and abroad, which I then use to forecast what might happen if current narrative trajectories based on them continue apace.

But first, just a little theory. Just a little, I promise.

In the grand American story we like to tell ourselves about the relationship of a popular democratic uprising and the resulting freedom it brings, we often edit out the boring and nasty parts. Nobody really wants to hear about the years of dangerous clandestine work, or the risky publishing of posters, leaflets, broadsides, and tracts; or about the off-camera torture, the beatings, and bloody deaths of those associated with the cause; or how much time dissidents spent forging alliances; or how many godforsaken prisons they endured before some tipping point was reached that finally, finally brought down a tyrant and brought about democracy in places like Poland, or Romania, or for that matter, the good ol’ U. S. of A back in the day.

Now, however, because of that editing, we expect quick-time miracles. We expect, as if this whole protest thing were just some televised drama sponsored by the Wisconsin Dairy Association, that revolutions can be accomplished in a fortnight or at most, in an action-packed season.

“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)

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.