U. S. Politics

A Tale Of Two Stairways

Past, Present, Faulkner

May 24, 2019 in El Turista,SOUTHERN JOURNAL,Southwest,U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

 

By LARRY CALLOWAY (C)

“My fellow citizens,” Abraham Lincoln said, addressing Congress in December 1863. “We cannot escape history.” The sentiment and, “The past never dies. It is not even past,”  a line from William Faulkner that has been elevated by quote pickers to the status of an aphorism about the South, hummed like a soundtrack in my mind as we (my daughter and I) discovered the state of Mississippi. Don’t forget slavery, the bluesy background kept repeating. Don’t forget the violence of the 1960’s. 

She was not even born then, but I did not have to tell her about Mississippi Burning: the KKK at night, the exonerated murders of Emmett Till, Medgar Evers, Chaney-Goodman-Schwerner. The endless anniversaries attract the media. They become news, affordable to produce from the archives. Not even the past.

We went to Natchez because I wanted to drive some of the Natchez Trace Parkway that goes 444 miles to Nashville and look for signs of the original wagon road. I like historic trails. Old spirits follow them, and you can find things. In arid northern New Mexico I have seen 150-year-old wagon tracks from the Old Santa Fe Trail and found a rusty spur.

Now, Natchez is a leafy little town on a bluff of the Mississippi river. Population 15,000, down from 22,000 in 1980 when there was a tire factory and a pulp mill. There are no big employers now, just tourist attractions and real estate bargains and a posh casino on a permanent steamboat. 

The racial divide in Natchez is African American 60 per cent, Anglo American 36 percent — the reverse of the statewide percentages. Natchez has had black mayors since 2004. Billboards were advertising a stern black candidate running for sheriff against the incumbent, also African American. The city still promotes 19 accessible antebellum mansions. Yes, they were built before the civil war by wealthy slave owners. Their architecture is mostly brick walls elaborate white porticos and classical white columns supporting long second-story galleries. The style is called Greek revival (I recalled the Athenians had slaves.)

Circling In Natchez

Inside one mansion, called Auburn, is a self-supporting double-helix stairway that makes two full turns. It stands by itself like a stretched coil spring. The hand rail is a continuous bend of dark wood. I was surprised because I thought the only such woodwork masterpiece is the “Miraculous Staircase” in Santa Fe’s Loretto Chapel. I took a picture and posted it for the enlightenment of friends in New Mexico, where I worked for a long time. 

So why is not the Natchez staircase famous too? Well, tourism depends upon stories, or histories. Tourists (like we journalists) go out and bring back stories — with pictures. The Loretto Chapel story is mysterious and sweet. The Auburn mansion story is not.

Loretto was consecrated in 1878, but there was an unsolved architectural problem, and the architect had died. The choir loft was left hanging 20 feet above the floor with no access. Choirs don’t usually climb ladders. There was no space in the narrow chapel for ordinary stairs. The nuns prayed and prayed. Along came a mysterious stranger. He built the double helix staircase using simple hand tools and wood-peg joinery. And then he vanished, leaving no name.

Auburn was built 70 years earlier by a politician who became state attorney general, but it soon passed to a doctor named Stephen Duncan who arrived from Pennsylvania in 1809 and got into investment and banking. By 1850 he owned numerous plantations and a thousand slaves. He was not alone among slaveholders on the Natchez bluff. A common estimate is there were more millionaires there before the civil war than in New York City.

 

Most of their plantations were across the river, in the Louisiana flats. Our host at a luxurious bed and breakfast mansion on the Natchez Trace Parkway made an interesting point at the formal breakfast table one morning. He said the popular image from the movies of plantation homes with a tree-lined lanes is misleading. The plantation residences were “farmhouses.” The owner-planters lived with their families in town — in showplaces with halls like ballroom floors where they entertained and the men did business and politics.

In other words, the wealthy planters kept their distance from their slaves and overseers. It occurred to me that this distancing is a factor in the extraordinary shame of American slavery.

I mean, slaves going back to even the Old Testament may have been treated differently. A scholar of colonial slavery in Louisiana, Gwendolyn Midlo Hall, writes that the French, who colonized New Orleans in 1718,

Our bed and breakfast

did not consider Africans as “uncivilized.” She says, “French New Orleans was a brutal, violent place. But it cannot be understood by projecting contemporary attitudes toward race backward in time. There is no evidence of racial exclusiveness and contempt that characterizes more recent times.”  

There it is: contempt. It explains the violent resistance to integration a century after the civil war and the legacy of white supremacy now. In the civil rights era the KKK was revived in Natchez. Two car bombings — one that critically injured the head of the local NAACP, one that killed a black worker the day after he was promoted to a traditionally white management position — spurred African Americans to take up arms. The governor called out the national guard. 

And so goes one simple explanation (there are others) why beautiful historic Natchez on the Mississippi is not flourishing. The shame of slavery with its legacy is not even the past.

This was one of the refutations of current dismissive attitudes from a white graduate student who guided our tour group at Whitney Plantation in Louisiana, the only antebellum plantation focused on the slaves. It is a private property bought and restored by a Louisiana lawyer-developer using $8 million of his own money and open to the public since 2014. The guide said those who want to ignore slavery because all that stuff was long ago and far away are blind the the legacy of the “slave society” that involved everybody including righteous preachers, northern politicians and eastern bankers.

She said the argument that some slaves were well treated is unsupported. She said the revolt by enslaved Africans against the French colonists that resulted in the establishment of Haiti as free nation in 1791 is downplayed because the Haitian revolution so disturbed the American planters that they turned to discipline by terror.  She said the story that house servants enjoyed their superior positions fails to acknowledge that they were isolated from their African community and that a slave in the house was in constant contact with the masters and therefor subject to harassment and their intermittent moods. 

The centerpiece of Whitney is a lane of granite placards with quotes and engraved scenes and the hundreds of names of slaves who had lived there. Single common names. Slaves had no family names. They not only had been ripped from their African families, wholesale, but their American families were ripped apart, retail. On the granite are quotes evoked in the 1930’s by the Federal Writers Project from old people born into slavery: 

“Every body worked, young and ole; if you could only carry two or three sugar cane, yo’ worked. No school, no church. An’ Saturday night dey always have a dance, but yo’ worked. Yo’ has to put yo’ candle out early and shut yo’self up, den get up while it’s still dark an’ start to work.”

“Dey didn’t larn us nothin’ an didn’t ‘low us to larn nothin.’ Iffen dey ketch us larnin’ to read an’ write, dey cut us han’ off.”

“Tisn’t he who has stood and looked on that can tell you what slavery is — ’tis he who has endured.”

The restoration includes a clapboard church, among the windowless and doorless mass slave cabins, built in 1870 in the Protestant movement to Christianize freed African Americans, who by then were free laborers living on sustenance wages with nowhere else to go. The plantation church is populated by life size models of curious sad wary children. 

There are no quotes from the elite in the mansions, but I am sure they would have talked something like the wife of a Boston banker visiting American-supported Cuban plantations quoted in the history of Cuban slavery, No God But Gain:

“The conversation in most companies consists of the price of slaves. ‘Such a day, a fine cargo of negroes arrived from the coast of Guinea.  Have been to see them, they are fine looking felons. What will they sell for?’” 

 After hurricane Katrina, I read, there was opposition to repairing damaged antebellum mansions, and some commenters on travel web sites criticize the exclusive mansion tours. Still, at the Auburn mansion, amiable women of the Natchez Garden Club greet you and proudly show you around, speaking of interior decoration, historic furnishings and fashionable quadrilles. They point out that the adjacent 280-acre Duncan park was donated to the city by the Duncan heirs. And they display a letter written in 1876 about the estate’s horses in a fine script by the black butler to the absent owner.

The salutation is “Dear Master Steve,” and the ending is, “I feel grateful for the confidence reposed in my integrity and I shall endeavor to deserve it.” Signed, “I am your obedient / and a name.

At Rosalie mansion, named for the historic Fort Rosalie nearby, members of the DAR show priceless furnishings and describe the architect’s design for cooling by natural air circulation. They tell a nicer than usual story about this mansion’s builder, Peter Little, who arrived from Pennsylvania (another midwesterner) at age 18 in 1798, seeking work as a laborer. He bought land and a couple of slaves, immediately selling one at a loss and freeing the other. Eventually he bought a derelict river boat and began his fortune by adapting its steam engine to run a circular saw, producing lumber from the ancient cypress trees in the Louisiana bayous. (Dark side: those redwood-like trees were home to birds that ate billions of mosquitos that were vectors for yellow fever.) 

Rosalie fence is all cypress

He became friends in his daily crossings of the river with the ferryman, who, along with his wife, was infected in the yellow fever epidemic of 1805. Before they died they pleaded with Little to take care of their 13-year-old daughter, Eliza. He did — marrying her three years later, sending her to school in Baltimore, outfitting her with the best clothes from New Orleans when she returned as a refined adult, and introducing her to society. He built the Rosalie mansion for her in 1820-23. Little did not become a slave-owning planter until his lumber business made him rich. He and Eliza lived at Rosalie childless but happily until their deaths shortly before the Civil War, the story goes. 

Peter Little is like Thomas Sutpen in Faulkner’s Absalom, Absalom! Except Sutpen is evil and there is no happily-everafter ending. I decided to understand both as fictions telling their own truths.

In an irony of the civil war,  for a while in 1863 an upstairs Rosalie bedroom with a window looking down on a reach of the river was occupied by Union Gen. Ulysses S. Grant. The mayor of Natchez had surrendered rather than suffer the fate of Vicksburg, ruined by the cannons of Grant’s new iron-clad river boats and besieged for nearly two months. 

Still, most wealthy Natchez survivors of the war lost their plantations and some, their mansions. Dr. Duncan, top nabob with the most slaves to his name but never a supporter of the Confederacy, kept Auburn but moved to New York City, where he continued banking and investing. For a while he worked on an unsuccessful project to send freedmen to Canada. The enlisted and often drafted Confederate soldiers, most not even slave owners, suffered the most. Although they were released with their possessions, even their horses, under Gen. Robert E. Lee’s surrender agreement with Grant at Appomattox, they went home to the poverty of the Reconstruction era as the nation industrialized but the South was left behind. There’s one of them, a common soldier, atop an 1890 memorial to the local Confederate dead in Veteran’s Park near the cathedral in downtown Natchez. His rifle and his face hang down sadly. I wondered who among those who now revile Confederate monuments would want to remove him?

Before leaving town, we went to a Natchez park to see the “mounds,” built by the Natchez natives, who were dominant in the lower Mississippi valley from about 700 to 1500. In the museum we saw their pottery with incised complex designs. A video said they farmed, planting corn, beans and squash and their kinship organization was matrilineal — the same as the historic pueblos and their Anasazi ancestors in the dry Southwest. I wondered if there was prehistoric contact between these civilizations.

My daughter Maia at the mounds

The two original populations of Natchez and Santa Fe entered history with something else in common: both were colonized by European Catholics, the Natchez by the French, the Pueblo people by the Spanish. And both rebelled violently after initial accommodation of the invaders. Under the American successors, even now include conservatives in both Natchez and Santa Fe will talk with regret about an “invasion” by the Yankee United States. In Santa Fe it was Stephen Kearney in 1846. In Natchez it was Grant in 1863. African Americans are not part of this complaint, of course. But I wondered if they someday may unite politically, not with the conservative New Mexico hispanics, but with American Latinos, or Chicanos, in general.

One night we found the only super market in Natchez at closing time. Out on the huge strip-mall parking lot several hundred young people were partying. Mariachi music blared from the brightely lighted Mexican restaurant that was the focal point of the crowd. The supermarket manager stood just inside his doors watching the crowd. He warned us he would close in ten minutes. I asked him what was going on out there. 

“Cinco de Mayo,” he said. 

What? A celebration of Mexican independence in a town that is about 1 per cent Latino?

Oh, I saw:  these partiers were not speaking Spanish. Nor were they traditional white Southern parking lot partiers.

When we got back with some groceries, there was another car parked close to ours, leaving only about two feet on the passenger side. Some young men were looking out open windows and talking to a pretty girl.

She, the black girl, cleared the way for us and said to me, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Lorenzo,” I said sarcastically. She laughed, and I said, “What’s yours?”

She told me. She raised her right hand.

High five! Her hand was warm.

 


On Natural Education

Review of “Educated” by Tara Westover

April 18, 2018 in The Rockies,U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

By LARRY JOSEPH CALLOWAY (c)

“Educated” is an ironic title for a memoir by a young woman, Tara Westover, who showed up at Brigham Young University from rural Idaho at age 17 without any education at all, not even home schooling. All she knew was the mountain where she lived and the personalities of her extended family and the beauty of the seasons and animals and junk cars and how to ride and tame horses and how to cook and identify herbs and their healing properties, and how to sing before an audience and how to trust her own instincts. The meaning of “educated,” then,  must lie in her flyleaf quote from John Dewey that “education is a reconstruction of experience.” 

At 27 Tara Westover received a PhD in history from Cambridge University in England. Her story, published in March, is sure to provoke public schoolers and believers in Jeffersonian democracy. They will have explanations and investigations. All I have is the suggestion that you read this book.

If it were simply about “another young person who left home for an education. . . and isn’t going back,” as the New York Times review concluded, then her memoir would not be a best seller, despite her skillful story telling. The success is in the setting, the surrounding, which is a mystery to most Americans. Most of the book takes place in what is being called The American Redoubt, by fringe writers and their followers. This is the mountainous spread of the interior northwest (Idaho, Wyoming, Montana, and parts of eastern Oregon and Washington).

The survivalist culture of the Redoubt (a fortified refuge) involves severing dependance on government, its schools, its police powers its health care requirements, its systems of water, power, and transportation, and its distribution of goods. The culture involves preparing for the political-economical system’s collapse by stockpiling guns, food and fuel and other necessities. Culture is the business of anthropology and this memoir, along with its literary virtues, is anthropological.

Her father is a tyrant, a doomsday prepper who has dozens of guns and a thousand gallons of fuel wrapped and buried. He draws his absolute family authority from random biblical passages. He supports the family with his junkyard salvaging and barn building, in which the seven children as they grow are expected to help. He ignores safety as a matter of crazy religious faith — the angels of the Lord will protect them — and Tara is slashed, impaled and twice nearly crushed to death by his frenzied junkyard sorting. “Dad lived in fear of time. He felt it stalking him. I could see it in the worried glances he gave the sun as it moved across the sky, in the anxious way he appraised every length of pipe or cut of steel,” she writes. (more…)


HILLBILLY SYNCHRONICITY

My Fellow Americans. . .

November 9, 2016 in SOUTHERN JOURNAL,U. S. Politics | Comments (2)

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By Larry Joseph Calloway ©

 The networks were so unprepared for Donald Trump’s win that my election night switching caught only one panelist who could speak with authority for the key voters euphemistically called “white – no college degree.”  He was J. D. Vance, the black-haired concise-speaking author of “Hillbilly Elegy,” an immediately personal story of his poor and violent family from Appalachian Kentucky.

I was reading it in October along with another pre-election bestseller, the radical history “White Trash” by Nancy Isenberg. These books are cultural not political, but they explain something about the “populist uprising,” as Vance termed it in an interview while adding that Trump understood the anger behind it but offered no solutions.

Apart from politics, my research represented an obsession with my father’s hardwood Appalachian roots. He was always wanting something far away. His sisters talked of North Carolina when we visited their farms near Lyons, CO. They were pretty and spoke in sweet accents. My father drank. He died. I was about to set the periodic ancestry project aside when, suddenly, up popped an email from a total stranger in Longmont, Colorado. I’ll get to the deep synchronicity* of it in a few minutes.

Writer-lawyer Vance’s family moved from Jackson, KT, to Middleton, in southern Ohio, so his grandfather could work in the Armco steel mill. It rusts away now under a Japanese name. His grandfather died as an out-of-work alcoholic. His mother, pregnant at high school graduation with his older brother, was more in love with drugs than any of her half dozen husbands.

His elegy is for his grandmother, who raised him. She was a heroic exemplar of the lost mountain culture of pride and toughness. She disciplined him relentlessly to pursue self-improvement through education and even, among other folksy wisdoms, learning golf because “that’s where rich people do business.” (Trump is an international developer of golf courses.)

Mamaw, as he called her, represents the culture lost when the families of several generations were uprooted by economics and dropped dead by economics. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” as my father used to say. I had his brother-in-law minister, a chaplain of the Arizona National Guard, read it at his graveside ceremony. Vance does not mention churchgoing in Middleton, but I suppose religion was a part of the lost culture because in every North Carolina hollow where I searched for Calloways there was a church — usually Baptist — often looking forsaken. Vance observes out of nowhere, “I wasn’t surprised that Mormon Utah — with its strong church, integrated communities, and intact families — wiped the floor with Rust Belt Ohio.”

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What Did You Expect? Privacy?

Mechanic In A Digital Age

June 17, 2013 in U. S. Politics | Comments (1)

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Finally, some media attention to the thin legal basis for the NSA surveillance of telephone and e-mail communications. Stories today about the decision of  U.S. District Court Judge Richard Leon that the program is unconstitutional report his dismissive comments on Smith v. Maryland. The 34-year-old Supreme Court opinion says you don’t have an “expectation of privacy” when you dial a telephone. This opinion was the basis of the government’s defense in the case before Leon. He wrote that “the government’s surveillance capabilities, citizens’ phone habits, and the relationship between the NSA and telecom companies” today are so unlike 34 years ago that the Smith decision does not apply. Here is what I reported in June:

 

By LARRY CALLOWAY

Be reasonable. The government can look at your phone and email logs. You should know that by now.  All reports say this,although there may be limits.  According to the government, there is protection of privacy, but that depends upon secret decisions by secret courts. So you don’t know. You have no “reasonable expectation of privacy,” as the Supreme Court likes to put it.

The issue was framed in a 1967 opinion by the court involving the Fourth Amendment, which guarantees “the right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures.” Without getting a warrant,  the FBI placed a listening device on a phone booth to catch a man who was phoning unlawful bets from one state to another. His lawyers argued it was a violation of his privacy. The federal prosecutors argued the phone booth was public, not a private place.

Justice Potter Stewart wrote the 7-1 majority opinion (Katz v U.S.) siding with the the bookie. “One who occupies [a telephone booth], shuts the door behind him, and pays the toll that permits him to place a call is surely entitled to assume that the words he utters into the mouthpiece will not be broadcast to the world.” The opinion extended Fourth Amendment protection to any situation where a person has an expectation of privacy. And it expressed Stewart’s dictum: “Property does not have rights. People have rights.”

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Minutes Of A Crestone Meeting

The Case For Economic Sustainability

November 10, 2011 in Rio Grande West,U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

Baca Grande Membership Vote Update.  See Baca Blog. . . 

 

By Larry Joseph Calloway

The anti-government passion that animates politics nationally was echoing off the walls at Jillian’s studio, where I have experienced yoga classes, a Sufi zirka, a feng schui talk, a sales pitch for ionized water, and such. Crestone is not where Republicans bother to campaign. It voted overwhelmingly for President Obama in both the primary and general elections three years ago.

But here before about 50 residents on folding chairs the speakers, backed by PowerPoint slides on a big screen, were saying we cannot depend upon government – federal, state, county – for relief in the coming upheaval. The main speaker was Vickie Helm, known to most of the gathering, whose only apparent motive in organizing the discussion was to inspire the community to work toward what she called “economic sustainability.”

That title does not convey the spirit of the gathering, just as speaker probably is not the best word for Helm, who was more like an evangelist than economist. She ran back and forth placing imaginary buckets under imaginary sudden leaks in the imaginary roof until, panting and exhausted, she made her point: namely, we’re running around containing leaks without realizing the roof is about to cave in.

OK, call it the sky. Call her Henny Penny. It don’t matter to her, I thought. “In a short period of time we’re going to be going through the same thing that Greece is going through,” she predicted. In other words, our national sovereign credit card is maxed out. “The inconvenient economic truth is this: the United States is broke.” There will be inflation and devaluing of the currency, but no more funding (federal, state, local).

She said somewhere in Kansas a school board proposed charging parents $40 a week to have their kids bussed to school. (I guess that board would never consider a small general tax increase for the general welfare. Oh, no! Forget the communal spirit that used to prevail in rural America if it costs money. Similar problem in Crestone, I thought:  Here an emergency services district to replace the endangered private fire department was created by a thin margin of voters this month, but a peculiar switch of only about 20 of the voters defeated the tax to support it.)

What if everything collapsed by natural disaster or by bankruptcy of the various corporate entities that sell services here but don’t care about the community? Who ya gonna call?

How to weather the coming storm? Up flashed some PowerPoint points:  Support community businesses. Community businesses support each other. How many folks in the audience had businesses? A dozen raised their hands, and she had them stand up. How many would like to learn how to make money on the internet? Two dozen hands went up. “If I get nothing else across to anybody, it is this: The most important thing is where you spend your dollars.”

And, Helm proclaimed the importance of supporting the non-commercial collection of community efforts she called “infrastructure.” Namely, that unfunded Crestone Emergency Services District, Neighbors Helping Neighbors, the various youth programs (thank you, Lisa Bodie and others), the food bank, the charter school (building under construction), the newly consolidated library district. These things, to me, are signs of a young and enthused community with a spirit of American volunteerism.

To the infrastructure she added two information-age essentials that bind the community to itself and to the world: the Crestone Eagle, a successful monthly newspaper in a time when mass circulation dailies are falling like trees (and saving some) and, the fledgling effort to bring high speed internet to this digitally disadvantaged rural area.

Internet. Now here was a cause worth urgent consideration. Cheered on by some in the audience, Mayor Ralph Abrams of Crestone took the floor. He has been working for a year to create a community internet company, and he said it’s going to happen – to begin to fire up in the next few weeks. The company, which he will head, is called Crestone Telecom. It will bring in high-speed internet service with state of the art equipment.

This was the most hopeful project to come up at the meeting (not to dismiss the many undeveloped suggestions for green technology) because it is concrete and ready to go. Problem: the effort is being undermined by a distant corporation. In a word (or maybe two), FairPoint. The sudden unannounced competitiveness on the part of a phone company with more apparent interest in the bankruptcy code than digital engineering is a good preface for the concept economic sustainability. This is probably going to be a test of standard corporate capitalism versus Abrams’ community capitalism.

Further, the year-long drill that Abrams and company were put through by the USDA in applying for a grant under a program that was cancelled at the last minute (budget problems?) is a good case history in support of the argument that we can no longer depend upon government.

Discouraging, this distrust of corporate America and American government (might as well add the corporate media). I stood to say that for reasons of practical politics including the obvious intent of some Republicans to purge all political opposition by driving the economy into the ground, I could not endorse the increasing cynical distance from government. I grew up as a student of the New Deal, which saved America from some of the terrible mistakes made elsewhere (Germany, Italy, even Russia where the mistake began) in reaction to Great Depression I. But that was long ago in a different world.

Anything on the bright side?  Jeff WishMer, a bright young man who works for Chokurei Farm Store, married with a home in the Baca, received a warm applause when he stood to include home-grown food in the infrastructure against the Collapse. He is running for the POA board against an incumbent, Robert Garnett, who opposes the new EMS district and almost anything else that might cost money. WishMer is being criticized by some of these oldtimers because he has said he hates the POA, at least the way it is.

Distrust of government is in the American grain. I became atuned to it not long ago when I went searching in rural North Carolina for family roots. My father’s people were subsistent farmers (and, some of them, moonshiners). These Scot-Irish folks were responsible for the Whiskey Rebellion and many other insurgencies in our history. They’re still around. Take Sen. Jim Webb, D-Va., the writer-soldier who won an astonishing victory in 2006, defeating an incumbent Republican to give Democrats control of the U.S. Senate. My grandparents on my father’s side were born just 70 miles over the mountains from his grandparents.

Webb has proposed that this Scot-Irish minority, southern in origin but without a history of slavery, has a lot in common with the African-American minority, which goes back almost as many generations. Together they could form a populist force that would revive the Democratic party and its historic principles, particularly in the Republican South (which includes Texas).

Similarly, it occurred to me that the communal sentiments expressed at the meeting in the yoga studio might be wedded with the anti-government sentiments of those  angry folks who seem to support the Tea Party. They might want a divorce, I supposed, once they realize they are being used by corporately funded professional politicians to defeat the many and strengthen government in the interest of the few. Perhaps  Crestone is not that far from Kansas, Dorothy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


If It’s Halloween, This Must Be Moffat

Grass Roots Politics, Grama Grass Style

November 1, 2010 in U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

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(UPDATE: U.S. Rep. John Salazar, D, representing Colorado’s 3rd Congressional district, was defeated for reelection by Republican Scott Tipton of Cortez by 4 percentage points. Salazar,  a popular incumbent seeking a fourth term, had defeated Tipton by more than 10 points in 2006.  The Oct. 13 FEC report showed Salazar received 1.8 million to Tipton’s $923,000. This is an account of a campaign stop in Salazar’s final tour of the San Luis Valley, which he carried by more than 60 per cent, but that plus a weaker showing in Pueblo and Durango was not enough to counter Tipton’s 60 per cent victory in Grand Junction, Delta, Montrose and Cortez. )

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Moffat, Colorado, a dot in a high 5,000-square-mile dry lake bed called the San Luis Valley. Pure land. Old West. Snow-dusted mountain ranges, San Juans west, Sangre de Cristos east. Collegiate peaks north, infinity south. This town is so small that nobody needs an address for the political reception (Democrat). Willow Springs Bed and Breakfast is the biggest house in town.

Halloween, but nobody is scary. (more…)


Hello? Is This Chile?

Forgetting Friedmanism

October 16, 2010 in U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

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Michael Moore on the Chilean rescue: “Next time we have a hole in the Gulf, we should call Chile.”

Which was to say, in managing recent disasters Chile did it right and America did not. In the Atacama desert the government  took charge of the rescue, realizing early on that the mining company (although it is state-owned) could not handle it. In the Gulf of Mexico the government stood aside while BP fumbled and prevaricated.

The Chilean strategy involved backup plans and acceptance of expert advice. The BP approach was to try and try again, beginning with the cheapest possible solution. The result was serial failure and a public relations disaster.

CNN anchors kept calling the rescue “historic.” It was, but not in their 24-hour view of history. Not so long ago, in the longer view, if you called Chile you would get  Augusto Pinochet.

The  New York Times interviewed people in the Atacama who live with the memory that 37 years ago a Pinochet death squad flew in by helicopters and murdered 16 suspected communists, including miners, at the same place. The “caravan of death” methodically moved on to other communities of leftists. It’s commander, now an ailing octogenarian as was Pinochet, has been identified but never prosecuted.

The first murders were  in the weeks following the September 1973 military coup that opened with the bombing of the presidential palace in Santiago and the death of the elected president, Salvador Allende, beloved by the labor leaders in the exploitive copper industry. (more…)


La Politica NM: Republicans Celebrate In The Shadow Of Arizona

What? No saguaros in New Mexico?

June 2, 2010 in U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

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Primary election message from New Mexico Republicans to the political planet: Hey, we’re not Arizona! Or so it would seem to people whose knowledge of both states comes from the national media. (more…)

Why “American Violet” Is Art, Not Polemics

My impressions of the 35th Telluride Film Festival

September 2, 2008 in T-ride Film Fest,U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

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The 35th Telluride Film Festival showed two fight-the-system movies originating with legal cases. The message for aspiring heroes: Don’t settle your lawsuit. Don’t plead guilty to criminal charges against you. Go to trial. The first message in the first film came easily. In the second, the message was artfully disturbing.

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Barack Obama And The Return Of The Hooded Figure Factor

A new generation of Americans

January 31, 2008 in U. S. Politics | Comments (0)

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The Eminem video of “Mosh,” which made it’s unscheduled early appearance on the internet just before the election, is a call for born-once Americans of all colors to unify, to fight, to march, and also, incongruously, to vote against George W. Bush. It took me way back to the early days of Vietnam and the impact of music like Bob Dylan’s “With God On Our Side.” It is portentous. (more…)