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had to love something from Sunday’s New York Times.
There was a long story on Bangladesh and its
deplorable
working conditions and economy. High in the story, a factory owner
(Bangladeshi) was quoted as saying, “We still suffer from the
legacy of the colonial days.” Ah, yes: “the legacy of
colonial days”! And how long will people use this line to explain,
or excuse, the problems of the Third World? For 25 more years? Fifty?
A hundred? A thousand? All of my life, white liberals have said
it; Third Worlders usually don’t, except for the intellectuals
(who learned the line from the white liberals). I was a little surprised
at this factory owner — he should know better, just as his
workers must know better. But then, his class was under attack —
and he was talking to an American journalist, to whose ears the
“legacy” bit must have been music.
 I have
the usual rage on Tax Day (and its immediate aftermath); but then,
the rage lessens, and resignation or indifference takes over. Quite
simply, we are overtaxed. Plenty of people who aren’t at all
rich pay close to half of their income to government (federal, state,
municipal). This is not exactly Scandinavian, but it isn’t
quite American, is it? And there’s no way I — to cite
one American I know — can prepare the returns myself; I have
to hire an accountant. And even then, I can barely understand his
work (which, wait a minute, may be kind of a problem). I thought,
as I was mailing my various envelopes off to Tax Land, of that tiresome
George McGovern, the Palme of the Plains. All of my life, whenever
the subject of taxation has come up, I’ve heard him say, “My
dear old dad used to say, ‘If you’re paying taxes, you
should count yourself lucky, because you must be doin’ pretty
well.’” Well, with apologies to Sen. McGovern’s dad,
I’m sick of counting myself lucky — and long for a lower
tax, and therefore more freedom. I have on occasion quipped, in
times of money woes, “It’s not that I don’t make
enough; it’s that I’m taxed too much.”
That’s a flip, facile remark, but it raises a serious point:
Because of that insidious practice called “withholding,”
we lose track of our earnings: forget, really, what we make, as
opposed to what we can bank. We don’t even consider that we
“make” this forfeited money; it’s simply an automatic
deduction, a ghost, a rumor. But what if there were no withholding,
and people were forced to write out one giant check every April?
Wouldn’t that be cool? It would certainly concentrate minds;
there could be rebellion in the streets. And what if people didn’t
save enough during the preceding year to pay the lump-sum tax? Well,
too bad for them (for us, I should probably say): Send ’em
(us) to prison. We’re talkin’ individual responsibility
here.
We are reminded, incessantly, of Oliver Wendell Holmes’s mot,
“Taxation is the price we pay for civilization.” (Or did
Voltaire say that? Or Shakespeare? Or the Bible? Or George Bernard
Shaw?) All of us can buy this. But at what juncture does taxation
become uncivilized?
Okay: Back to dopey acceptance.
If
you need a reason to appreciate — even love — our current
president, look no further: He declined to participate in any welcome-home
ceremony for the returning air crew. George W. Bush has an amazingly
healthy conception of the role of government in the American republic,
and of the president’s role within that role. For Bill Clinton,
all the world was a stage: a big, personal stage. The never-ending
Bill Clinton Show. Bush, in contrast, thought the men would like
to see their families, instead of some politician, even an important
one. Both parties — the crew and the president — had done
their jobs. Now it was time to get on with life. Every American
should be able to appreciate this aspect of Bush, all other considerations
aside.
It
comes as no surprise that Colin Powell is the administration member
whom the liberal elites — the non-conservative, or anti-conservative,
elites, let us say — love to love. This will remain so until
he’s out of office, and probably beyond. If anything admirable
occurs in this administration: It’s Powell. If Bush does anything
right (by the lights of these elites): It’s Powell, or Bush’s
listening to Powell, as opposed to Cheney, Rumsfeld, and the other
right-wing baddies. Without that nice, mild, reasonable Colin Powell,
the Wolfowitz would be at the door.
And Powell, don’t you know, is the diplomatic one — all
the others are itching to launch wars. Oh, baloney. For one thing,
Powell has been a diplomat for about two seconds. He’s a lifelong
military man, a general. But Powell-love will endure, and it will
usually come at Bush’s expense. Bush knew that, certainly;
but he appointed Powell anyway. Which is okay. Big of Bush, sort
of.
The
word “crisis” was used a lot in the recent Chinese situation.
I myself tried mightily to avoid it. I remember something one of
my best teachers in college — the historian Barbara J. Fields
— said. “‘Crisis,’” she complained, “is
used for practically any old problem these days. But if we use it
promiscuously, what will we have left for, say, the coming of the
Civil War, or the various economic panics?” It’s funny
what sticks to you from college years. I have forgotten damnably
much — but I’ve always remembered that, and a few other
tidbits.
Even so, I had a hard time skipping around that (wrong) word during
the … during the crisis. “Situation,” “problem,”
“dilemma,” “pain in the neck” — nothing
else seemed to fit real naturally. “Standoff,” I guess,
was the best option.
Did
you notice how, during the … standoff … a lot of left-liberal
punditry in the U.S. echoed the official propaganda line in China?
Or was it the other way around? You know what sort of language I’m
talking about: Bush’s “belligerence” and “posturing”
and return to “Cold War tactics and rhetoric.” Remarkable.
Or is it McCarthyite to point this out?
A recent
cartoon on the op-ed page of the Times spoke to a pet, and
sore, point of mine. It showed a group of people who were members
of some Decency Panel circling the Mona Lisa and making cluck-clucking
remarks about it. This was aimed, of course, at New York mayor Rudolph
Giuliani, who favors a body that would adjudicate disputes involving
tax-subsidized art. The cartoon was the equivalent of the famous
line, “Elvis’s pelvis” — you know: We may object
to rap music today, but the fogies of an earlier generation complained
about Elvis’s pelvis — ha ha. The Mona Lisa, a tax-supported
Madonna spattered with dung. Elvis’s pelvis, rap’s celebration
of murder and rape.
You
know what this country needs? Not a good ten-cent cigar, but a little
discrimination (in the high sense). A little judgment. A
speck of sanity.
All
of my life (this is my theme), I have heard Democrats sneer at and
condemn the Republicans’ “southern strategy.” This
was the strategy whereby, in 1968, the GOP peeled off white southerners,
who had belonged, for generations, to the Democrats. Whenever a
Republican hears the phrase “southern strategy,” he’s
supposed to hang his head in shame. Well, really, what the Democrats
are saying, in part, is: “Damn you. You stole OUR racists.
Those racists belong to US. And you ruined it!”
You might say, the Democrats had a “southern strategy”
for a hundred years.
Had
a tremendously moving visit from a young Georgian journalist (I’m
talking Tiblisi here, not Macon). He is what in this country we’d
call a conservative, or right-winger: that is, he’s a Jeffersonian
liberal with a very deep love of freedom in all its aspects. He
says that Eduard Schevardnadze, so beloved by the West, is the Soviet
he always was, behaving in Soviet ways. My friend thinks it would
do a world of good if the West cut off aid to Russia and all the
former republics — the “aid,” which rarely reaches
its intended recipients, being an obstacle to progress. He has read
— more like learned and memorized and thoroughly assimilated
— the American Founders, and Hayek, and Friedman, and many
others. He has a great hunger for yet more of the literature of
freedom. I must say, he made me feel somewhat cheap: lazy, ungrateful,
spoiled. He had a spirit that was like a bucket of cold water. I
felt better, more awake — I felt chastened, renewed —
for having met him.
NR
remarked in a recent issue that the actress Sarah Jessica Parker
said something terribly revealing of a mindset: She wanted Gore
to win because her family (she reported) depended on government
assistance. This from a girl who must be worth tens of millions
of dollars. Terribly, terribly revealing.
I thought of this the other day when talking to Theodore Dalrymple,
the brilliant English doctor and writer. He told of a young patient
who had just had her third child. She had no husband, her parents
had disowned her, and she had (as the phrase goes) no visible means
of support. “What are you going to do?” asked Dalrymple.
Proudly, almost defiantly, the girl replied, “I’m going
to live independently.” “Really?” answered the doctor.
“Have you a job, any family support, any savings?” At
this, the girl looked puzzled. “No,” she said: “I’m
going to be on welfare.” When she’d said “independently,”
she meant independently from any particular human beings, whom she
knew. It never occurred to her that her “independence”
was, in fact, dependence on a whole lot of people, namely tax-paying
citizens.
Again, marvelously revealing of a mindset.
The
columnist E. J. Dionne wrote recently that President Bush “could
save himself a lot of trouble by signing a [campaign-finance] bill
containing many provisions he opposes.” Yes, he could save
himself a lot of trouble — no doubt about that. But I hope
he doesn’t. Bush used to say, on the campaign trail, “I’m
runnin’ for a reason.” (He usually meant that he was determined
to reform Social Security, no matter how politically difficult it
was.) Well, one of those “reasons” ought to be: to block
wrongheaded and harmful legislation, no matter how popular it is
(and here, of course, we’re talking about popularity within
a narrow, if extremely influential, class, not popularity in the
country at large). If Bush stood up to McCain-Feingold, it would
be a stunning, even heroic act. PATCOesque.
Did
you notice the gloriously candid interview that Hosni Mubarak gave
Lally Weymouth in Newsweek? The whole thing is just jaw-dropping.
Here’s a sample: “I’m not in a position to say a
word against Saddam. He insults all the leaders of the Arab world,
but he’s considered a hero now.” If only Western leaders
would speak so candidly — about their inability to speak candidly.
It’s
odd how quickly words can come and go — even within the space
of a lifetime, or half-lifetime. It has become virtually taboo to
use the word “actress.” Actresses are now calling themselves
“actors,” and objecting to those who let slip “actress.”
Apparently, “actress” is demeaning. How could this be
so? And when, now that we’ve broached this, did “stewardess”
become demeaning? When did it mark you as a benighted lout to utter
the word “stewardess”? What is it about those three syllables
that gives offense? Why are the four syllables of “flight attendant”
any better — more humane, more civilized, more desirable? In
no area is this country screwier than in the realm of semantics.
“Colored people”; “people of color.” The first
is evil, the second is legit. Really screwy.
Sen.
Jon Corzine has declined to join the Democratic Leadership Council
— he wants to be known as a leftie, straight-out. I find this
terribly refreshing. If Hillary Clinton can be a DLC-er — if
Al Gore can — then, really, DLC-ness is pretty much meaningless.
When
I was young, to “wear your heart on your sleeve” was a
bad thing. I’d be cautioned, “Don’t wear your heart
on your sleeve!” Now, I’ve noticed, the phrase is meant
as a good thing: “He wears his heart on his sleeve, wonderful
man!” How did Shakespeare mean it, when he created this expression
for Othello? Oh, but who cares: Authorial intent is bunk.
Okay,
here’s a dicey one, to close on: The other night, I saw a PBS
documentary on the Scottsboro boys. It was an excellent one. And
it was about the 3,000th such documentary I have seen. PBS has long
been, basically, the Black History Channel. Every year, practically
every hour, they go over — and over — the Scottsboro case,
the Tuskeegee experiment, the Montgomery bus boycott, Selma, and
so on. They have pounded these events deep into the American psyche.
If they’re not there now — my guess is, they never will
be. You could say that there is a PBS view of American history,
and it is primarily one of white persecution of black people.
Fine. Certainly, no American should be ignorant of the racial drama
in this country. But is there any cost to this repetition, this
pounding? I wonder. One possible danger is false analogy. Of millions
of examples, I offer two: When a gang of blacks — the “wilders”
— attacked that woman in Central Park, beating and raping her
almost to death, Al Sharpton said: Scottsboro. When Jesse Jackson’s
candidate failed to win in Florida, Jackson said: Selma.
The Scottsboro case took place in the 1930s. I, for one, have heard
about it, ad nauseam, all of my life. Such events — the Birmingham
bombing is another — are rehearsed and rehearsed and rehearsed.
There are several reasons for this, some of them perfectly defensible.
But one of them is: White liberals (such as those who make, and
put on, PBS documentaries) long for a time when the picture was
stark black-and-white — blacks as victims, whites as persecutors.
Tom Wolfe wrote of the Great White Defendant. PBS needs, and seeks,
and trumpets the Great Black Victim and the Great White Persecutor.
It could be that we don’t need a documentary on (for example)
the Central Park case. Maybe we need fresh documentaries on the
Scottsboro boys, year after year, for the sake of coming, uninitiated
generations. But I wonder: Is there a cost?
No,
let’s not end on that. Let’s instead retail a story told
by Joan Collins, the bright and witty and bitchy (and very conservative)
actress — “actress”: She wouldn’t mind! —
who contributes to The (London) Spectator. It seems
that the Earl of Warwick, an august, aristocratic figure of the
old school, was at the airport, and was duly asked by the counter
girl whether he had packed his own bags. “Pack my own bags?”
he replied in horror. “The idea!”
I’d like to know what sort of ruckus ensued.
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