Merry vs. happy

Has the Triangle become the latest battleground in the "War on Christmas"?

That's one reading of UNC-Chapel Hill's ban on holiday displays at its two main libraries.

In a move that strikes many as grimly Dickensian, the twinkling trees that had long graced the Wilson and Davis libraries in December have become ghosts of Christmas past.

Officials said queries and concerns from patrons and librarians pushed them to ax the tree.

"We strive in our collection to have a wide variety of ideas," said Sarah Michalak, associate provost for university libraries. "It doesn't seem right to celebrate one particular set of customs."

Of course, by assuaging one group, she angered another.

Feeling the heat from scores of people questioning him about the ban, UNC-Chapel Hill Chancellor Holden Thorp tried to cool the flames by issuing a public statement.

Noting that the library had instituted the ban-- not the school -- he observed that Christmas-related displays -- from the decorated facade of Memorial Hall to the "Christmas wreath with a Carolina-blue ribbon on it in the Student Union" -- still swaddle the school.

"Christmas is recognized on this campus," he wrote. "Have a joyous Christmas."

Christmas holds strong

Thorp's comments, especially his fearless invocation of Christmas not once but thrice, underscore the bogus nature of the "War on Christmas" trumpeted by Bill O'Reilly and other shouting-heads.

From the moment our Snickers-induced bellyaches subside after Halloween, we are force-fed a smorgasbord of holiday symbols: mangers, wreaths, ugly sweaters, iPods, Webkinz and GPS systems. The air is filled with the "S" words that define the season: Santa, sale and, once in a while, even savior.

The American Christmas -- three parts commercial juggernaut, one part sacred celebration -- is thriving.

Even as we debunk those who cry war, we shouldn't dismiss their claims. They may be aiming at the wrong target, but their angst reflects the deep strengths and inevitable tensions that shape American history.

Change as tradition

The power and paradox of the ideals that have always bound our nation is that they are remarkably fluid and set in stone. Change is our bedrock tradition.

Since the first colonist landed here, America's story has been a tale of people insistently re-imagining themselves and their nation.

Immigrants from far-flung corners of the globe -- including my ancestors from England, Scandinavia and Italy -- brought new customs, ideas and hopes.

Many of them faced hateful hostility. But acknowledging that painful past should not blind us to the primary direction of American society, which has been toward an ever-expanding sense of inclusion. Just ask President-elect Obama.

Our history has been so inspiring and tortured precisely because change is almost always discomfiting. Even as we embrace the idea of it, its reality is often hard to swallow. This is natural and probably unavoidable, which is one reason that immigration is always a hot-button issue.

In the past, the larger culture tended to cut the traditionalists too much slack, defending their opposition to change. In recent decades, the tide has shifted. Nowadays, we are more likely to ascribe dark motives of bigoted small-mindedness to people who, in their all-too-human way, want some things to stay the same. We should not celebrate this impulse, but neither should we reflexively demonize it.

The UNC Christmas tree kerfuffle is a telling illustration of this dynamic. For many, trees have been lovely adornments for the season. Their appearance each December conjured warm memories and the call of their better angels. In an increasingly rootless world, the trees were grounded in tradition.