Posts
Jim Wallis of Sojourners, is someone I respect. I don't necessarily hold his views on theology, even though they are left of center and at least somewhat less strident than the current "Left Behind" theology, currently in vogue and in power.
For the last 20 years, thanks to Falwell and Co., who like Reagan, was awarded a free pass in death, by the sycophantic MSM, religion, particularly when it pertains to politics, has been heavy on hellfire, damnation and judgement, rather than focusing on the social justice and elements of the redemption story that at one time was much more common in our country.
For most Americans, who've allowed the debate on religion to be highjacked by fascists like James Dobson, the aforementioned Falwell, Pat Robertson and columnists like Cal Thomas, the civic religion of the far right has come to define presidential politics. Forced to pass a religious litmus test on issues like abortion, prayer in school and sexual orientation, candidates have been cowed by Dobson and his Family Research Council and others like Chuck Colson whose orientations leans heavily towards theocracy and ridicules a more pluralistic view of faith. During the Bush reign, these religious fascists have set the tone and agenda on all issues pertaining to spirituality. Chris Hedges, in his book, American Fascists: The Christian Right and the War on America, draws striking parallels between 20th-century totalitarian movements and the highly organized, well-funded "dominionist movement," an influential theocratic sect within the country's huge evangelical population.
The dominionists, with a theology firmly rooted in a radical Calvinism, have wrapped their apocalyptic, vehemently militant, sexist and homophobic vision in patriotic and religious rhetoric. These far right groups seek absolute power in a Christian state. Hedges's book is a powerful and eye-opening read, even for those who purport to having an understanding of American fundamentalism.
I had received Wallis' email from Sojourners, a religious group that I still receive information from, primarily via their email list. Receiving the email, promoting the "Faith and Politics" feature on CNN, I thought I'd tune in. Mentioning that the candidates would be discussing their views on poverty, I decided, despite my tightly packed schedule, to at least have the TV on, as I worked, prepping for my upcoming book release.
Sadly, CNN and in particular, Paula Zahn, managed to miss the mark regarding the amalgamation of religion and politics, as members of the national press do, 99 percent of the time. Heavy on the hype and failing to provide any viable context for a serious issue that could have been handled much better, if CNN had a host that actually had a clue regarding spriituality. Her questioning, or better, haranguing of the candidates regarding how they handled tragedy in their lives, abortion, whether they pray and other issues that define their faith, was absolutely pathetic and exposed Zahn for the shallow talking head that she really is.
While I applaud Mr. Wallis for trying to open up a dialogue to broader theological issues, which are much more representative of Christianity and the various strains of theology that aren't as narrow and monolithic as fundamentalists would like to have you believe, his ambition got the best of him, as he should have recognized that someone like Zahn and a network, like CNN, wasn't the right vehicle for this. Someone like Bill Moyers, or another, more nuanced, sophisticated journalist might have made it more meaningful. Once again, however, a mainstream news outlet showed why this community no longer has any journalistic cred remaining.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Writing in retreat
Recently, I received an online survey, from a writers/publishers consortium that I pay membership dues to belong to. More often, than not, when I receive my membership dues notice, which is about as often as they seem to contact me, other than to infrequently solicit my input, or remind me of the many wonderful benefits they are providing me for my yearly dues, I ponder exactly what those benefits I are that I’m receiving.
Now I’m not so self-centered and self-absorbed as to dismiss that some probably benefit from my dues and derive benefits that I don’t receive, so maybe this is the altruism that’s required of me to help other authors, or publishers. But the cost/benefit ratios isn’t what I came to write.
Apparently, there is a pot of money available and this particular organization is looking at the feasibility of creating a retreat center for writers in Maine. There already exists opportunities in New England for writers to “get away” from the demands of life and focus exclusively on the writing process. In Maine, there is the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts, on Deer Isle. Vermont is where you’ll find the Vermont Studio Center and there are various other opportunities for writers desiring a cloistered environment to work their craft. The University of Southern Maine runs an annual conference, The Stonecoast Writer’s Conference, held in Freeport, each summer.
Apparently, there is an audience for these types of events, centered on experts imparting their word skills and transmitting their craftsmanship to participants who come to sit reverently at their feet. I’m sure many attendees leave these retreats, better able to shape their thoughts and ideas and some probably attribute one of these experiences at a writer’s event as being instrumental in pushing them to their next plateau as a writer.
I currently lack the time, as well as the means, to take a week out of my life; even a long weekend is out of the question for me, to sit around and listen to others talk about how they do what they do and write what they write, or even, where their inspiration comes from. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not pooh-poohing those that find this helpful and at one time, I personally thought this might be the way to jumpstart my own writing, when I wasn’t sure what being a writer was.
Like many who fancied seeing themselves as a writer, I had a romantic notion of wearing that mantle. It seemed to me at the time that, at least in certain circles, being a writer carried with it a mystique and even a bit of reverence. For a period of time, I scoured the events sections of the daily newspaper and the best source of goings on around town—the free weeklies—in search of upcoming book readings and author’s events. I had the good fortune of meeting some writers, many local and heard them offer some helpful hints, but more often than not, they’d offer things that I already knew—if you want to be a writer, you ultimately need to write. Now there’s a profound statement, don’t you think?
Of late, I find myself thinking about writing and ways to improve my own craft. I’ve also been giving consideration to where I’m at on the writing continuum. While I now proudly wear the badge that says, “writer,” I’m also keenly aware what it means. My understanding of the entire culture of writing has shifted, also. Gone is my neophyte’s notion that some successful writer might be able to transfer their skills, grace with words and even success, by the process of osmosis. As Stephen King and others have written, in books aimed at getting people off the sidelines and into the realm of words and sentence construction—being a writer involves spending time writing—nothing short of this will ever yield success, no matter how minimal and fleeting that success might be.
As I’ve continued to write and publish, I find my definition of success has also undergone metamorphosis. Most, if not all writers, remember seeing their first article, poem, or essay in print, no matter how obscure the publication. Mine happened to be on the pages of a publication that has long since been defunct.
Many articles, op eds, essays and even one book later (not to mention countless blog entries), I marvel at how far I’ve come and how much I enjoy the process of writing. The experience; the ideas that swirl around in my head, demanding attention until it becomes necessary to pull over to the side of the road and scribble them hurriedly, on a notebook, scrap of paper and even receipt, for fear that they’ll depart, lost forever. Or, foregoing spending time with people that you love because, if you don’t get started on that essay rattling around in your brain, you feel like you just might jump out of your skin.
While I’ve come to fully embrace the life of a writer, the shape that the writer’s life has taken for me is remarkably different than the romantic notions I once carried around in my back pocket. Interestingly, while my life is cluttered and I have to carry a full-time job that enables me to keep my membership in the writer’s club current, I’ve come to accept my place—a writer who, rather than needing to retreat from the world, in order to write, finds a way, in the midst of bills, the cacophony and sounds of daily living and the busyness that for many is their daily bread,. keeps on writing, cranking out his thoughts, for others, but mostly for himself.
There are many other writers that forego the bucolic, rural setting, instead, choosing the environment of urban chaos, even war zones, to infuse their own writing with life and vitality. I’m currently reading a book by one writer, whose very own writing experience has been filled with blood and death, regularly seeing the subjects of his stories, snatched away. One can only do this for a time, before they must, if only for a respite, return to a saner reality, although it’s always conjecture, whether any existence in our post-modern world is ever safe to classify as sane.
There will always be writing retreats, charging people money, to listen to writers talk about their own success. People will gather, as the experts talk about how they wrote their one great book, or use their summers to supplement their teaching assignments in one of the many MFA programs that keep sprouting, like weeds between the cracks of some city sidewalk.
Life has a way of helping you sort out the things that are important. It has been said that necessity is the mother of invention. When you procrastinate and put off doing what you should have been doing much sooner, sometimes it becomes necessary to utilize your time more wisely, keep your head down and keep plowing forward, otherwise, you’ll never accomplish what you know you must, which for me, is to keep on writing.
I may never publish that one great book, or see my byline in a publication that others deem “big league,” but that’s no longer my goal. Granted, I’m not so disingenuous to say that I wouldn’t be happier than a pig in shit to see my name posted on some national best sellers list, or bylined in Rolling Stone, The Nation, or on the op ed page of the New York Times. It’s just that my focus is now on writing down what I feel I must communicate, to myself first and then, to others that might happen to stumble upon my writing.
Now I’m not so self-centered and self-absorbed as to dismiss that some probably benefit from my dues and derive benefits that I don’t receive, so maybe this is the altruism that’s required of me to help other authors, or publishers. But the cost/benefit ratios isn’t what I came to write.
Apparently, there is a pot of money available and this particular organization is looking at the feasibility of creating a retreat center for writers in Maine. There already exists opportunities in New England for writers to “get away” from the demands of life and focus exclusively on the writing process. In Maine, there is the Haystack Mountain School of Crafts, on Deer Isle. Vermont is where you’ll find the Vermont Studio Center and there are various other opportunities for writers desiring a cloistered environment to work their craft. The University of Southern Maine runs an annual conference, The Stonecoast Writer’s Conference, held in Freeport, each summer.
Apparently, there is an audience for these types of events, centered on experts imparting their word skills and transmitting their craftsmanship to participants who come to sit reverently at their feet. I’m sure many attendees leave these retreats, better able to shape their thoughts and ideas and some probably attribute one of these experiences at a writer’s event as being instrumental in pushing them to their next plateau as a writer.
I currently lack the time, as well as the means, to take a week out of my life; even a long weekend is out of the question for me, to sit around and listen to others talk about how they do what they do and write what they write, or even, where their inspiration comes from. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not pooh-poohing those that find this helpful and at one time, I personally thought this might be the way to jumpstart my own writing, when I wasn’t sure what being a writer was.
Like many who fancied seeing themselves as a writer, I had a romantic notion of wearing that mantle. It seemed to me at the time that, at least in certain circles, being a writer carried with it a mystique and even a bit of reverence. For a period of time, I scoured the events sections of the daily newspaper and the best source of goings on around town—the free weeklies—in search of upcoming book readings and author’s events. I had the good fortune of meeting some writers, many local and heard them offer some helpful hints, but more often than not, they’d offer things that I already knew—if you want to be a writer, you ultimately need to write. Now there’s a profound statement, don’t you think?
Of late, I find myself thinking about writing and ways to improve my own craft. I’ve also been giving consideration to where I’m at on the writing continuum. While I now proudly wear the badge that says, “writer,” I’m also keenly aware what it means. My understanding of the entire culture of writing has shifted, also. Gone is my neophyte’s notion that some successful writer might be able to transfer their skills, grace with words and even success, by the process of osmosis. As Stephen King and others have written, in books aimed at getting people off the sidelines and into the realm of words and sentence construction—being a writer involves spending time writing—nothing short of this will ever yield success, no matter how minimal and fleeting that success might be.
As I’ve continued to write and publish, I find my definition of success has also undergone metamorphosis. Most, if not all writers, remember seeing their first article, poem, or essay in print, no matter how obscure the publication. Mine happened to be on the pages of a publication that has long since been defunct.
Many articles, op eds, essays and even one book later (not to mention countless blog entries), I marvel at how far I’ve come and how much I enjoy the process of writing. The experience; the ideas that swirl around in my head, demanding attention until it becomes necessary to pull over to the side of the road and scribble them hurriedly, on a notebook, scrap of paper and even receipt, for fear that they’ll depart, lost forever. Or, foregoing spending time with people that you love because, if you don’t get started on that essay rattling around in your brain, you feel like you just might jump out of your skin.
While I’ve come to fully embrace the life of a writer, the shape that the writer’s life has taken for me is remarkably different than the romantic notions I once carried around in my back pocket. Interestingly, while my life is cluttered and I have to carry a full-time job that enables me to keep my membership in the writer’s club current, I’ve come to accept my place—a writer who, rather than needing to retreat from the world, in order to write, finds a way, in the midst of bills, the cacophony and sounds of daily living and the busyness that for many is their daily bread,. keeps on writing, cranking out his thoughts, for others, but mostly for himself.
There are many other writers that forego the bucolic, rural setting, instead, choosing the environment of urban chaos, even war zones, to infuse their own writing with life and vitality. I’m currently reading a book by one writer, whose very own writing experience has been filled with blood and death, regularly seeing the subjects of his stories, snatched away. One can only do this for a time, before they must, if only for a respite, return to a saner reality, although it’s always conjecture, whether any existence in our post-modern world is ever safe to classify as sane.
There will always be writing retreats, charging people money, to listen to writers talk about their own success. People will gather, as the experts talk about how they wrote their one great book, or use their summers to supplement their teaching assignments in one of the many MFA programs that keep sprouting, like weeds between the cracks of some city sidewalk.
Life has a way of helping you sort out the things that are important. It has been said that necessity is the mother of invention. When you procrastinate and put off doing what you should have been doing much sooner, sometimes it becomes necessary to utilize your time more wisely, keep your head down and keep plowing forward, otherwise, you’ll never accomplish what you know you must, which for me, is to keep on writing.
I may never publish that one great book, or see my byline in a publication that others deem “big league,” but that’s no longer my goal. Granted, I’m not so disingenuous to say that I wouldn’t be happier than a pig in shit to see my name posted on some national best sellers list, or bylined in Rolling Stone, The Nation, or on the op ed page of the New York Times. It’s just that my focus is now on writing down what I feel I must communicate, to myself first and then, to others that might happen to stumble upon my writing.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Will walk for coffee
I love my job! Actually, I’m talking about my day job, as I’m also doing the dual candle end thing most evenings with the writing and publishing.
The day job provides enough variety, diversity and challenges and I’m never bored. Many days, I get to travel to exotic Maine destinations like Augusta, Waterville, Skowhegan and Rumford. Other days, I am forced to spend my day tucked away in my cubicle, answering emails, returning calls and following up with my business partners. On those particulars day, I tend to feel a bit logy around 2 o’clock. Maybe it’s my habit of eating an early PM lunch and being sedentary most of the day. I'm sure my early rise at 4:30 am also has something to do with it. I wouldn’t trade my early hours, however, as I’m a subscriber to Ben Franklin’s axiom, at least the part that says early risers are “healthy, wealthy and wise.” On the first and third counts, I can say that while I need to shed a bit of excess baggage, regular exercise and good genes help contribute to success in this area; I like to think I am acquiring wisdom, if for no other reason than growing older and grayer, while paying attention to life’s experiences helps in that department. As far as wealth is concerned, I must say I missed that class when it was offered.
Yesterday, rather than hop in my car and drive to my local Dunkin’ Donuts, two miles away, I heeded Al Gore’s call to save the planet, opting to walk about ½ mile to the local convenience mart and buy a 16 oz. afternoon pep-me-up, aka, cup o’ joe.
Any time you decide to forego the internal combustion route for travel, you are bound to encounter issues. Maine, with the exception of maybe Portland, is like many other places—it isn’t geared to pedestrian-friendly modes of getting around.
While the end of town where I work at least has a sidewalk, it runs right along the busy Main Street, with cars and trucks ripping by at 45 to 50 miles per hour. It's not an overstatement to say it's a bit scary to see drivers coming at you, talking on their cell phones, when you have nothing to shield you, but your wits, from this hulk of synthetic material hurtling your way.
Whenever you decide to strike out on foot in most places, you immediately recognize that you are a rare bird—in a car-based culture, walking immediately pegs you as odd, eccentric, or too big of a loser to own a car. Add to the equation, someone walking, with business attire on and it really throws off the equilibrium of passers-by.
While the 25 minute walk was invigorating, the number of curb cuts, in and out of various business establishments, made a direct line near impossible, as cars trying to pull out into heavy traffic volume rarely see you, so a proactive walker knows to walk around the back of the exiting auto, so that they won’t accelerate towards a gap in traffic flow and run over you.
Three businesses actually had sprinklers operating at this time of the afternoon, spewing irrigation all over the sidewalk, forcing me to find another alternative path, or risk spending my last three hours at work in soggy attire.
As I returned to the office, I had to cross at a busy intersection. While there was a button on the traffic light pole, to activate the crossing sign, when it indicated it was safe to pass, cars turning left from across the way, actually had a green arrow, necessitating my need to goose step across the street, to avoid being hit.
While I have an automobile and can choose to walk or ride, other members of the community don’t and I often see them walking along the very same route that I took for my afternoon coffee stroll. They also tend to be folks that don’t usually involve themselves in “causes” and “campaigns,” as they’re too busy just trying to scratch out a living. This is probably why sidewalks and pedestrian options are always thought about as ancillary, or peripheral items in any urban planning and design decision.
Maybe as talk about addressing global warming continues to ramp up, some solutions oriented towards pedestrian and bicycle travel might be added to the mix that still often centers around maintaining our dependance on the automobile.
The day job provides enough variety, diversity and challenges and I’m never bored. Many days, I get to travel to exotic Maine destinations like Augusta, Waterville, Skowhegan and Rumford. Other days, I am forced to spend my day tucked away in my cubicle, answering emails, returning calls and following up with my business partners. On those particulars day, I tend to feel a bit logy around 2 o’clock. Maybe it’s my habit of eating an early PM lunch and being sedentary most of the day. I'm sure my early rise at 4:30 am also has something to do with it. I wouldn’t trade my early hours, however, as I’m a subscriber to Ben Franklin’s axiom, at least the part that says early risers are “healthy, wealthy and wise.” On the first and third counts, I can say that while I need to shed a bit of excess baggage, regular exercise and good genes help contribute to success in this area; I like to think I am acquiring wisdom, if for no other reason than growing older and grayer, while paying attention to life’s experiences helps in that department. As far as wealth is concerned, I must say I missed that class when it was offered.
Yesterday, rather than hop in my car and drive to my local Dunkin’ Donuts, two miles away, I heeded Al Gore’s call to save the planet, opting to walk about ½ mile to the local convenience mart and buy a 16 oz. afternoon pep-me-up, aka, cup o’ joe.
Any time you decide to forego the internal combustion route for travel, you are bound to encounter issues. Maine, with the exception of maybe Portland, is like many other places—it isn’t geared to pedestrian-friendly modes of getting around.
While the end of town where I work at least has a sidewalk, it runs right along the busy Main Street, with cars and trucks ripping by at 45 to 50 miles per hour. It's not an overstatement to say it's a bit scary to see drivers coming at you, talking on their cell phones, when you have nothing to shield you, but your wits, from this hulk of synthetic material hurtling your way.
Whenever you decide to strike out on foot in most places, you immediately recognize that you are a rare bird—in a car-based culture, walking immediately pegs you as odd, eccentric, or too big of a loser to own a car. Add to the equation, someone walking, with business attire on and it really throws off the equilibrium of passers-by.
While the 25 minute walk was invigorating, the number of curb cuts, in and out of various business establishments, made a direct line near impossible, as cars trying to pull out into heavy traffic volume rarely see you, so a proactive walker knows to walk around the back of the exiting auto, so that they won’t accelerate towards a gap in traffic flow and run over you.
Three businesses actually had sprinklers operating at this time of the afternoon, spewing irrigation all over the sidewalk, forcing me to find another alternative path, or risk spending my last three hours at work in soggy attire.
As I returned to the office, I had to cross at a busy intersection. While there was a button on the traffic light pole, to activate the crossing sign, when it indicated it was safe to pass, cars turning left from across the way, actually had a green arrow, necessitating my need to goose step across the street, to avoid being hit.
While I have an automobile and can choose to walk or ride, other members of the community don’t and I often see them walking along the very same route that I took for my afternoon coffee stroll. They also tend to be folks that don’t usually involve themselves in “causes” and “campaigns,” as they’re too busy just trying to scratch out a living. This is probably why sidewalks and pedestrian options are always thought about as ancillary, or peripheral items in any urban planning and design decision.
Maybe as talk about addressing global warming continues to ramp up, some solutions oriented towards pedestrian and bicycle travel might be added to the mix that still often centers around maintaining our dependance on the automobile.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
More beach, less baseball
[Lobster boat, just offshore]
[The sound of the sea]
[Maine's characteristic rocky coastline]
[Lobster traps, washed ashore, probably during the last storm]
[Caretaker's shack on nearby, Richmond's Island]
Summer for me has always been a choice between baseball and the beach. Other than the brief time we spent in Indiana, shortly after my religious shipwreck and departure from fundamentalism, we’ve spent very little time as a family, at the beach. With Maine’s beautiful coastline, as well as an abundance of inland lakes, it seems odd that someone who used to love his time near a body of water could forsake beach time and give himself entirely over to dusty ball diamonds.
For eight years, summer has always been about Mark’s baseball, first with American Legion games and then for the past four, the Twilight League occupied more than my fare share of my “spare” time. And then, if there wasn’t a game to be going to, I spent evenings watching games, or one of my weekend days lolling in front of the television set, giving away three hours to the Red Sox.
Yesterday, I spent a part of the morning and most of the afternoon at Crescent Beach State Park, in Cape Elizabeth, with Mary, who truly loves the beach more than anyone I’ve known. I can’t believe we haven’t spent more time, together at the beach, over the past two decades. I spent time reading a great book, about Gary, Indiana—can you believe it! We walked down the beach and climbed over the rocky jetty, where we had great views of Richmond’s Island and I thoroughly enjoyed the perfect weather and sights and sounds of the Maine coast.
It appears the Red Sox are doing fine without me and with my recent resignation as Twilight League president, I have discovered that I can carve out a block of time, a few times a month, to enjoy the beach and all that goes along with it.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Campaign stop, Gary, Indiana
[U.S. Steel plant in distance, viewed from the West Beach, in Miller]
[One of a number of "gentlemen's" clubs on Dunes Highway, U.S. 12/20, near Gary]
[Apparently there is some sort of celebration, although I had trouble finding it]
[This building sits at a major intersection, at 5th and Broadway and symbolizes present-day Gary]
[Gary's former "sugar daddy"]I've posted some accompanying images that go along with my political parable, below. The idea for this fictitious campaign stop, came from my recent trip to Indiana and the incredulity that I'm still experiencing, after witnessing much of what passes for Gary, Indiana, a city of over 100,000 people, in a major metropolitan area (the Chicagoland area has a population in excess of 8 million people], yet Gary feels like a place that time and certainly anyone of any influence, has long ago forgotten, or better, written off.
I wrote this piece over the weekend and decided to send it off to several progressive news sites, which I thought might have an interest in posting it, online.
I'm thrilled that Counterpunch, one of my favorite progressive sites, chose to run it. Jeffery St. Clair and Alexander Cockburn self-identify as muckrakers, doing battle with the corporate-driven war machine, a business community bereft of a soul and those who would rape and pillage the natural environment. It's an honor to have my writing stand alongside many of their regular contributors, most of whom wage a lonely battle to keep the flame of journalism lit.
Speaking about Counterpunch, Barbara Ehhrenreich is quoted as saying that, "CounterPunch makes me think. It makes me laugh. Above all it tells me things I didn't know."
Campaign 2008, Gary,Indiana-style
By, Jim Baumer
I’ve just returned from a week in Northwest Indiana, America’s post-industrial wasteland, known affectionately by locals as “the region.” I am still trying to process all I’ve seen, particularly my time driving around Gary. It occurred to me, last Sunday morning, trying to remain inconspicuous, with my rental car plates, three-piece suit and camera dangling from my neck that solving Gary’s many problems would go far in solving many of our urban problems elsewhere.
Earlier in the week, I read an article about Michelle Obama and her desire to campaign “off script,” creating a persona sans spin and lacking the usual campaign-speak. Barak’s wife seemed to want to speak from the heart, foregoing talking points created by professional PR people. Thinking about this, I wondered if a campaign rooted in reality and focused primarily on the people on the ground would still work in 2008. For all the talk about the issues and political pandering, particularly to issues of poverty, it appears to an outsider like me that most, if not all of this is just talk—nothing more. We all know that the obscene amounts of money required to purchase TV time and other advertising gives politicians, even newcomers like Obama, a convenient excuse to go right to the corporate till and load up.
Maybe I was downwind from the towering smokestacks of U.S. Steel and the fumes had fouled my thinking, but I began envisioning a scenario about a campaign stop in Gary. I had an idea for an event in America’s very own version of a war zone city, like Bagdhad, would help dispel much of the cynicism most voters feel toward politicians, as more often then not, they get whisked from photo op to photo op, nary a hair out of place and too often, in front of carefully selected supporters and donors.
Gary, Indiana, a once proud city that symbolized America’s industrial prowess, has fallen on hard times over the last three decades. Situated along the southern shore of Lake Michigan and only a short commute from Chicago, is a place that many non-residents and travelers have come to avoid like the plague, fearing it like no other place in America. Just read some of the comments sometime on various travel websites and you’ll get a quick sense that Gary isn’t a place you want to stop in, even for gas, or a quick bite. Worse, when you actually spend time driving around its various neighborhoods, in the shadow of dilapidated buildings designed by legendary architects, including Frank Lloyd Wright, you grasp how far the place has fallen, bypassed by economic policies benefiting America’s rich, ravaged by drugs and gangbangers and plagued by corruption at all levels.
If the field of presidential hopefuls want Americans to embrace them as legitimate, then staging a political debate, in downtown Gary, at the Genesis Convention Center, opening it up to anyone who wants to come, would help promote some real hope in a city that’s had precious little for nearly 30 years. Maybe Oprah Winfrey could make the trek from Chicago, via the Skyway and be seated in the VIP section down front. Other notable politicians and community leaders from the area should also be invited. I suggest that the candidates and some of the dignitaries arrive mid-afternoon and load onto a bus and spend time riding through Gary’s once majestic and now crumbling neighborhoods. Of course, security is always an issue in certain areas of town, so doing in daylight would be a much safer option and I’d suggest a police escort, even though I didn’t have one on my recent visit.
Since soul food and in particular, southern BBQ is one element that Gary does right, maybe the bus could find a rib joint near downtown, where the candidates could break bread over some authentic local cuisine, before heading over the convention center. If there was one close enough, maybe the entourage could walk off their chicken, pulled pork, corn bread, cole slaw and beans, with a short jaunt over to the center, to prep a bit before the TV lights and moderator brought them back to reality.
I think this event would favor certain candidates, particularly in light of Gary’s demographic makeup. According to the 2000 census figures, Gary’s racial makeup is nearly 85 percent African-American. One out of every four residents live below the federal poverty line, including nearly 40 percent of those who are below 18. The per capita income of Gary’s residents is just over $14,000 a year. If candidates want voters to believe they represent all voters, not just the uber wealthy, then Gary might be a campaign stop worth making.
Here’s my handicap of the night by candidate:
Barak Obama: As the great hope for African-Americans and in light of his political credentials having been forged in neighboring Illinois, Obama would be considered the “home town favorite” and possessing a solid advantage going in. He could use Gary as an opportunity to dispel the charges against him by some leaders in the black community that’s he’s an “Uncle Tom” and just another political opportunist.
Of all the candidates, Obama probably is the only one that even has a sense about some of Gary’s difficulties, given its close proximity to Chicago.
Hillary Clinton: Don’t dismiss her, as she has some “cred,” being married to Bill, who some dubbed “America’s first black president.” Hillary has the ability to connect with her audiences and as someone who knows her way around the inside of a black church, she wouldn’t be outside her element in Gary. Also, I’m sure she knows here BBQ, from her days in Arkansas.
John Edwards: Talks a good game when it comes to playing to the working class. With his roots in North Carolina and a dad who was a textile mill worker, he wouldn’t be lost in terms of understanding Gary’s industrial heritage. However, with his $400 haircuts and pretty boy good looks, he might not connect with most in Gary, who probably are lucky to own a $400 car. Still, Gary would be a good place for Edwards to fully grasp issues of poverty, up close and personal, not just from the perspective of a wonk, or an author.
Dennis Kucinich: Actually spent time in an American city similar to Gary, when he was mayor of Cleveland. Having been homeless as a youngster, Kucinich probably comes closest of all the candidates to knowing poverty firsthand. Of all the candidates, his policies might be the most functional in addressing some of the deep-rooted issues of hopelessness that plague many in Gary. Unfortunately, Kucinich, who connects in person, doesn’t project well enough via electronic media to have a chance.
As for the Republican field, African-Americans traditionally vote Democrat, but I’ll at least give my thoughts on the three front-runners.
Mitt Romney: How does someone named “Mitt” carry any credibility with people living in a city resembling a war zone? I suppose as governor of Massachusetts, he had some sense of urban issues, like drugs, gang activity and devastating poverty. However, his law and order agenda probably wouldn’t sit well with many in Gary, who already know someone, either family member, or close friend, doing time in jail, due to America’s failed “war on drugs.”
John McCain: McCain wouldn’t play well, either. Is it just me, or has McCain’s label as a “maverick” worn thin? If McCain’s a maverick, with his support of all things Republican, then I hate to see what being a supporter of the status quo means.
Rudy Giuliani: Another strong proponent of “lock ‘em up and throwing away the key” brand of law and order, his agenda for Gary would probably consist of armed patrols, driving around the streets of Gary in vehicles reminiscent of RoboCop, rounding up drug dealers and others and shipping them 30 miles to the east, to the Supermax in Westville.
Well, that’s my little fantasy, campaign-style, 2008. While it’s offered somewhat tongue-in-cheek, there is a part of me that sees a place like Gary as symbolic for the rest of America. While urban areas nationwide have problems, it’s rare that you come face to face with an urban hell like Gary, within the continental U.S.
Gary represents a great opportunity for a political reality check for politicians who have become too detached and removed from the masses to understand the issues on a personal level that they need to, in order to know how to represent all Americans, not just their corporate donors. A candidate’s event in Gary would at least give them one night of reality and maybe, just maybe, it might make a difference, although I don’t hold out any hope that this would ever happen.
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