Category: Letter From The Editor

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Letter From The Editor Opinion

(We Can’t Imagine) A World Without Internet

Photo by Markus Spiske | Unsplash

Bank accounts, investment funds, appointments, bill pay, concert tickets, emails, streaming entertainment, home security systems, Uber rides, air travel — these are just a handful of things much of society manages today via the internet. So what happens if a site crashes, an app malfunctions, or the net goes down?

Some of you may have noticed that in our little corner of the World Wide Web, the Flyer site went kaput for a couple of days last week. On the backend, where we upload stories for online publishing, our team was welcomed with a “critical error” message, alternated with a “502 Bad Gateway.” Visitors to memphisflyer.com — or anyone clicking previously active links shared out on social media — found a mostly blank white screen with “internal error” in small letters across the top. For our editorial staff, not being information technology specialists in the least, these error messages were quite alarming. While we do produce a print product, we rely on the web to get fresh content — not found in the weekly hard copies — out to our readers throughout the week between the printed issues. Attempts to log on were fruitless, and we sat with hands tied, plugging away at interviews and stories in the meantime, until our IT gurus worked their troubleshooting magic behind the scenes to sort out the problem. It did get sorted, and all is well. But what was merely a blip in the big picture left me with lingering concerns — and not just about memphisflyer.com. 

The world has been digitized. We can — and do — purchase just about everything we need online. Our savings accounts are simply numbers on a screen when we sign in to our banking institutions’ websites or apps. Many businesses — from fast food to music venues to transit and much in between — have gone (or are going) cashless, meaning you need a card, connected to an account managed almost solely online. We read books online via electronic devices. Scan QR codes to gain entry into events. Navigate trips with pleasant automated voices telling us which way to turn. Post happy birthdays to Facebook. Order food and grocery deliveries. We effectively make entire transactions with the little black rectangles in our hands, via the internet. No check books, no paper tickets, no maps. We only need the invisible, inexplicable (to most) connection to the World Wide Web to complete a myriad of tasks. 

While researching for this column, I had no fewer than 10 tabs open to various pages — our work Slack channel, my Gmail account, the Google document in which I originally typed this text, the Flyer site, our website management hub, and several pages linked to stories that appeared with a search on this topic. This will age me, but I’m sure some of you can relate: I remember when researching for a school paper or college essay required a visit to the library or the scouring of a physical Encyclopedia Britannica set. (Did you know the final 32-volume printed edition was published in 2010? It now exclusively exists as an online encyclopedia.) Working on a short deadline with the Labor Day holiday, I’d have had to start my research much sooner, digging for relevant magazine articles, academic journals, and the like if I wanted to include any concrete stats or legitimate references. 

So, yes, the internet has allowed us the convenience of unlimited information — and access to literally anything — at our fingertips. But with some cost. We no longer have to retain information (or work very hard to get it). What film do I recognize that actor from? Google it. How long does it take to drive from Memphis to Fargo, North Dakota? Google it. Do turtles have a sense of smell? Hey, Google … And we’d be pretty screwed if our work disappeared into the internet ether or the numbers in our bank accounts were no longer accessible. 

According to statista.com, “As of April 2023, there were 5.18 billion internet users worldwide, which amounted to 64.6 percent of the global population.” 

A March 2021 Pew Research Center story, “About three-in-ten U.S. adults say they are ‘almost constantly’ online,” dives into our inadvertent reliance, noting two years ago that 85 percent of Americans “say they go online on a daily basis.” 

And people were skeptical about this many years before it took such a firm hold. A Kalamazoo Gazette staffer explored the topic on mlive.com in 2010 with “Are people too dependent on the Internet?” A Teen Ink contributor answered (sort of) in 2013 with “WE ARE TOO DEPENDENT ON THE INTERNET.” 

While I’m not a fan of all-caps, I think the then-teen writer wanted to make their stance clear. And, for better or worse, they weren’t wrong.

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Letter From The Editor Opinion

A Heartfelt Thank You

Photo: Marcus Byrne | Unsplash

I’d like to start off this week by extending a heartfelt thank you to the handful of readers who emailed me in reference to last week’s “I’ve Got Mail” column, in which I shed light on my least favorite part of this job — receiving hateful feedback from “readers.” (I guess we’ll call them that, despite the lack of evidence they’ve actually read what any of us have written.) While that was the first direct negative email I’ve gotten in the months since I’ve been editor of this paper, I do often see angry comments from folks on social media. It’s best to laugh them off, I’ve found, as most times it’s akin to Yelp or Google reviewers who have plenty of time on their hands to rant publicly about bad experiences, but rarely take an opportunity to praise good ones.

The Memphis Flyer hasn’t officially published “Letters to the Editor” in quite a while, but I’d like to devote some space here to share encouraging tidbits from some of the positive responses I received, from longtime (or lifelong) Memphians (who actually do read the paper). They were healthy reinforcements of why we do what we do, week in and week out.

“Memphis is a deeply human city: living here regularly reminds me of the beauty, joy, misery, and cruelty that make up the human experience,” reads one email. “Too often, I am disappointed and frustrated by the narrow-mindedness, coldheartedness, and fear that infect our largely hardworking, friendly, and generous community. Reading the ‘Checking In’ email that you received is one such incident. … I applaud your call for critical thought and for, above all, kindness. Your response reminded me of one of my favorite Gandhi quotes: ‘We have to answer lies with truth and meanness with generosity.’”

A “Proud ‘Demokrat’ who regularly reads the Flyer” humorously wrote in response to the misplaced-rage commentary, “I too have a mental disorder; I am a proud liberal. … Now y’all have my ever-loving gratitude by being just what I need: a respected member of the socialist insane asylum.”

I’ll admit, while in the throes of writing, editing, and cranking out a paper each week, it’s easy to forget that there are people who genuinely look forward to seeking a news rack and immersing themselves in what we produce, so this was especially moving:

“My weekly ritual involves grabbing a paper copy of the Flyer from the newspaper stand in the lobby of Clark Tower where I work. I typically read it over lunch and I always find something new and different and interesting, every single week. We subscribe to all of the papers in this town but I enjoy and value the Memphis Flyer the most. My wife and I signed up as Frequent Flyers a few years back and I smile every time I see the email reminders.

“Keep up the good work. You and the Flyer crew are the best and Memphis is extremely lucky to have you.”

To that, I say, we are extremely lucky to have you. Each and every one of you who makes a point to add us to your weekly routines, whether that is picking up a physical copy out in the world or reading through our news, politics, sports, music, food, film, arts, culture, or opinion features online — you are the reason the Flyer is still here and going strong, more than 30 years after our first issue hit the streets. We appreciate everyone who has signed on as a Frequent Flyer — by contributing financially, with a one-time or monthly donation. (You can learn more about our Frequent Flyer program via the “Support Us” link at memphisflyer.com.)

As an independent publication, always free to you — in print and online — keeping you informed and connected to our city is at the forefront of our mission. Every time you pick up a paper, pass a copy on to a friend, share our stories online, or do business with our advertisers, you are supporting what we do. For that, we extend our endless gratitude. The Flyer wouldn’t be here without you.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

I’ve Got Mail

“You’ve [always] got mail!” (Photo: Justin Morgan | Unsplash)

Sometimes Sundays feel like the eve of the first day of school. Like a kid anticipating a new semester, the nerves swirl and keep me awake before the “big day.” Working on a perpetual deadline, with a column due each week, it’s as if there’s an essay looming, to be graded — and I’m not always prepared for it. The “grade,” of course, will come from you, the readers — and my aim is to write something relatable, entertaining, or in line with current events.

But this Monday, as is occasionally is the case, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I stared at a blank document longer than I’d like to admit, pausing from that daunting task to edit stories as they traveled through our production process or to review articles awaiting publication on the website. Another distraction, albeit a necessary part of the job, is sorting through emails. Dozens come through my inbox daily, of varying degrees of importance — from promotional product pitches to local news items to (more rare) reader feedback.

One email, with the subject line “Checking In,” caught my eye. Typically if someone is checking in, it’s in relation to a previous conversation or a follow up to a prior email that I’ve not yet replied to. This, though, was something else entirely. Feedback of sorts, I guess you could say, but more just an airing of grievances on Memphis, its politicians, and crime. The note, from a person who no longer lives or works in the city, according to the sender, referred to “you” and “your” a handful of times, as if I or the Flyer has some kind of control over the issues listed within. And they were “checking in” to let me know they still can’t stand our “leftist bullshit.”

“The truth is, Memphis is a steaming, stinking, shithole caused solely by your demokrat [sic]/leftist policies,” the email reads, in part. “Amazing how you otherwise intelligent people, smart enough to write and publish, can be so stupid – or brainwashed – to think your leftist ways work. Liberalism IS a mental disorder and you are both administrators and patients of the socialist insane asylum.”

So this publication, a historically left-leaning alternative newsweekly, somehow, in this person’s mind, contributes to the problems they perceive to weigh on Memphis as a whole? Hmm.

I realized last week that it’s been nine months since I took the helm as editor-in-chief of this paper (and this was my first hate mail, a good run if you ask me). There have been growing pains, as is natural with any job, but particularly one in which you have a platform such as this. Writing something of substance in my column is top of mind, and I’d like to use my voice for good as often as possible. Anyone who has followed this space over the course of my tenure may have noticed I don’t make a habit of intentionally riling people up. I prefer not to promote division, but rather gently remind people that we’re all human, mere specks floating on a rock in space, trying to get by.

So I find myself wondering what would inspire a person to wake up one morning and think, “You know what? I’m pissed off and the editor of the Flyer needs to know this.” The message wasn’t directed at something in particular I had written or a specific piece composed by one of my many talented colleagues. There were no suggested solutions provided or any actionable critiques. Just an anger-dump, addressed to me, for reasons I can’t quite discern.

There was one thing I wanted to weave into my column last week about the congressional hearing on UAPs and the alleged discovery of “non-human biologics,” but with limited space, it didn’t make the cut. I wrote on how we simply don’t have the time to worry about that — unless UFOs land in our front yards, no big deal, who cares. But in reality, some people have a lot of time to worry about a lot of stuff — to be keyboard warriors berating others for their beliefs, to moan about “woke culture,” to bash people for their personal life choices.

I don’t venture to think I can change anyone’s mind, nor do I impose my opinions in ways that belittle others. But I do urge you to think for yourself, do your own research, and above all, be kind.

Hate is a choice. Imagine where we could be if more of us chose love.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

The Truth Is out There

Photo: 3000ad | Dreamstime.com

Last week, a former U.S. intelligence officer testified before Congress that aliens are real. Turns out, we don’t really care.

In Wednesday’s House Oversight subcommittee on National Security, the Border and Foreign Affairs — largely discussing unidentified aerial phenomena (UAPs) — three former military officials gave some confounding testimonies about, among other things, unidentified aircrafts that used logic-defying technology and claimed the government is hiding information about UFOs from the public.

AP News reported that one speaker, retired Air Force Major David Grusch, “was asked in 2019 by the head of a government task force on UAPs to identify all highly classified programs relating to the task force’s mission. At the time, Grusch was detailed to the National Reconnaissance Office, the agency that operates U.S. spy satellites.” During last week’s hearing, the former major-turned-whistleblower spoke of “nonhuman biologics” — matter retrieved from found UAP crafts’ pilots — saying, “That was the assessment of people with direct knowledge on the [UAP] program I talked to, that are currently still on the program.”

Grusch told the panel his testimony was based on four years of work on the task force and interviews with 40 witnesses: “individuals with a longstanding track record of legitimacy and service to this country — many of whom also shared compelling evidence in the form of photography, official documentation, and classified oral testimony.”

Grusch also claimed he’s faced retaliation and “administrative terrorism” for speaking out and, as NPR reported, said “he had been denied access to some government UFO programs but that he knows the ‘exact locations’ of UAPs in U.S. possession.” The Pentagon has dismissed Grusch’s allegations of a cover-up. The full hearing is viewable on YouTube.

But back to the whole “we don’t care” thing. Sure, it’d be nice to know if aliens exist. What are the implications for humanity? Could someone please tell us what the hell is going on? But right now, after the most uncomfortable few years in recent history — a pandemic, a collapsing economy, the hottest global and oceanic temperatures on record, a list of horrors and struggles and traumas that goes on and on — we simply don’t have the bandwidth to give much energy to the idea of flying saucers or little green men. The world is burning. Unless the aliens are coming to save us, meh.

If the U.S. government has supposedly known about the existence of “non-humans” since the 1930s or so — and has run “a multi-decade UAP crash retrieval and reverse engineering program” underneath our noses — what’s the big deal? Some are asking, “Why now?” Could this hearing have been a distraction from something else? The possibility of the presence of non-humans with insanely advanced technological capabilities has repeatedly been referred to as a “bipartisan national security concern.” But could this be a scare tactic? A bread crumb meant to plant seeds for another lockdown? Conspiracy theories abound. Between those and governmental obfuscations, who could know up from down? For funsies, you can venture over to TikTok or scan the reels on Facebook or Instagram, where the whole thing has become a big joke. “Earth is awful. Please take me with you, aliens!” appears to be the consensus.

Humans have pondered the potential of extraterrestrial beings for centuries. Even before science began to unfold the nature of the universe — its planets and nebulas, black holes and cosmic dust — simply stargazing would make one wonder. There must be life in the vastness of it all. The truth is out there, to be sure. But even if that meant aliens were real, and even if that info was handed to us with neon flashing lights and red flags and bullhorns, we’d probably still go about our days, same as always, punching the clock and paying the bills — because that’s what’s got to be done. Unless spaceships land in our front yards, we’re sorry, we just don’t have time to think about that. It’s unfortunate, really.

I find some measure of peace in the unknown. Maybe something discovered within it will help unravel our own existential mysteries. Maybe life isn’t just about punching a clock and following society’s rules, without pausing to think deeply about the meaning of it all, until we die. Do you want to believe?

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

The Chicken at the Window

“Open the clucking window right now.” (Photo: Shara Clark)

If you follow this column, you might recall that in early June I embarked on a month-long Midtown staycation/house-sitting adventure. As of this writing, I’ve been back at my own home for 11 days, but — this being the staycation issue and all — I figured I’d offer a brief and final follow-up of my time away. You may remember me writing in this space about how I first had to work up the courage to pick up a chicken from her nesting box, or how the following week, one of the hens decided to show me she was boss by literally pecking me into my place in the pecking order.

I had no prior knowledge of tending to chickens (but plenty of knowledge of chicken tenders, heh) and was in for a learning experience. By the last day, though, I considered myself a bit of an expert hen handler. My at-first broody friend Pancake and I wound up becoming best buds. Some evenings, instead of going to the coop at dusk with the rest of the flock, she’d pace around the window sill, eyeballing me as if to ask, “Can I come inside with you instead?” She couldn’t, of course, so I’d go out and pluck her gently from the sill and lead her to her friends, where they’d be locked in safe and sound for the night. As part of our last goodbye, I picked her up, for no particular reason other than I could, and held her against my hip, lovingly stroking her peachy blonde feathers as she cooed in contented response. The “mean” one, Geli, and I became friends, too — as long as I came out with cold cucumber or grapes every once in a while, she was cool — and there were no further pecking incidents.

I took several videos of our morning ritual, wherein I’d come around the corner from the back porch, the hens gathered impatiently at the coop door awaiting release (and breakfast). I propped the phone up on a ledge to capture footage of my first reluctant attempts at picking up a chicken (it’s embarrassing, really, so those are reserved for my viewing only). And I have an absurd number of pictures of hens grazing, chilling in my lap, dust bathing, or window sitting. With the surplus of eggs I found myself with, I baked my first quiche — with broccoli and cheese and the freshest eggs imaginable. I really miss the girls (and I even joined a Facebook group called Midtown Chicken People and have pondered adopting a flock of my own; more on that later, maybe). In that month, I learned a lot about chickens, and myself — just me and five hens (and two skittish cats) in a big ol‘ empty house not five miles from my own.

I’m accustomed to my neighborhood walks near U of M, but the Midtown strolls were lovely in a different way. Busier streets, lively local venues and restaurants — the whole area teeming with energy. I popped over to trivia night at Slider Inn one evening; another, I walked to dinner at Hattie B’s. One late afternoon, I followed the sound of live music to a gathering in a church parking lot nearby. Some days, I’d venture out aimlessly, just soaking it all in. Ultimately, I spent that time in a Memphis I wasn’t so familiar with — not from that vantage point, at least. An enjoyable staycation all around.

Of course, you all likely won’t have an opportunity to house-sit and care for hens as I did. But I think our “Stay & Play” cover feature may give you some inspiration to enjoy our city in ways you might not have before — from free art and tourist attractions, to an international food tour, to live music, to sports events, to a night on the town, to tending your own garden with an assist from local horticultural experts. Even if you’re a lifelong Memphian, there’s a lot to discover beyond your own four walls, if you’re willing to get out and give it a try.

While I’ve bid adieu to the chicken at the window, more facets of Memphis await on the other side of that particular summer staycation. I hope you’ll join me in exploring those parts that draw people here, year after year.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

Mismanagement, Fraud, or Forgiveness

Photo: Alexander Grey | Unsplash

Last Friday, in a 6-3 vote, the Supreme Court shot down President Biden’s student debt forgiveness plan, which would have reduced or canceled federal student loan debt for millions of borrowers. Payments and interest have been paused since March 2020 as part of Covid-19 emergency relief. According to studentaid.gov, after the hiatus, interest will start accruing again this September, with payments becoming due the following month. Some people are very upset about this ruling. Others were very upset about the possibility of folks having their loans forgiven.

A few years ago, I proudly exited college with a hard-earned journalism degree and a shiny new debt of nearly $26,000. Welcome to adulthood, you’re starting off in the negative, good luck! I worked service and retail jobs until I landed an internship here at the Flyer my senior year, and even then, held two jobs for a while just to be able to pay bills and buy groceries. There wasn’t much left over for savings. When the loan came due, I applied for a brief deferment, and later income-driven repayment. The interest really got me. I was getting nowhere for a long time. I bemoaned how dumb it was to have taken the max loans each semester. But at the time, I was stoked to receive a “refund” check after tuition was covered. Silly me didn’t ask questions, didn’t speak to financial aid counselors to fully understand what I was getting into — which wound up covering college expenses and additional money to help me get by, but with a good $7,000 in interest piled on over time.

No one is to blame but me, but what does society expect of 18-year-olds, fresh out of their parents’ homes, who have no clue what they’re doing? Making a laughable income with mounting new responsibilities at every turn. Taking out loans and cashing the refunds and having a big ol’ time until graduation when reality hits.

Of course I understand that when you’ve agreed to take out a loan, you commit to repaying it. You can’t have your mortgage or car note forgiven. But — hear me out — student loans are a sham. Furthering education should be affordable. Walking out with $25k+ in debt — because you must have a degree to pursue just about any career — is total horse shit. I can’t imagine how much it must sting for those with six-figure loans. Bless you, and I’m sorry, and I hope your income reflects that value.

The goal of the debt relief program was to assist low- to middle-income debtors — $10,000 in federal student loan debt would be canceled for borrowers making below $125,000 or households with less than $250,000 income per year. An additional $10,000 would be forgiven for Pell Grant recipients, who historically have a greater need.

Thankfully, I’ve paid most of my student loan debt. Would I like to have the rest dismissed? Absolutely. Would I be upset that this happened after I’ve doled out over $30,000? I mean, it sucks, but I’d still be supportive of offering relief to those who need it. College tuition and textbook costs increase year over year. The cost of living continues to increase, too. Why not give people attempting to better themselves a little break?

Are we as upset about bank bailouts? Three banks failed earlier this year, and the United States Federal Reserve loaned more than $300 billion to the “cash-short” institutions through its ​emergency Bank Term Funding Program (BTFP) in March. Forbes reported in March that “many experts note the Treasury Department’s plan to save depositors doesn’t constitute a bailout because it draws from insurance funds paid by banks — and not taxpayer dollars — others worry the implications could ultimately fall to consumers through economic consequences like inflation.” Last week, Cointelegraph reported that the reserve’s “bailouts” reached a new weekly high of $103 billion for the week ending June 28th, according to data from the Federal Reserve Bank of St. Louis.

What about the more than $200 billion in pandemic business loans that appear to have been fraudulent? The U.S. Small Business Administration, in its “COVID-19 Pandemic EIDL and PPP Loan Fraud Landscape” report, said of the $1.2 trillion given in COVID-19 Economic Injury Disaster Loan (EIDL) and Paycheck Protection Program (PPP) funds, at least 17 percent went to “potentially fraudulent actors” in the “rush to swiftly disburse” funds. New studies show this could have been a driver in inflation, particularly in the housing market. About $742 billion in PPP loans were forgiven.

So we’ve got corporations, big banks, scammers, and regular people seeking financial relief and assistance. Are we mad at the kids who took out loans to attend college because the world told them they had to? The big banks whose expertise is finance but can’t seem to manage their own accounts? The scammers who got billions in free government money?

There’s mismanagement, fraud, or forgiveness. And a whole lot of moolah tangled up between. It’s pretty clear who could use the help. It’s the average hard-working American. The “consumer” struggling to live amid inflation. Maybe one day, someone will vote and act in our favor.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

Billionaires Lost at Sea

Photo: Courtesy of NOAA/Institute for Exploration/University of Rhode Island (NOAA/IFE/URI)

It surprised me this Monday morning to see the OceanGate website still up and functional, still advertising an opportunity to “Explore the world’s most famous shipwreck,” listing the 2023 Titanic expedition as “currently underway,” and showing two missions scheduled for departure in June 2024. Surely there will be no future Titanic excursions offered by this company following the events that unfolded last week.

“95% of the Earth’s ocean is unexplored. You can change that,” reads a note on the site’s homepage. No thanks.

The internet was astir as people across the globe followed the Titan submersible news after its communications ceased and location was lost an hour and 45 minutes following its launch on Sunday, June 18th. What was supposed to be a two-hour descent to tour the 111-year-old shipwreck 13,000 feet below the surface of the Atlantic turned into a nightmare-come-true for the sub’s passengers. When it did not return to the surface as scheduled, the U.S. and Canadian Coast Guards, the U.S. Navy, and other international resources embarked on a days-long search and rescue effort. And the world waited anxiously as the clock dwindled on the Titan’s estimated oxygen supply.

Aboard the sub were OceanGate CEO Stockton Rush, prominent Pakistani businessman Shahzada Dawood and his 19-year-old son Suleman Dawood, French diver and Titanic researcher Paul-Henri Nargeolet, and British aviation tycoon and space tourist Hamish Harding. While the search was underway, thousands of memes mocking the risk-taking billionaires flooded the internet, juxtaposed alongside thoughts and prayers for the missing from those who didn’t find an ounce of humor in the foiled voyage.

As average citizens struggle to afford basic necessities amid inflation, it’s no surprise folks are poking fun at the 1 percent. These wealthy adventurers paid a quarter-million dollars each to take a voluntary ride in an ill-equipped and poorly tested tube — made with parts from Camping World and steered by a game controller — to the bottom of the ocean to sightsee. They signed a waiver agreeing to risk death for a frivolous trip to an old wrecked ship.

On Thursday, June 22nd, debris including the Titan’s tail cone was found 1,600 feet from the Titanic wreckage. The findings were “consistent with a catastrophic implosion,” according to the U.S. Coast Guard. All passengers were presumed dead.

It’s difficult to feel sympathy for Rush, especially, who for years ignored alarm calls about the safety of his watercraft. In a 2018 lawsuit, the company’s former director of marine operations David Lochridge claimed to have been fired from OceanGate for raising concerns. According to the suit, Lochridge objected to “deviation from an original plan to conduct non-destructive testing and unmanned pressure testing” of the Titan.

A 2018 email exchange between Rush and deep-sea exploration specialist Rob McCallum emerged, in which McCallum urged Rush to consider further safety measures: “Until a sub is classed, tested and proven, it should not be used for commercial deep dive operations,” he wrote, in part. Rush responded: “I have grown tired of industry players who try to use a safety argument to stop innovation. … We have heard the baseless cries of ‘you are going to kill someone’ way too often. I take this as a serious personal insult.”

It makes more sense to mourn the loss of the 19-year-old, who, according to reports, was “terrified” to take the voyage but gave in to appease his father. Personally, I find the ocean — the creatures within, the dark depths, the sheer expanse — horrifying. Simply watching footage of prior Titan dives gave me heart palpitations — crew huddled near the tiny porthole, in a claustrophobic cylinder, staring into the abyss until the bow of the Titanic crept into view, dripping in rusticles. Just looking at photos of the wreckage, a graveyard two and a half miles under the sea, gives me the heebie-jeebies. Would you like to tour an eerie endless void from inside a replica of a bullet blender? That’s a no from me.

So, some very rich people went for a joyride. They knew the risks and used poor judgment. They didn’t make it back. This gripped the attention of the entire world. All while at least 79 people died and hundreds more were feared missing after a migrant ship capsized off the coast of Greece. All while 39.7 million people in the U.S. alone live in poverty.

If you believe conspiracy theories, they either never took the trip in the first place or it was all a distraction. But from what exactly?

There are a quarter-million ways in which a quarter-million dollars could be better spent, and as many injustices that better deserve the world’s attention — mass suffering at which no one blinks an eye. No matter what you believe, I bet we can agree on that.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

The Pecking Order

Geli giving side-eye, pondering a peck. (Photo: Shara Clark)

I’m heading into week three of my house-sitting/Midtown staycation, so today you’re getting a follow-up (you didn’t ask for) on my chicken adventures. I’ve just completed the morning hen ritual, wherein I rouse early and, still half-asleep, make my way to the backyard coop, where the girls are anxiously awaiting liberation. They chatter and squabble, crowding around the door and stepping on each other’s toes as I unlatch the lock and swing it open. Their five little fluffy bottoms scurry off, chicken legs waddling hurriedly as if heading into battle. (Release the hens!) “Battle,” in this case, is running directly to and hopping on top of the feed bins, poking at the lids to let me know it’s breakfast time — right now, dammit — and they’re pretty impatient ladies. If I’m not fast enough scooping out the feed, they’ll attempt to jump right in and help themselves.

I’ve learned a good bit about hens since I’ve been here — the different sounds they make, from contented cooing and trills, to alarm calls, to general chit-chat as they graze. I check their nests several times a day for eggs to avoid another broody mood like the one I wrote about in this space last week. As proud as I was to have picked up a chicken, I’d rather not have to do it again if it can be helped. So I listen for the laying songs, their triumphant clucks and squawks, and retrieve eggs before anyone gets too attached to them.

Also, chickens take dust baths. Here, they’ve burrowed divots in the dirt in shady spots in the yard where they roll around and flit their wings, shaking the earth through their feathers. Google tells me this controls parasites and prevents excess oiliness. Who knew? Not me.

I did, finally, work up the nerve to feed the girls fruit scraps out of my hands. At first to the oldest, who was hanging around on the porch by herself. She gently plucked a piece of grape from my palm. But the others caught on quickly — hey, where’s mine?! — and barreled over, scrambling for a treat. Four of the five gingerly took their share from my open hand. But big, bad Geli nearly drew blood.

Which brings me to another thing: the origin of “pecking order,” which I’d never really given much thought to before. According to Modern Farmer, it’s a hierarchy — literally established by pecking — that “determines the order in which chickens are allowed to access food, water, and dust-bathing areas,” among other things. Basically one bullies the others to establish dominance. And apparently Geli sees herself above me in this ranking. Last week, I mentioned how she leapt into my lap and pecked me. But since then, she’s become somewhat more aggressive, charging at me at times for no apparent reason. Well, I’m pretty sure it’s food-motivated because she’ll do it after bawking around the feed bins or if I’ve come outside sans treats (how dare I?). Where’s my food, lady? I require more. Peck, peck! I swear I’ve seen her sharpening her beak on wood and concrete, taunting me. How to align myself back at the top of the brood is something I’ll be studying in the coming days, as being attacked by an indignant chicken was not part of my staycation plans.

In a couple weeks, I’ll be back at my own home — the pecking order there as it’s always been — and this chicken adventure will be in my rearview. I’m sure a lot of you are wondering why the editor of this fine newspaper is writing about hens as opposed to current events, but please bear with me. They’re fascinating creatures, really — and part of this journey’s inadvertent goal has become resetting an overstimulated mind. Tuning out a tad is a given. I also think it’s the duty of any writer to purposely place themselves in new and different situations, to stimulate the creative flow. Things can get pretty stagnant otherwise. For now, hens it is.

Maybe some of you have learned a little, too. And perhaps we can ponder the pecking order in our human societal structures — in which ways they’re detrimental to the greater good or ways in which they may be beneficial. Are there areas in your life where you perceive a pecking order? If so, where do you stand? Think on it.

In the meantime, I’ve got to go check for eggs.

Doing my due diligence. (Photo: Shara Clark)
Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

Breaking a Broody Mood

The Cluck Crew (Photo: Shara Clark)

I moved into my friends’ house last week. Well, I didn’t actually move in. How I got here is a bit of a loop-the-loop. I thought I may have to relocate for homeowners insurance to cover repairs from damage inflicted by a tree that fell in an April storm, and they were looking to rent out their house for a month while traveling abroad — the timing might be right and insurance should reimburse the cost, I thought. Long story short, it’s June 13th and I still have a hole in my roof and the remains of a collapsed shed in my backyard — and the friends still wanted a non-stranger to occupy their space while away.

So here I am in Midtown, not 10 minutes from my own home near U of M, for what will essentially be a summer staycation in a happening ’hood. But even a few days in, 10 minutes away — just over four miles — it’s proving to be a whole new world, both geographically and mentally. My neighborhood walks are different now. Big, charming bungalows, every six or so in line painted vibrant yellows and blues. Any given afternoon, a motley crew of people are out jogging, walking their dogs, or on leisurely couples’ strolls. Music wafts from not-far loudspeakers, and the area bustles with cars and pedestrians and cyclists in a distinctly Midtown way.

Back at the house, I’m the new caretaker for five hens. Hannah is the oldest, the queen (she’s curious but keeps her distance); Tulip sports iridescent black feathers (a beaut who doesn’t mind a pet here and there); and Geli is the most finicky of the bunch (she jumped in my lap and pecked my side moments before I typed this). My first day meeting them, either Pancake or Biscuit — both a lovely peachy blonde — was broody and didn’t want to budge from her nesting space in the coop, where she was determined to wait for an (unfertilized) egg to hatch. Knowing nothing about handling chickens, I puzzled how I’d go about getting the egg from under her or — gasp! — picking her up to move her and help ease her out of this state. Nope, can’t do it, gotta call for help. A kind neighbor sent her daughter over — she picked her up, placed her outside of the coop, and retrieved two eggs. Easy-peasy. But, day two, the hen was back in her nest, still broody, unwilling to come out even for chicken treats, and I thought — by god — I’m gonna do this today. A cup of coffee, some cover story editing, a sandwich, a phone call, a dozen emails, a little googling, and two false starts later, I finally said to me, “Shara, this can’t be that hard. If a kid can do it, you can do it.” So out I went, hyping myself up (“It’s just a chicken; she can’t hurt you!”). A deep breath, some gentle maneuvering to get the right hold on her, and 1, 2, 3 … go!

Pancake or Biscuit — “I’ve never been able to tell [them] apart and saying their name won’t help,” their owner told me — wasn’t too happy with me, raising all kinds of bawk-gawk hell outside the coop. But I got her egg and successfully, and without injury, picked up a chicken. A lot of you are probably thinking, “What’s the big deal? I’ve picked up chickens so many times.” Or “I picked up a chicken once, and I wasn’t even scared!” If that’s you, great! For me, this was the conquering of a small fear I didn’t even know I had — mustering the confidence to do something completely out of my scope of skill (or comfort) for the first time.

Geli and Pancake … or Biscuit

Pancake/Biscuit has snapped out of it now, but I keep going back to the idea of this broody hen. How she was so set on hatching those eggs, ingrained in her nature to nurture them, steadfast, irritated at interruptions. Maybe before coming here I had been blindly incubating fruitless things I should have long let go. Set in my ways, rarely leaving the house, generally irritated and brooding. Perhaps I was meant to be plucked from my own comfy coop and moved — even if for a short time — to redirect my thoughts and refresh my perspective. Hey, I don’t have to sit on that egg anymore. There are many paths outside my comfort zone worth exploring and cultivating. For now, I’ll graze and feast on the new sights and sounds, different daily tasks in an alternate environment — a break from my own broody mood.

See ya around Midtown, folks.

Categories
Letter From The Editor Opinion

On Ja and Guns

When guns are involved, no one is invincible. (Photo: Tom Def | Unsplash)

You’ve all heard by now that Grizzlies star Ja Morant has been seen, once again, on a social media live stream flaunting a gun. Back in March, Ja, looking a bit intoxicated, flashed a small handgun on an Instagram Live from a nightclub in Denver, Colorado. He was suspended for eight games following that incident and entered a counseling program in Florida, issuing a statement saying he needed “to get help and work on learning better methods of dealing with stress and my overall well-being.” On May 13th, another video surfaced of Ja and friends having a big time in a car, with Ja swinging a gun to and fro in the passenger seat.

A few notes: The man is 23 years old. He’s from a small (small) town — he attended high school in Sumter, South Carolina, whose population was just over 43,000 in the 2020 census; for perspective, compare that to the just under 55,000 in Southaven, Mississippi, and 628,000 in Memphis. In 2019, at the age of 19, Ja signed a four-year contract with the Memphis Grizzlies worth $39.6 million. Last summer, he signed a five-year extension, a deal worth a guaranteed $193 million, with a potential $231 million if selected for All-NBA. I’m not an avid basketball fan and couldn’t tell you what All-NBA means without googling it. But this isn’t about basketball, Ja’s talent, or even the specifics of these and other reported events (an alleged confrontation with Indiana Pacers players in January, another with a teen at his home in March). This is about a young man, just past the age to even drink alcohol or buy cigarettes, who, like most young men his age, probably wants to have a good time. But unlike most young men his age, he has risen to fame quickly and has millions of dollars to play with, and that could arguably lead to a bad decision here and there, perhaps even a sense of invincibility. With enough money, you can get away with a lot (or think you can). But — especially when guns are involved — no one is invincible.

My issue with all of this has less to do with Ja Morant — who hasn’t broken a law that I’m aware of — having a gun. My issue is that he’s recklessly brandishing a gun.

To bring it closer to home, I’ll share this. Sixteen years ago this summer, I lost a close friend in a similar incident. It was 4th of July, and he and some peers were joyriding, intoxicated, and he was in the passenger seat waving a gun. I have no idea why he’d do that. Other than he was always a little wild, the life of the party, doing crazy stuff like eating live bugs or walking across fires to see people’s reactions. But one bump in the road, a slip of the finger (we’ll never know exactly) caused the gun to go off, and he shot himself in the head. I can tell you that his sister, one of my very best friends, did not want to see her brother in that condition in a local ER. Nor did she expect that night that she’d be by his bedside as he took his last breath. In the blink of an eye, a good time turned tragic — and this is what I’m reminded of when I see people handling guns without regard.

Ja Morant is a role model for countless youth. Waving guns around in public spaces or while jamming tunes in a car with your buddies is not “cool.” And yes, I know the probability of a gun going off on accident is low, but it is never zero. Add alcohol or inexperience to the mix, and it’s a recipe for disaster — especially for young folks who’ve never been properly trained on gun safety but sadly could likely get their hands on one with little effort. Guns are for hunting, for protection — not for showing off on a live stream to thousands of impressionable followers. Unfortunately, some will want to emulate this behavior. And they will.

According to Gun Violence Archive, as of May 21st, there have been 597 unintentional shootings in the U.S. so far this year. The most recent in Memphis happened on May 17th, in which a 5-year-old was accidentally shot and injured by a sibling.

This isn’t just about Ja. It’s about a culture in which people don’t respect the fact that a gun can end a life in a split second. Promoting reckless gun use has got to stop. So many lives depend on it.