Chapter 3

The Power of Attention

As the narratives in the preceding chapter suggest, we're living in an age where you can go through life as an antisocial boor without anyone taking notice. Worse, you can be a borderline psychopathic slasher like Skip, and no one will ever bother you. On the contrary, those who might sense a threatening attitude will make a special effort to leave that person alone. When rotten little twelve-year-olds with their rotten little mouths venture too near, we are free to employ whatever means necessary to avoid them. And we do have an effective technique for making people disappear—you simply quit paying attention.

We've been using the word attention rather loosely, but I would like to point out that attention is an extraordinary faculty. We all possess the power of attention, and we use it continuously, but, like awareness, its definition is elusive. You might describe it as directed thought, but that leaves the problem of defining thought itself, which, in turn, requires that we understand who or what directs the thought and in what manner. What's also puzzling is how we speak of attention as a power. How is one to understand such power? Is there some connection between the power of attention and the power of speech, the power of the intellect, the power of will and so forth? Here again we must be content with a flimsy definition and proceed as if we know what we're talking about, even though we probably don't.

Not only can you command the alchemy of attention to make a twelve-year-old disappear, you can make all the problems of the world disappear, and more than ever, it seems, we encourage people to withhold their attention. The police, for example, advise that when you're walking in a public place, you should put on a confident front, but by no means make eye contact. Whatever you do, avoid confrontation. For many this translates to eliminating all contact, period. People avoid interaction everywhere and with everyone. They don't get involved ... at all. The phenomenon is evident here in my own neighborhood. It certainly appears we are all living together. Our kitchens and bedrooms are just feet apart, but we are, in fact, quite isolated. Anonymity is the norm in this neighborhood, as it is in our culture. When no one knows who you are, it's easier to guard your attention against an unwelcome intrusion.

But however tightly you cling to it, there are nevertheless ways for people to coax some attention out of you. We saw the stunts a kid will perform to draw an adult's attention. I too have been trying to attract the attention of the people around me. For the past five years I've been actively soliciting the participation of local residents in a neighborhood watch program. I call it the "Westchester Watch." I have knocked on doors, posted signs, hosted meetings, organized block parties, made phone calls, mailed post cards and distributed thousands of fliers. I conducted a crime survey, collected donations, established a Watch fund, published a newsletter and had public works install a pair of county-supplied signs on prominent street corners. I have gotten to know dozens of local residents, spouses and children included. I recruited three other neighbors to be "Block Captains," and together we prevailed on homeowners to undergo a "Home Security Survey," which required that we inspect their houses inside and out. I solicited the donation of a car phone and cellular service from the phone company and established a community patrol with local residents serving as patrollers. I built a secure lock box to store the patrol gear. I also built a ground-level deck and landscaped my backyard so we could hold meetings there. In other words, I jumped through hoops to get the attention of this neighborhood.

Have I succeeded?

It depends on what you call success. I believe the program has caught the eye of just about everyone, but the response varies from household to household. If nothing else, I have shown there is much more that needs to be done. You've heard of the condition called attention deficit disorder? I've discovered that as a community we are suffering this affliction on a mass scale. People are so accustomed to withholding their attention that when circumstance requires that they extend themselves a little, to poke their heads half-way out of their shells, they don't know what to do. What it really comes down to is awareness. Although I succeeded to some extent in stirring up the collective awareness that already existed, there is much room for improvement. Now that I'm known as the Watch coordinator, residents call to report things that are suspicious or out of place. On one hand, it's good they are taking notice of what's going on around them. On the other, it's discouraging to see how fearful they are of the world outside. Fear degrades the community, but it's not so much a community problem as it is a problem with individuals. Exaggerated fear is the sign of an undeveloped character. Addressing it requires that we each determine on our own where the fear is coming from. We'll take a closer look at this when we discuss spiritual growth.

3.1 Suspicious Happenings

Fear pervades society, and the Westchester neighborhood is no exception. I've had calls from people who would not part the curtains and look out the window, who wouldn't open the front door to see what was happening at the end of their driveway, who won't venture out after dark no matter what the circumstance. Here are some examples.

Suspicious grandmothers

The Petersons are a young couple who live on Marshall Drive. One afternoon I get a call from the husband. He wants to report a suspicious car. He tells me someone has been parked on Fulton Court for an hour, and he's worried about it. I tell him I'll check it out. I drive up there, and sure enough, there's an older lady sitting in a Cadillac maybe two-hundred feet from his house. I speak to the woman and ask if she's okay. It turns out she is Jane B.'s mother-in-law, and Jane is late getting home from work. The mother didn't have a key to the house, so she had to wait in the car. I go and knock on Mr. P.'s door to explain what was happening. He expresses his appreciation, but is clearly apprehensive about approaching the woman himself.

So here's the scene: We have a grandmother waiting for her daughter-in-law. The neighbors are too fearful to go over and greet her, even though it's broad daylight. Moreover, they don't know Jane who lives just a few houses away. Jane is a super lady and a great neighbor, someone who has passed out fliers and helped with the Watch. The Petersons should know her by name, know her phone number and know this woman visits her, especially if it's a regular thing. They should also know the other people living on that block so they can phone if they see something suspicious. But they don't. Why? Because they're anonymous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .text truncated