April 26th, 2008 |
The earth has turned into a painter’s palate—green, red, yellow—every color under the sun.
Eggshell blue robin eggs are being laid in nearby nests close to neon-lit tulips.
Bloody Redbud and stigmata-marked Dogwood splatter the mountainside with color.
God must have called upon the master of color, artist Henri Matisse, to help splash paint on a drab white-winter canvass.
Good choice, don’t you think? In 1917, as ignorant armies warred in Europe, Matisse reached his peak with explosive colors. Described as a “man of peasant fears, well concealed,” his anxious temperament refused to be dissuaded from splashing paint while men splashed blood.
Matisse must have to rescue God from the despair of watching a created world continue to imitate the blood-killing of Abel by his brother Cain.
White Space
Amidst all the color, I want to pay homage to white space—the distance on a written page between words and columns and paragraphs.
In laying out a written page, like I do every three weeks with these Notes, I sometimes worry that I don’t offer enough white space.
White space deplores word-clutter. It gives words room to breath. Relief for weary eyes. It pays respect to succinctness.
It weeds-out adjectives and adverbs, allowing verbs and nouns room to grow. White space is a writer’s prophylactic against pregnant paragraphs. It saves crafted observations from obesity.
White space is concise but hardly glib.
Pythagoras, the Greek philosopher and mathematician, said all that need be said about the subject in 15 words: “Do not say a little in many words but a great deal in a few.”
In that spirit, look for the word count in this issue of Notes to be less than you have come to expect (or dread). More white space.
Flag Pin
Speaking of conciseness, have you noticed how love and loyalty to our country have been reduced to wearing a flag pin? If you, like Barack Obama, don’t wear one, consider yourself a relative of Benedict Arnold.
Here’s what I say to folks who make a lapel flag pin a litmus test for good citizenship: “Be careful when you put your flag pin on in the morning. Don’t stick yourself. You might let the hot air out.”
White Noise
“White Noise” is the title of Don DeLillo’s 1985 prize-winning book.
The technical definition of white noise is: “A random signal of every frequency in the audio spectrum, all of which have an average uniform power level.”
White noise, for DeLillo, is a metaphor for all the noise, clutter, chatter and static—the waves of meaningless informational sound that fills our brains and sucks at our souls.
You know about white noise—America’s soundtrack. It includes the bold print of newspapers and tabloids, and the blinking images beamed through television screens.
Television, says a DeLillo character, is ”the primal force in the American home, sealed-off, self-contained, self-referring . . . a wealth of data concealed in the grid, in the bright packaging, the jingles, the slice-of-life commercials, the products hurtling out of darkness, the coded messages . . . like chants. . . . Coke is it, Coke is it, Coke is it.”
Jack Gladney is the hero of the novel. A professor of Hitler Studies at a Midwestern university, he attempts to explain to his daughter how the white noise in Nazi Germany turned responsible human beings into a mob of passive receptors, receivers, consumers of Nazi propaganda.
“Some people,” he tells his daughter, “put on a uniform and feel bigger, stronger, safer.”
Sitting in my doctor’s waiting room, the overhead television set is tuned to Fox News. The talking-head says America is making progress in Iraq. The “surge” is working.
White noise, sucking at my soul, just moments before I have my blood drawn.
A New Way To Vote
The polls are now open here. Yesterday I voted, along with about 75 Obama supporters.
Given the white noise saturating television with images of candidates claiming Daniel Boone-like hunting skills, bowling and throwing down whiskey and beer (a boilermaker), maybe there’s a better way, an easier way, a less expensive way to choose a president.
A shoot-off. The candidates deer hunt. The one who bags the first deer wins. Or, the one who pulls a “Cheney” and—like in paintball—splatters his or her opponent first.
A bowl-off. Ten frames per candidate. The winner gets to be the Commander in Chief.
A drink-off. On-your-mark-get-set—go! The candidate who can toss-down the most
Boilermakers, without falling to the floor, wins.
Problem! If the red phone rings in the White House, will the newly elected president be in the woods hunting, out at the bowling alley, or too drunk to answer the phone?
24/7
In the early days of television, I could fall asleep in front of the set and then wake up in the middle of the night to a blank screen—white, snowy and soundless.
Today the white screen has disappeared. But the white noise hasn’t. It has only increased.
As they say today—24/7. Day-in and day-out, the talking heads selling, promoting, and representing political candidates who have become consumer products themselves.
We need a blank channel—empty space—to escape from this endless caffeinated presidential primary chatter. Reruns and replays. Repetitive analysis. The “breaking news” syndrome. The same faces morning, noon and night. Does Chris Mathews ever sleep? Does Tim Russert have eye lids? Does Pat Buchanan have a double?
James And Mary
While smearing a cracker with peanut butter, I flick on cable television.
James Carville (a.k.a. “Rajin’ Cajun”)—Bill and Hillary Clinton’s hyperbolic surrogate— is on CNN. He’s the dude that called Gov. Bill Richardson “Judas Iscariot” for having escaped from the Clinton compound in order to throw his support to Barack Obama.
When last heard, Richardson, unlike Judas, hadn’t chucked his money and hung himself.
I think Carville has been taking dancing lessons. He’s learned to do the Obama-Bash.
I click the white noise flicker.
I’ve switched over to “Hannity and Colmes” on Fox Network.
Lo and behold, there’s Mary Matalin—former assistant to President Bush—staff counselor to Dick Cheney—colleague of Karl Rove—a member of WHIG, the White House Iraq Group that sold the American public on going to war with Iraq—and, lest I forget to tell you, James Carville’s wife!
Guess what? She’s also doing the Obama-Bash! She must have taken classes with James.
Remembrance of things past: Dick and Jane in my old grade school textbook.
James loves Mary. Mary loves James. See James attack Republicans. See Mary attack Democrats. James writes a liberal book. Mary writes a conservative book. See James attack Obama. See Mary attack Obama.
What? Both James and Mary attacking Obama? What’s going on?
My guess is that both Democratic and Republican party insiders are afraid of what Barack Obama represents.
Both parties have become accustomed to the James and Mary dance, where the Democratic donkey and the Republican elephant step on one-another’s feet. A hoot.
But for more and more Americans, it’s just dancing in place. Same old same old.
But the dance has changed. Look at the upcoming North Carolina primary.
Republican and Democratic factions are both doing the Obama-Bash. Both know that something new is happening and it scares them.
Makes me want to go dancing with a new star, to a new tune.
Chimera
The New York Times—I’ve been reading it faithfully for 50 years. The downside? No comics and not enough white space.
While the white noise surrounding the Pennsylvania primary thundered on, the Times tried to get our attention with a front-page headline. It read: “Behind Analysts, Pentagon’s Hidden Hand.”
Many people may not have read the article because it was intimidating. It was three-and-a-half pages long, with 753 lines, 182 paragraphs and 7,570 words.
Not enough white space.
So, here’s the boiled down version for folks intimidated by too much ink. And be sure to notice the Orwellian Language used by the administration and the Pentagon to sell us the war with Iraq—convince us we are winning the war—and point us to more war with Iran.
Knowing the power of the media, the Pentagon wanted “information dominance” within a spin-saturated society. So Rumsfeld and company recruited retired military men as paid “military analysts” to be “key influentials,” as “message force multipliers” or “surrogates” who could be counted on to deliver administration “themes and messages” (“talking points”) to the public, as if they were their own opinions.
Meeting at the Pentagon, these “military analysts”—some 75 of them—were Power-Pointed with administration propaganda. Then they were sent off to infiltrate television and talk radio programs (mostly Fox Network,) newspaper op-ed pages and editorial offices, and magazines, in order to convince us that we should go to war, and stay at war.
In Greek mythology Chimera is a monstrous fire-breathing beast with a lion’s head, a goat’s body, and a serpent’s tail. In Dante’s Inferno, Chimera’s tri-body represents hypocrisy, fraud and deception.
These retired “military analysts” are Chimera reborn.
They embody a lion-goat-snake alliance—a three-in-one oily incarnation—a trinity of incestuous copulation between the military, business and media.
For you see, as the article outlines in detail, these retired “military analysts” worked for the Pentagon, had ties with businesses profiting by the war, and had established access to powerful radio and television networks.
Exorcising Milbusedia
Jesus once healed a man living among the tombs in the country of the Gerasenes. He was full of demons—multiple personalities—and made lots of white noise. Totally out of control, he refused to be bound. He roamed free and scared the hell out of everyone.
When Jesus asked this monster his name, the raving, demon-possessed man said, “My name is Legion. There are many of us.” (The Message translation reads: “My name is Mob. I’m a rioting mob.”)
We are told that Jesus exorcised this man—cast out the mob that dominated his life, and the life of the community.
Exorcism is a lost prophetic art in this day-and-age. It would do all of us well—individuals and political and religious communities alike—to organize for the work of exorcism.
And why? Because Legion is among us. The name I give him is Milbusedia, baptized out of the polygamous union between his ancestral progenitors whose names are Military, Business and Media.
Our land, and the world as well, will not be whole and safe as long as Mibusedia dwells among us and is allowed to roam free throughout the earth.
Out Of The Whiteness of Norway
“I went and sowed corn in my enemy’s field that God might exist.”
Those words are written by the great Norwegian novelist Johan Bojer.
They help keep me sane in the midst of this presidential election.
They keep the dream of the Peaceable Kingdom alive in my soul when white noise threatens to overwhelm me.
Republican presidential candidate, John McCain, to show how cute he is, sings, “Bomb Bomb Bomb Bomb Bomb Iran” to the Beach Boys tune “Barbara Ann.”
Democratic candidate, Hillary Clinton, to show how strong she is, threatens the Middle East with an American nuclear attack.
Thank God for the snow-covered, white fields of Norway.
April 26th, 2008
April 15th, 2008 |
Last week I went to see the movie “Vantage Point.” It reminded me of the 1950 film “Rashomon”—which made me think of Barack Obama—which made me think of the Rev. Jeremiah Wright, Obama’s preacher—which made me think about the Bible and the Hebrew prophets, Jeremiah and Jesus particularly—which made me think of the “one drop rule”—which made me think I’d better stop thinking and start writing.
Words of wisdom from Dr. Seuss: “Think left and think right and think low and think high. O, the thinks you can think up if only you try.”
In the spirit of Seuss, for all lovers of Seussdom, I launch these Notes, and I offer an appropriate apology for my pale impersonation of his genuine genius.
So, here are some think ups, some thoughts I have thunk up, to jostle your jittery jumbled up fidgetry. I promise no mellows, but bellows bodacious, and thoughts that might trouble your stagnated stasis.
A Variety of Vantage Points
It occurred to me last week, in a downtown theater, that there were four vantage points watching the movie “Vantage Point.” In a nearly empty theater, there were no crying babies, annoying chatterers, or cell phone addicts, just two women, Judy, and myself. It was sort of like a private screening.
The movie, billed as a thriller, focused around an assassination attempt on the President.
For the next ninety minutes, the four of us watched the fifteen minutes prior to and immediately following the shooting replayed five times. In each replay we were able to see that span of time from the vantage point of each one of five characters who were in the crowd when the shooting took place. The film ends when all the viewpoints converge and the terrifying truth about the shooting is unveiled.
That approach to story-telling reminded me of Akira Kurosawa’s 1950 film “Rashomon,” in which the audience sees flashbacks of four different interpretations from four different characters telling the story of the rape of a woman and the murder of her husband.
But there is a sharp contrast in the way each of these two films end. Moviegoers leave “Vantage Point” with a clear, straightforward and objective understanding of what really happened—no ifs-and-or-buts about what occurred. Like sheep and goats, the good guys are separated from the bad guys. All four of us leave the theater with a tidy conclusion.
But in “Rashomon,” moviegoers leave the theater perplexed, scratching their heads. The four characters on screen, have told conflicting versions of the rape and murder, but in the end, Kurosawa, the film’s director, refuses to give us a once-and-for-all conclusion. What we get are four tales generated less by what happened and more upon how they, as witnesses, have chosen to see life, based on the experiences of their lives. If there is any objective truth to be known, (we keep hoping there is), we are denied it. The four viewpoints are mutually contradictory and we are left to determine which, if any of the four accounts, is the truth.
All of us, searching for truth, like to think we can walk away from a film, or any of the events that fill our lives, with clear and definitive conclusions—objective conclusions about what we have seen, lived and experienced. It makes us feel safe and secure to be able to assign absolute meaning to what goes on around us. We dread drifting around in a sea of ambiguity in our quest for certainty—an agreed upon reality.
But life isn’t like that, is it? Getting two or more people to agree on a common event they have all witnessed often times leaves us with discordant, disconnected and diverse accounts of what has taken place. The filmmaker has a godly vantage point from which to depict events, but we don’t. The privilege of God is denied us. All we ever really have is our own vantage point—our own turf. We may share another person’s viewpoint, but we can’t claim or own it.
I thought about that last week as people from various vantage points talked about the Rev, Jeremiah Wright, Barack Obama’s pastor in Chicago. How interesting, I thought, that one pastor’s sermons could generate so many differing opinions—opinions that might even threaten the candidacy of a man running for president. Without overstating it, black and white vantage points seemed to differ in a dramatic way.
Isn’t there only one vantage point from which to see and understand the video tape of the pastor saying “God damn America” from the pulpit of his church? Isn’t he blasphemous and un-American to boot?
The Fourteen Words Not To Be Spoken From The Pulpit
It’s spring and, therefore, spring cleaning time.
I suggest we get plenty of soap and water, Clorox, buckets, and mops, to clean up the mess created by talk radio hosts foaming at the mouth—folks like Sean Hannity, Rush Limbaugh, Michael Savage, Lou Dobbs, and Bill O’Reilly. Add to that the dribble and gush from cable television, blogs, and newsprint, and you have one nasty spoil-slick.
So, what’s causing this lava-like flow of foam? The answer: The sermon, of course.
What didn’t go down well, and what prompted Barack Obama to deliver a powerful talk on race, and his connection with Wright, was a six second clip—14 words plucked out of a sermon preached by Rev. Wright at Trinity United Church of Christ in Chicago.
Not since comedian George Carlin went before the Supreme Court in 1979 over those seven-words-you-can’t-say-on-television, have we had such a flap over permissible speech. (Well, maybe the Don Imus brouhaha ranks up there with Carlin.) But this time the controversy was over what was proper speech from the pulpit—speech that, ironically, was broadcast over and over again on television—speech that put Barack Obama’s run-for-the-presidency on the line.
So, in case you haven’t heard the preacher’s 14 words, here they are: “No! No! No! Not God bless America! God damn America! That’s in the Bible!”
That’s in the Bible? Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so! Twelve words. But, God damn America?
If the Bible is going to be held up as the template for authentic and acceptable preaching, and even, for some, as a standard for the office of the presidency (God forbid), perhaps all of us should open the Bible to see what it does say. But be warned, the Bible—a collection of books, with a variety of messages—can be both a blessing and a curse. It has inspired Dr. Martin Luther King, whose assassination we remember this week, and, at the same time, a crusade mentality that takes people to war.
In order to understand pastor Wright’s preaching, one must understand the prophetic thread that weaves its way through the Bible and surfaces in dark, harsh colors in words spoken by the prophets— those inspired people who challenged the nation in troubled times. Moses, Elijah, Deborah, Isaiah and Amos and Hosea, and a host of other prophets, including Jesus, spoke a stream of harsh words when the nation had gone astray. That’s right, it’s in the Bible. The prophets spoke harsh words.
Born in 1907 in Warsaw, Abraham Joshua Heschel escaped Nazism and immigrated to the United States in 1940. A shy, spiritual and intellectual giant, this rabbi did extensive work on the Hebrew prophets. In fact, he became a prophetic voice himself as he engaged social struggle, in particular the civil rights battles alongside of Dr. King, and his involvement in anti-Vietnam War protests.
One need only pluck snippets from Edward K. Kaplan’s recently published second volume of Heschel’s life (“Spiritual Radical: Abraham Joshua Heschel in America, 1940-1972”) to understand what the prophetic message is all about.
Kaplan describes Heschel’s “volatile temperament…his outrage at the tepid conscience.” Heschel writes: “The prophet’s words are outbursts of violent emotions. The prophet’s rebuke is harsh and relentless. But if such sensitivity to evil is to be called hysterical, what name should be given to the deep callousness to evil which the prophet bewails?”
Heschel wanted people exposed to the prophet’s words to be shattered out of their indifference. He wanted people of all faiths to experience “communion with the prophets.” Anyone who knew or heard or was influenced by Dr. King understood that kind of communion. It led people to life, and even to a martyr’s death on behalf of life.
The prophet was not a diplomat. Heschel warns us that the prophet stood outside the norms. “The purpose of prophecy is to conquer callousness, to change the inner man as well as to revolutionize history…the prophet hates the approximate, he shuns the middle of the road…the prophet is strange, one-sided, an unbearable extremist (who) alienates the wicked as well as the pious, the cynics as well as the believers, the priests and the princes, the judges and the false prophets.” Republicans and Democrats alike, I would add.
That’s exactly what the Rev. Jeremiah Wright did with that sermon he preached. And if you are up to it and want to hear more than six seconds and 14 words, I strongly suggest that you go up on the Internet and listen to the sermon (http://essence.typepad.com/news/2008/03/the-full-story.html) with some comments by one of the better media guys, Roland Martin—a nice balance to Sean and Bill on Fox.
Jeremiah Wright, sounds very much to me like Jeremiah the prophet, who declared that Nebuchadnezzar, the king of Babylon (Iraq) would take the people into exile for their worship of idols and their love affair with injustice—perhaps the equivalent of our militarism and lack of concern for the poor. And there was also Jesus himself, who cursed the nation in an attempt to bring it back to its senses, and do right for God’s sake.
Jesus Curses The Nation That Strays From The Path Of Justice And Peace
Wrights controversial sermon, interestingly enough, is based upon Luke 19, verses 41 through 44. I want the choir on talk radio and television that sings off key to check that passage out. In it Jesus says that the nation’s enemies are going to hurt them and their children because of the way they are living—it’s just the way the universe is set up. The chickens will come home to roost! Jesus then turns the tables over in the temple in righteous indignation over the corrupt political and economic systems that use religion to undergird and oppress and exploit the poor.
Jesus, in effect, says “God damn” to state power that exploits and kills people. There is no doubt in my mind that Jesus would curse our nation for the lies told that took us to war, the torture we are inflicting, and the military might that has killed and made refugees of over 3 million people in Iraq. God damn our nation for this behavior.
The Bible is full of blessings and curses. I find it interesting that we shy away from the prophetic curses. For instance: Nowhere in the officially appointed Episcopal Church Sunday Bible readings will you find verses 13 through 33 in chapter 23 of the Gospel of Matthew. The language would go down hard on a Sunday morning. Jesus curses the community leaders, calling them white washed tombs full of dead bones, frauds, hypocrites, lawless renegades who kill the prophets and murder those who stand for justice and mercy. Jesus curses them. Preach that with current implications and see how the congregation reacts.
It’s important—so important—to remember that the prophetic voices in the Bible were raised precisely because they loved their nation. They wanted the very best for their people, and that became possible only when people were first called to see the injustice and violence of their lives together. The Hebrew prophets utilized a dramatic method which simulated a courtroom in which the nations of the world, their own included, were put on trial for the crimes they had committed against the people, and, therefore, God. And, of course, guilt was assigned. (A trial, one might say for President Bush?) But always, the prophets, after assigning guilt and inevitable consequences for their behavior, offered a way to change that behavior—hope for a new way of operating—a new political and economic way built on a sound and inclusive spiritual foundation.
Conclusion: Blessings and curses are healthy companions and the Bible, along with honest and authentic preaching, makes room for both—requires both. So we must not fear pastor Wright’s words, or the words of the prophets, or the words of Jesus. Wrights prophetic cursing, like an enormous bulldozer, creates a way for hope to enter the picture. Therein lies the challenge for the preacher today, in whatever pulpit a word is preached.
Martin Marty, the eminent Lutheran theologian and historian says that he always leaves the church in Chicago where Wright pastured (he is now retired) having been welcomed and feeling hopefully inspired.
The question we are left with is this: What do we curse and what do we bless?
The “One Drop Rule” That Still Haunts Us—God Damn It
A few months ago I went to an Obama organizing meeting. No need to go into details, only to tell you that I knew no one at that meeting—no party hacks or old pols—and that was a surprisingly good sign. In attendance was a white woman, about fifty, there from Cabin Creek, an old coal camp creek hollow town. Next to her was a young black college student who was voting for the first time. Two weeks ago I met Obama when he was here and speaking to a diverse and overflowing crowd. I felt a sense of hope in the air and the possibility that this empire I am a part of is ready for a new approach to itself and the world. If that is not so, then God help us.
Race continues to emerge as an issue, as I knew it would. Why? because the old “one drop rule” still hides in the shadows of our nation’s racially obsessed psyche. You know what I am saying, the old axiom, if there is one drop of “Negro blood” in a person’s veins, that person is black. Those were the days when each state defined people that way. If you had 1/16th or more (1/8th in some states) of Negro blood, you were labeled black. That meant you went to jail if you married a white person, along with the preacher who performed the service. God damn that America!
During WW II, the American Red Cross segregated blood plasma into white blood and Negro blood. A cartoon in those days depicted a Red Cross attendant saying to a wounded white soldier, “You might as well wait here, bud—we ain’t got nothin’ but Negro blood left.” Another cartoon depicts a scientist scratching his head because the labels had fallen off bottles of white and Negro blood. “What a dilemma,” he says, “now how can we tell the white from the Negro plasma?” God damn that America!
In Gunner Myrdal’s 1942 study, “An American Dilemma,” he wrote that among many white Americans “the one who has the smallest drop of ‘Negro blood’ is as one who is smitten by a hideous disease…Inside him are hidden some unknown and dangerous potentialities, something which will sooner or later crop up.” Linus Pauling, Nobel Peace Prize winner and peacemaker, proposed that blacks who had sickle cell anemia be tattooed on the forehead so as to be identified as disease carriers. God damn that America!
It seems clear that the Barack Obama’s complexion has defined him as black for many Americans. That is, for those still governed by the one drop rule. When I look at him, I see that white Cabin Creek woman and that black student sitting beside her morphed in a wonderful way that unites humanity rather than dividing it. Born to a Kenyan father and a white American mother, Muslim faith a part of his family tree, raised in Hawaii and Indonesia, he has a name—Barack—which in Arabic means “blessed.”
I am reminded of Booker T. Washington’s, who, by the way, lived here in Charleston. He wrote: “How difficult it sometimes is to know where black begins and white ends.”
Blessing and curse, where black and white converge, that’s where hope will reside.
April 15th, 2008
January 10th, 2008 |
Judy, my beloved partner for going on 50 years, is a sun worshipper. Yes, she’s a Christian, but one that faces east toward the sun. When it shines, her sunscreen is on and she’s out soaking up the rays. Like Lazarus, I have seen her resurrected by the mystical power of sunlight.
The other day Judy reminded me that it was December 22, the first day of winter—the day marking winter solstice, when the sun rises at the southernmost point on the horizon. It is the day when the sun is as far away from us as it can possibly be—earth’s darkest day. But she put a twist on the announcement—one that any sun worshipper would understand and appreciate. She told me that even though it was the darkest day, it was also the day when the sun would be headed back our way. We would now begin to see more sun each day as we move into 2008.
On a cold and dark winter day, when my teeth chatter and I reach for a sweater and a blanket, I need a sun-lover around who will remind me that light is on the way.
Don’t get me wrong, I am no enemy of winter or cloudy days and dark nights. There is a brisk and invigorating bite to a winter day that ninety degree weather can’t deliver. And a dark night, even a dark night of the soul, brings insight often missed or avoided in daylight hours. And light, even though I love a sun’s rays or a lamp’s beams, can also unveil unwanted dust and a pock-marked world. Still, on a difficult day, it is light that rescues me—delivers me from any terrors that lurk in the nighttime shadows.
In the Christian tradition, the season that follows Christmas is called Epiphany. It is a season of light. It commemorates the visit of the Magi—symbolic representatives of the nations of the world—who follow a bright light in the sky as they search for enlightenment. They want more for their lives than Caesar can offer, and don’t we all?
Epiphany is a season with special meaning for anyone tired of the bleak midwinter, anyone losing hope because there seems to be no light at the end of the dark tunnel of war, human suffering and death. Epiphany is all about the power of light in humankind’s search for an illuminating discovery—something meaningful and striking in the midst of all that is simple and commonplace in our ordinary lives.
Katherine, our daughter in Minneapolis, made an interesting and insightful comment during a Christmas visit. “It seems,” she said, “as if our nation is in a perpetual state of war and always looking for the next election.”
So, in this period of time when we are at war, and, who knows, perhaps preparing for another war to line the pockets of the military industries in our country, and preparing for the next election, I’d like to shed a little light on what I see going on right now.
The Presidential Primaries and Pineapples
The local Firestone store is just down the street from where I live. I go there for tires, auto maintenance and, interestingly enough, a conversation about politics.
Dave, the Firestone man, always wants to know what I think about the political scene. On a recent visit, he wanted to know what I thought about Mitt Romney’s speech about his Mormon faith. And when I ran into him on the street the other day, we stopped to exchange pleasantries and, of course, converse about the next presidential election.
Sometimes I do ask myself why we are always looking for the next election, and, in particular, this next presidential election, when it is so far away. Perhaps pondering a pineapple would be a good way to begin to answer that question.
The pineapple, aside from being a delicious fruit, has also served as a symbol of hospitality. In past generations, hostesses would go to great lengths to prepare fancy pineapple dishes to welcome guests. Colonial sea captains often, upon returning home from their travels, would display a pineapple at their doorstep to let people know they were home and would welcome friends for a meal, drinks and conversation.
You may have seen, or heard of, a bed with a pineapple bedknob that could be unscrewed and removed. The pineapple—there to welcome a guest—when removed it was a signal that the guest had overstayed his or her welcome. No pineapple—it’s time to leave.
I think that this long drawn-out primary election, with endless debates and media frenzy, is taking place because the country can’t wait to get rid of Mr. Bush. Republicans and Democrats alike, are sick and tired of him. He’s the man who has overstayed his welcome. He’s the man who came to dinner and has disrupted the whole house with his unsavory disposition and malevolent behavior. Unscrew the pineapple!
Personally, I am trying to ration the time I spend watching election news coverage and commentary. I mean, how many times can you listen to Pat Buchanan and Chris Matthews spin the election out as if it was a football game? And isn’t it a bit much to see Mike Huckabee on the morning shows, Sunday talk shows, “exclusive” interview shows, ads, and on Letterman before bedtime? Enough! Too much! Unfortunately, with the media, too much isn’t enough.
And how many times do I have to see Hillary Clinton cry, and a bunch of talking heads, mostly male, argue about whether or not her emotional moment was for real or politically contrived? For what it’s worth, let me tell you what I saw in that emotional moment.
The Obama Drama
I have no problem seeing a candidate, male or female, cry publicly. The belief that big boys don’t cry, and women should be strong enough to contain their tears in a public forum, is ridiculous. I worry about a fearless leader who is tearless. So why did I have trouble with Hillary’s performance?
George Stephanopoulos was right when he said that all the candidates in last week’s debate were tired—exhausted from the rigorous campaign in Iowa. Any one of the candidates could have broken into tears in New Hampshire. Why not? Nothing wrong with that. But Hillary was rewarded for her emotional exposure. I can’t imagine that Barack Obama, or any of the male candidates, would have been rewarded if they had teared-up. They’d have been declared unfit to be responsible for the Red “Nuclear” Phone in the Oval Office.
What I saw, each time the tape was run, was a candidate who felt she was entitled to the White House. Depicting herself as somehow destined for the Oval Office—a personal journey that could lead only to the White House—simply put, because she was directly related to William Jefferson, progenitor of the House of Clinton.
I can’t say that her teary performance was contrived—a shrewd and calculated political move. I’m willing to chalk the wet eyes up to tiredness. But seeing her sad demeanor on Tuesday and her bounteous laughter on Wednesday, after winning in New Hampshire, I am quizzical about those tears. Maybe they weren’t weary-tears as much as they were angry tears—tears shed when a person is furious—furious that this young, upstart Obama was on the verge of obstructing her plans to move back into the White House.
If candidates are going to cry, my hope would be that they would cry over the fact that we are stuck in Iraq without the guts to set a timetable for withdrawal and a plan to help rebuild the country we have destroyed. Cry over Hillary taking more military contract money than any other candidate. Cry over the fact that John Edwards, the most loyal supporter of labor, doesn’t get labor support in New Hampshire. How about a tear shed for the failure of Republicans and Democrats to pursue a new approach towards solving problems—one that would ignite a new vision not based in militarism.
A Defining Moment for a Response to the Challenges We Face
After Barak Obama swept the Iowa primary, I watched his victory speech. It was a masterpiece. Coming up on Martin Luther King Jr. Day, when Americans will call to mind his “I Have a Dream” speech, I would call Obama’s extemporaneous words as a modern reincarnation of the same spirit that inspired Dr. King’s words.
“Years from now,” he said, “you’ll look back and say that this was the moment, this was the place where America remembered what it means to hope…Hope is the bedrock of this nation. The belief that our destiny will not be written for us, but by us, by all the men and women who are not content to settle for the world as it is, who have the courage to remake the world as it should be.”
The cynic will curdle those words with harsh judgment. The hardcore pragmatist will say they are just too idealistic in a world fraught with terrorism and practical concerns. Ambitious politicians will say Obama’s words mean little or nothing, given his lack of experience. The political consultants will go to the pigsty and use lies and dirty tricks to attack Obama on a personal level—like connecting him to drugs and radical Muslims.
Months ago when Hillary Clinton came to Charleston to raise money for her campaign, I had a discussion with an old friend and former West Virginia Supreme Court Justice. It did not surprise me that she was a Hillary fan. I understood her zeal. She had been the first woman to be elected to the Supreme Court and the first woman to be elected to statewide office in West Virginia. She was a role model for one of my daughters.
But when I tried to talk with her about the Clinton record in the White House—a tainted record Hillary was running on, her pharmaceutical and military financial support, and the sleazy consultants she’d hired—the response I got from my old friend was a smile and the comment: “Well, you always were an idealist.” I wanted to say, “Thanks, but would you please pull the knife out slowly from my belly.”
So, let me confirm it, I am an idealist. One of those idealists who, like so many of my heroes, both male and female, rebels against a realism which has disemboweled idealism from it’s body politic and tortured its own conscience to death.
Obama, speaking to Iowa voters, said, “On this January night, at this defining moment in history, you have done what the cynics said we couldn’t do.” Said to an electorate which crossed racial and gender lines to cast their votes for him, I felt something good and worthwhile stir inside me. Maybe he won’t get the chance to be as good as his words, and maybe he won’t get the nomination, but they were powerful words capable of igniting a possibility for our nation’s destiny which I believe can realistically be achieved. You see, I am into impossible possibilities—the unintended consequences which happen when imagination is allowed to run free and flourish.
I’ve been reading Harvey J. Kaye’s new book, “Thomas Paine and the Promise of America.” It came into my hands at just the right time. This irascible, feisty, magnificent patriot who moved America with his words—yes, his words—speaks to us today, I hope.
“These are the times that try men’s souls,” but, he said, “I look through the present trouble to a time of tranquility, when we shall have it in our power to set an example to the world.” Paine worried that the independence won would be lost if the common people responsible for victory forgot that it was won for “the opportunity of beginning the world anew…of bringing forward a new system of government in which the rights of all men should be preserved that gave value to Independence.’
I do believe we have an opportunity to begin the world anew here in this nation. I believe that Obama was correct when he said that this is a defining moment in our history. Joseph Ellis, in his marvelous new book, “American Creation: Triumphs and Tragedies at the Founding of the Republic,” has it right when talking about the political foundation of our nation which made room for “an expanded liberal mandate at the start that left room, up ahead, for an Abraham Lincoln and a Martin Luther King to join the list of founders. In that sense, perhaps the most creative act of the founding era was to make time as well as space an indispensable ally, in extending the founding moment into the future.”
Confirmed idealist that I am, I do believe we are at a defining moment in our history, a challenging moment given us in these times that try our souls, and that our response to the challenge we face will determine the future of our very nation, even the world.
Challenge & Response
While a student at Washington & Lee, I had the chance to study under the historian Arnold Toynbee. I won’t defend all his views, by any means, but I did respect his humble nature, and I did take away from his lectures the notion of challenge and response.
Toynbee, examining the many civilizations, cultures and empires that have existed throughout history, drew the conclusion that all of them were brought to a point of crisis in which their response to a particular challenge, or set of challenges, determined whether or not they would survive.
We are at one of those defining moments and the challenges are legion. If we respond with fear, exercise a xenophobic approach to other nations and religions, and base our economy on power-based militarism, we can be sure the endgame will be economic and environmental disaster. If we choose dynasty over a dynamic new politic, well…
Dr. King had it right when he said: “darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that…Our only hope today lies in our ability to recapture the revolutionary spirit and go into a sometimes hostile world declaring eternal hostility to poverty, racism, and militarism.”
Joseph Ellis reminds us that it was a band of common folks who defeated the overwhelmingly powerful British army and navy. General Washington called the troops “an exceedingly dirty and nasty people.” and it “became clear very quickly that Washington had assumed command not of an army so much as an insurgency.” Many of his troops just got tired of war and deserted—an example that perhaps some of our troops are emulating today by refusing to go back to Iraq. I applaud them. I wish some governor would step forward and refuse to send National Guard units to Iraq.
But when push-came-to-shove, it wasn’t the property owners or the educated people who were there to wear the British army down at Valley Forge throughout the harsh winter of 1777-78. It was the common folks—men like Washington whose education stopped at a grade school level—who won the independence for us.
It defies all logic and bursts all the boundaries of realism that this ban of common folks could win such a victory. It makes me hope that the working class people, and those struggling to hold onto a place in the middle class, will find the power within themselves to take on and defeat the army of lobbyists and special interest groups bivouacked along “K” Street in Washington. It makes me hope that folks at a grassroots level will see themselves as people commissioned to extend the founding moment everlastingly into the future. It makes me hope that in this defining moment we can get the kind of political leadership capable of beginning the world again. The election need not be defined by gender and race. Gender and race must be defined by the response to the challenges this nation faces.
Be On the Lookout
I am pleased that Hillary Clinton won in New Hampshire, no matter what the reasons were for her victory. She’s not my candidate, as you can tell, but her victory assures us that we won’t be stuck with a candidate after only a couple of primaries—like we were with John Kerry. That goes for the Republican race as well. So let the words keep flowing and the ballots keep flying at a record-breaking high.
But be on the lookout for people who call men sexist who don’t support Hillary Clinton, or racist because they don’t support Barack Obama. In her tear-up moment Hillary said this: “Some of us are right, and some of us are wrong. Some of us are ready, and some of us are not. Some of us know what we would do on day one, some of us haven’t thought that through enough.”
That language—right, ready and prepared—was directed, I do believe, at Obama. But be on the lookout whenever either Hillary or Obama are described as not right, ready or prepared, because, you know, she’s a woman and he’s a black man. Blacks and women have heard those words more than once in the course of American history. We cannot afford to repeat that dark side of our history, for it would result in an endless winter with no light in sight.
January 10th, 2008
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