Author: Ruth Ogles

DOWN AND DIRTY

Some years ago, a bumper sticker became popular: “If you ate today, thank a farmer.” In a fashion similar to another common bumper billboard of the time, “If you can read this, thank a teacher” the message was designed to elicit support for a political position; in the farmer’s case, organized resistance to the gobbling up of family farms by Evil Agribusiness, a trend that threatened the bucolic way of life rural families had enjoyed for generations.

When I read an article about a bill to aid struggling tobacco farmers (The Wall Street Journal, August 31, 2004), I reacted the same way I had about those Family Farmers: why is this the business of the rest of us? What inherent rights should those who work the land have over those of us who worry that our jobs will go the way of the iceman? Forget about the point of the article, which was to expose the fact that wealthy citizens who do not even farm the land anymore could get $90,000 a year for ten years because they own an allotment handed down from their ancestors. My longstanding antipathy for farm subsidies applies to rich and poor alike: why should the occupation of farming garner more emotion and sympathy (and a bail-out by the government) than say, manufacturing?

To be specific, why should the manufacturing company I work for, not be eligible for the same kind of government assistance as farmers? Just a few feet from my air-conditioned office, labor a couple of dozen guys who have been forming and joining and punching and painting metal since they graduated from high school–some of them for the last forty years. Their families and perhaps their grandparents, once enjoyed a measure of job security because they had a skill–a skill that is no longer in such demand because America’s manufacturing sector is in decline. They sweat and get their hands dirty every day, and they are exposed to welding fumes and repetitive motion that can make them old before their time. And should they end up with an occupational-related chronic disease, any savings they may have accumulated on their once decent, but now meager wages, could vanish in the treatment of that disease. And every day, management here struggles, with not an iota of effort from Uncle Sam, to make certain the company will be around another fifty seven years.

Where are their protections? Is what they do somehow less noble than turning up dirt in which to plant seeds? Is their way of life not worth preserving? Are guarantees of a way of life only for those who had the good fortune of being around in the time of Thomas Jefferson, who waxed romantic about the yeoman farmer, while occupations borne of the Industrial Revolution are on their own? And why should a bunch of legislators add their names to a full page ad in the same newspaper, an ad placed by Philip Morris urging “relief” for tobacco farmers? And how can Republican Senator Elizabeth Dole be among these petitioners, herself a member of the party that claims to love the free market and hates government meddling?

And why aren’t they meddling on behalf of hard-working men and women in all the other occupations that are perched precariously on the edge of economic extinction? Apparently the welding lobby hasn’t coughed up enough do-re-mi to influence the influence peddlers.

FREEDOM LEAVE

Samuel Johnson opined that patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel. If he were here to witness the overblown oratory about France and Germany emanating from some of our leaders, he might have to rework his phrase to make it the first.

I’m speaking, of course, of the “Freedom Fries” flap and the Dixie Chicks debacle.

Both of these contretemps would be laughable if they did not so clearly demonstrate why other nations have reason to criticize our propensity to distill very complicated issues of foreign policy into a Manichean essence. Would that foreign policy were a simple matter of distinguishing the good guys by their white chapeaux.

While it cannot be disputed that at least some of our former allies’ criticism finds its origins in economic self-interest, this revelation should not consign those who question our moral authority to being guys in black hats. It is perfectly legitimate to be skeptical of the foreign policy of a nation that finds itself propping up the Shah of Iran in one generation, arming Iraq against Iran a decade later, and then making nice with Iran again by the next generation. Could geopolitics be a bit more complicated than requiring our allies to have their lips surgically attached to our derrieres? Is this really no more complex than demanding that another country be either with us or agin’ us?

And if French food items should be renamed so as to be more patriotic, what’s next? Install software in newspaper editing rooms so that the The Memphis Flyer can purify itself of phrases appropriated from the French? Cleanse its op-ed pages of the term laissez-faire and any food articles of soup du jour (and this essay of debacle, contretemps, chapeaux and derrieres)? Allowing that our own language is an amalgam of many linguistic traditions, maybe we should just expunge from our dictionaries the words of any nation that does not support us in toto. Does our national future hold new career opportunities for underemployed liberal arts majors who could render service to our country as “patriot lexicographers?”

Where is Germany in all this? One of Memphis’ exclusive eastern suburbs changed its name to Neshoba during war time–can frankfurters, weinerschnitzel and apple strudel be far behind? And a bonus is that if we do this lexicon-purification thing right, school principals might not even need to cheat because our students will have far fewer words to recognize on standardized tests, thereby increasing their scores.

Why stop at renaming foods when we could move on to wiping America’s maps clean of the likes of Paris, Tennessee and Stuttgart, Arkansas? Just because there are towns with the grave misfortune of having had founding fathers from France or Germany is no reason to excuse them from their patriotic duty. Speaking of Germany, what about our Mercedes-Benz driving friends? Shouldn’t their support of our President include abandoning their luxury sedans at the nearest Chevrolet dealership?

If I were an ad agency representing an American automaker, I’d be busy whipping up some clever storyboards showing a BMW being crushed by an angry mob of flag-waving, anthem-singing, Stetson-wearing, gun-toting “true” Americans. Nazi Germany’s propaganda ministers couldn’t have done it better themselves.

Scoundrel: from the Latin condere, meaning “to hide;” also from the Old French and Anglo-French: I’m getting my resume ready.

HIS KIND OF TOWN

Mike Tyson is a sleazeball. He’s lower than low, a convicted rapist and a moron of the highest order. He’s no one I’d want to sit down to dinner with, no one I’d ever let anywhere near the children in my family, and definitely no one that I would date or set my friends up with. His lack of sportsmanship in and outside of the ring make him an anti-hero for sports fans and his actions and attitudes toward women place him firmly on the lowest rung of the evolutionary ladder.

But I can’t wait to see him fight in Memphis.

In the Pyramid, in the Liberty Bowl – in my own living room – who cares where the fight is held? I doubt I’ll even be able to afford tickets (unless it is in my living room)- but I’ll find a way to go. Sure, Tyson is absolutely void of integrity, but he’s still one of the most compelling boxers alive and possibly the most entertaining fighter of my generation.

He’s violent and out of control; an unapologetic pugilist who forgets to turn the arrogance and aggression off. But really people, this is Memphis. This is the land that nursed and coddled wrestling into an international fascination. We’re the same people who make constant excuses for the “fake” acts of WWF fighters when they pull hair and pound competitors over the head

with folding chairs. We cheer when one overgrown greaser smacks another with a two-by-four; and we applaud when their barely-clad, eye-candy “girlfriends” are traded amongst the fighters like prehistoric property. It’s no coincidence that when the XFL was looking for homes for its teams, Memphis was one of the first picks. We’ve proven ourselves to be very comfortable with violence.

So Tyson does some of these things for real. Big deal. If we can approve when steroid-driven actors pull off these stunts to entertain our 12-year-old sons (many of whom truly believe that what they see on Monday Nitro) why are we so appalled when a talented athlete actually acts out the violence?

What line are we drawing?

Basically we’re saying that excessive, rule breaking violence is okay so long as we lie about it. We can make it look as real as possible, with every slam, groan, and pile-driver performed to academy award winning standards, but we allow it because the adults watching understand there’s an implied wink. We turn our heads when our kids act out hundreds of murders daily and perpetuate hit-and- runs on pedestrians while playing video games like Resident Evil and Grand Theft Auto. And we fork over allowances so our kids can buy albums that glorify murder, rape and the objectification of women — but a fighter who bites the ear of another fighter — well, now that is strictly taboo.

Tyson is a violent man. This should come as no surprise to anyone. It’s his job to be violent. That’s how he makes his living. And he’s a convicted rapist, true. But he served his time and according to our criminal justice

system he is again fit for society. So let him get back to work. I’d rather he have a job than not. I’d rather he stay in the public eye -where we all know what he’s up to – than have him slip below the radar. And I’d much rather he fight in Memphis than Washington, D.C. The obvious reason is that I live here and want to watch the fight in person. Another obvious reason is that I want to see my city rake in some big bucks and international exposure.

But I’ve got one more reason for why the fight should not happen in D.C. The other big convention currently scheduled to take place that weekend in the nation’s capitol is the largest ever Girl Scout sing-a- long. I think wrestling-weary Memphians are better equipped to handle Tyson than harmonizing eight-year-old girls. That is, unless the Scouts start giving out badges for biting.

(FIRST APPEARANCE ON WEB JANUARY 19)

The other day a friend of mine asked me how I planned to spend Martin Luther King Day. I was a bit taken aback at first; she was the last person I expected would be making plans to honor a slain civil rights leader. Not due to any real deficit in her character, rather as a young, white professional, woman with few ties to the African-American community I didn’t expect her to have given MLK Day much thought.

Turns out I was mostly right.

The next sentence out of her mouth was, “Some friends and I are talking about having a big party Sunday night, since nobody has to work on Monday. Wanna come?”

A few days later another friend (also white) told me that she was planning a champagne brunch for that Monday. So I started thinking about the holiday, and about how “holiday” has become the most appropriate word for it.

Thirty-four years after he was killed, Martin Luther King, Jr. has become, for much of white America anyway, just a good excuse to sleep late. And can you really blame us? What do we know about MLK anyway?

Preacher, civil rights leader, killed in Memphis, Mountaintop, I Have a Dream, the march on Washington, Selma, Bull Connor, and the favorite bulletin board image for elementary school teachers across the nation during Black History Month. That’s about it.

It wasn’t until I got to college and read David Halberstam’s book, The Children, that I first learned about how much of the civil rights movement took place in my hometown of Nashville. Sure, I knew that King was killed in Memphis but nobody bothered to tell me that a). a group called the Freedom Riders existed, and b). it got it’s start in Nashville.

By the time I graduated from high school I could read Latin and speak Spanish. I could recognize and attribute every major work of art from cave paintings to modern sculpture. I had read and could recite many of the great works of literature. I knew all about cell structure and could do some math (not really my strong point, there.) But never once during my otherwise excellent public school education did a single teacher bother to mention the sit-ins, the march in Nashville, the training in non-violence, or the impressive number of present day leaders who cut their teeth during the civil rights movement.

The same is true for Dr. King. I had to read and be familiar with his two most famous speeches but nobody bothered to tell me why he was giving those speeches. I was taught that he had been shot in Memphis, but my text didn’t say why he was in Memphis in the first place. I can’t speak for all products of Tennessee’s public schools, but among the Gen X and Y’ers I hang with – most of us haven’t a clue. So MLK Day this year, like the last few years, will likely just be a holiday that white teenagers and young adults spend sleeping late and getting high.

It’s a convenient holiday for us. One that allows us both a day off from school and work and the moral consolation that we’ve given “them” a day. To brutally paraphrase Austin Powers, we’ve thrown them a friggin’ bone. Because for much of white America, MLK Day is a black holiday, just like Martin Luther King, Jr. was a black leader. It’s the same logic that led city planners nationwide to place Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd. in the ghettos, where white people aren’t likely to drive on it.

Before you get all defensive, think about it. Politically we’re only inches more progressive than when King was alive. Sure, African-Americans are no longer barred from water fountains and bathrooms – but is that something to pat ourselves on the backs for? Hardly. It’s time we stop being proud of ourselves for taking the low road. We get no credit for doing what we’re supposed to do – especially when all other choices are morally indefensible.

In Memphis today, we still operate a white school district and a black school district. Call it “city” and “county” if it helps you sleep at night (and promise each the same funding to ease your consciences), but it’s still separate but equal when you boil it down to the bare facts.

Why are we still debating this? Are equal rights and equal access still debatable theories?

Where Memphis should have performed some necessary and painful surgery years ago to solve these problems, we elected instead to just slap band-aid after band-aid over the gushing wounds. Guess what guys, the wounds are still gushing.

City and county consolidation is great start, but a long overdue one that should face no resistance now though it will. County (white) residents don’t want to be combined with city (black) residents. It’s time to call a spade a spade.

But back to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. When President Reagan ushered in the holiday, he introduced America to a “new and improved, kinder and gentler,” King. This one was more mouthpiece than radical leader, a cuddly and faithless teddy bear to spew inspirational (but never challenging) ideas when we decide to pull the string on his back.

We, as white Americans, can use this holiday to console ourselves with our token efforts. “We’ve (so generously, I might sarcastically add) given “them” MLK Day and Black History Month. “They’ve” got BET and the NAACP. Oprah has a TV show, and Colin Powell and Condi Rice have cabinet positions. They’re not slaves, they can vote and (in theory anyway) hold office. What more do they want? some whites seem to be saying.

And in so thinking we once again miss the essence of Dr. King. Go back and read the “I Have a Dream” speech. Better still, go to the National Civil Rights Museum and watch the footage of the speech. King’s dreams were not for black people to gain power – they were for equal access to all non-whites.

Right now, and perhaps moreso than anytime since King’s assassination, we should realize this. It’s very en vogue to waive flags and revel in our new found national unity. We relish the thought of becoming an even greatest-er generation.

But when we as a city and a nation are still debating equal access we’ve hardly achieved unity and the token observance of a holiday won’t change that.

The other day a friend of mine asked me how I planned to spend Martin Luther King Day. I was a bit taken aback at first; she was the last person I expected would make be plans to honor a slain civil rights leader. Not due to any real deficit in her character, rather as a young, white professional, woman with few ties to the African-American community I didn’t expect her to have given MLK Day much thought.

Turns out I was mostly right.

The next sentence out of her mouth was, “Some friends and I are talking about having a big party Sunday night, since nobody has to work on Monday. Wanna come?”

A few days later another friend (also white) told me that she was planning a champagne brunch for that Monday. So I started thinking about the holiday, and about how “holiday” has become the most appropriate word for it.

Thirty-four years after he was killed, Martin Luther King, Jr. has become, for much of white America anyway, just a good excuse to sleep late. And can you really blame us? What do we know about MLK anyway?

Preacher, civil rights leader, killed in Memphis, Mountaintop, I Have a Dream, the march on Washington, Selma, Bull Connor, and the favorite bulletin board image for elementary school teachers across the nation during Black History Month. That’s about it.

It wasn’t until I got to college and read David Halberstam’s book, The Children, that I first learned about how much of the civil rights movement took place in my hometown of Nashville. Sure, I knew that King was killed in Memphis but nobody bothered to tell me that a). a group called the Freedom Riders existed, and b). it got it’s start in Nashville.

By the time I graduated from high school I could read Latin and speak Spanish. I could recognize and attribute every major work of art from cave paintings to modern sculpture. I had read and could recite many of the great works of literature. I knew all about cell structure and could do some math (not really my strong point, there.) But never once during my otherwise excellent public school education did a single teacher bother to mention the sit-ins, the march in Nashville, the training in non-violence, or the impressive number of present day leaders who cut their teeth during the civil rights movement.

The same is true for Dr. King. I had to read and be familiar with his two most famous speeches but nobody bothered to tell me why he was giving those speeches. I was taught that he had been shot in Memphis, but my text didn’t say why he was in Memphis in the first place. I can’t speak for all products of Tennessee’s public schools, but among the Gen X and Y’ers I hang with – most of us haven’t a clue. So MLK Day this year, like the last few years, will likely just be a holiday that white teenagers and young adults spend sleeping late and getting high.

It’s a convenient holiday for us. One that allows us both a day off from school and work and the moral consolation that we’ve given “them” a day. To brutally paraphrase Austin Powers, we’ve thrown them a friggin’ bone. Because for much of white America, MLK Day is a black holiday, just like Martin Luther King, Jr. was a black leader. It’s the same logic that led city planners nationwide to place Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd. in the ghettos, where white people aren’t likely to drive on it.

Before you get all defensive, think about it. Politically we’re only inches more progressive than when King was alive. Sure, African-Americans are no longer barred from water fountains and bathrooms – but is that something to pat ourselves on the backs for? Hardly. It’s time we stop being proud of ourselves for taking the low road. We get no credit for doing what we’re supposed to do – especially when all other choices are morally indefensible.

In Memphis today, we still operate a white school district and a black school district. Call it “city” and “county” if it helps you sleep at night (and promise each the same funding to ease your consciences), but it’s still separate but equal when you boil it down to the bare facts.

Why are we still debating this? Are equal rights and equal access still debatable theories?

Where Memphis should have performed some necessary and painful surgery years ago to solve these problems, we elected instead to just slap band-aid after band-aid over the gushing wounds. Guess what guys, the wounds are still gushing.

City and county consolidation is great start, but a long overdue one that should face no resistance now though it will. County (white) residents don’t want to be combined with city (black) residents. It’s time to call a spade a spade.

But back to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. When President Reagan ushered in the holiday, he introduced America to a “new and improved, kinder and gentler,” King. This one was more mouthpiece than radical leader, a cuddly and faithless teddy bear to spew inspirational (but never challenging) ideas when we decide to pull the string on his back.

We, as white Americans, can use this holiday to console ourselves with our token efforts. “We’ve (so generously, I might sarcastically add) given “them” MLK Day and Black History Month. “They’ve” got BET and the NAACP. Oprah has a TV show, and Colin Powell and Condi Rice have cabinet positions. They’re not slaves, they can vote and (in theory anyway) hold office. What more do they want? some whites seem to be saying.

And in so thinking we once again miss the essence of Dr. King. Go back and read the “I Have a Dream” speech. Better still, go to the National Civil Rights Museum and watch the footage of the speech. King’s dreams were not for black people to gain power – they were for equal access to all non-whites.

Right now, and perhaps moreso than anytime since King’s assassination, we should realize this. It’s very en vogue to waive flags and revel in our new found national unity. We relish the thought of becoming an even greatest-er generation.

But when we as a city and a nation are still debating equal access we’ve hardly achieved unity and the token observance of a holiday won’t change that.