Duck and Cover: When We Trust the Wrong Voices

In 1961, I was a first grader learning a strange lesson: when the bomb falls, get under your desk.

We called it “duck and cover.” At the teacher’s signal, we scrambled beneath our little wooden desks and covered our heads, as if a desktop could stop a nuclear blast.

That spring, the Cold War got chillier. Fidel Castro had turned Cuba communist, just 90 miles from Florida. The new president, John F. Kennedy, inherited a CIA plan to topple him, and his advisors assured him it would work.

It didn’t. On April 17, about 1,400 Cuban exiles waded ashore at the Bay of Pigs. Within three days, nearly all of them had been killed or captured.

Kennedy had trusted the experts, and the experts had mostly been trusting each other. No one in the room wanted to be the one to say, “This won’t work.”

The fallout was real. Eighteen months later, Soviet nuclear missiles sat in Cuba, and the world came closer to nuclear war than it ever had. Back in my classroom, we were still practicing crawling under our desks.

But during the Cuban missile crisis, Kennedy quit listening to bad counsel, and that’s why you can read this now.

When you trust the wrong voices, you make the worst decisions.

Rehoboam, the son of the wise king Solomon, inherited none of his wisdom. He became king and was choosing his approach to the throne. (The story is in 1 Kings 12).

He turned to his father’s old advisors, sharpened by age and tough experience. They told him the people were tired and taxed. They needed a compassionate king who lifted burdens.

But the young upstart then turned to his peer group. “What do you think I ought to do?”

Full of fire and vinegar, they replied,

“These people have said to you, ‘Your father put a heavy yoke on us, but make our yoke lighter.’ Now tell them, ‘My little finger is thicker than my father’s waist. My father laid on you a heavy yoke; I will make it even heavier. My father scourged you with whips; I will scourge you with scorpions.’”

1 Kings 12:10–11, NIV

Rehoboam liked the latter counsel because it gave him a “tough guy” image. Yet, it led to tragedy.

The kingdom so carefully nurtured through three kings rent asunder, ripped by arrogance and power. One day the nation would fall.

Why did this backfire?

The same question might rumble around our own brains.

Why did I buy that car?

Did we really need that much house?

Why did I invest with that broker?

Why did I let my kids get involved with those friends?

The list can grow.

If you look at how Rehoboam fell into his hole, it can stop us from traveling the same rutted road.

Learn from others’ experience.

People who gain a diploma from the school of hard knocks know what to avoid. They lived it (and perhaps hurt from it). The older know the pain of life and can steer you from life’s shoals. The best lesson is to learn from others’ problems.

If Rehoboam had only listened to the gray heads, Israel’s unity would have survived. He didn’t.

Know your biases and don’t use them to justify what you do.

All of us have ways we want it to turn out. When we seek advice, we can tumble into the pit of looking for what we wanted in the first place. Someone will tell you to satisfy yourself.

Living in an echo chamber does not allow clarity.

In 1587, Sixtus V, the pope of the Roman Catholic Church, instituted an office informally called advocatus diaboli. In English, it means “devil’s advocate.”

When someone was nominated for sainthood, the objector was to argue against it. No matter how popular, he was to poke holes in their balloon. Only when an idea survives a challenge can you trust it.

In the end, the older men said, “Serve them, and they will serve you.” Yet, he wanted something else and got the worst of it.

When you come to choice points in life, take some time. Listen to different opinions, and don’t ignore the gold standard of experience.

Ask yourself, “Are your closest advisors people who ‘grew up with you,’ or people who have walked farther down the road than you have?”

May the right voices lead you to a better destination.