On tours of Monticello, the ‘x’ in ‘Latinx,’ Jordan Peterson, space telescopes, Americanisms, Britishisms, Dairy Queens, and more
I knew a great couple who had a special interest in colonial American history. Both of them were teachers. They went to Williamsburg, Va., almost every year, I think. And the tour guides said very little about slavery. And what they did say was anodyne. This bothered my friends, who were keen for the truth, and the whole truth.
They went to Monticello, too, and found the tours they took . . . sanitized. Guides were reluctant to say anything about the role of slaves and slavery at the plantation, even when asked. Even when pressed.
Has the pendulum now swung too far the other way? An article at FoxNews.com is headed “Visitor to Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello estate calls out new ‘woke’ tours: ‘Depressing and demoralizing.’”
You are familiar with the expression “warts and all.” According to legend, Cromwell said this to the painter Sir Peter Lely. Cromwell wanted his portrait done “warts and all.”
That’s the way I want American history done, or any history. The warts should not be left out. But neither should the rest of the face. The face should be presented whole, to the extent possible. And this task ought not to be hard.
You know who I think would agree with me? Jefferson.
• As a conservative, I’m expected to like old things, over new things. I protest, a bit. I think plenty of Frank Gehry buildings, for example, are splendid. There’s one right across from Manhattan’s only golf range. The National Review Institute once held a gala there. (At the Gehry building, not the range.)
But I must say . . . I do like old buildings. Earlier this week, I snapped this rec center, at E. 54th St. in Manhattan. Wonderful.
• In the 1950s, there was a hit song called “Little Things Mean a Lot.” The singer Kitty Kallen took it to No. 1 on the charts. (Hear it here.) And, you know? It’s true. Little things mean a lot.
The first lady, Jill Biden, spoke at a “Latinx IncluXion Luncheon” in San Antonio. Leaving “IncluXion” aside: The “x” at the end of “Latinx” is a little thing — but it stands for a whole cast of mind, and style of politics. That little “x” sticks in a lot of craws. Including a lot of Latino craws. The Democrats would be wise to drop it ASAP.
It’s not only a nonsensical word, but such an ugly word: “Latinx.” It’s like a little political-linguistic stink bomb.
• Jordan Peterson, the Canadian psychologist, is a guru to a great many. I know some of these “many.” They swear by him. He is very important to them. Unfortunately, Peterson spouts some painfully familiar rhetoric. It goes like this: Because the democracies are degenerate, tyrants are forced to act, to keep their own countries free of this degeneracy, and their spheres of influence, too.
“Are we degenerate in a profoundly threatening manner?” Dr. Peterson asks. “I think the answer to that may well be yes. The idea that we’re ensconced in a culture war has become a rhetorical commonplace. How serious is that war? Is it serious enough to increase the probability that Russia, say, will be motivated to invade and potentially incapacitate Ukraine merely to keep the pathological West out of that country, which is a key part of the historically Russian sphere of influence?”
Uh-huh.
Jeane Kirkpatrick, and the rest of us Reaganites, used to speak of “blame America first.” The instinct to “blame America first.” The Left often displayed this instinct; now the Right does too. Although the Left and the Right blend so much, it’s hard to tell where one leaves off and the other begins.
Vladimir Putin can’t stand a democratic example on his border. It might give Russians ideas. Also, he seeks to restore as much of the Russian empire, or Soviet empire, as he can. He is frank about this. Putin is yet another dictator who is redrawing international borders by force.
Don’t let the Jordan Petersons of the world snow you.
• I’ve been reading Matt Labash, as I have since the 1990s. (We were colleagues on The Weekly Standard.) Here is his Fourth of July essay, from which I’ll excerpt a few choice lines:
. . . while I don’t at all approve of our leaky borders . . ., the one thing I remain encouraged by is that aspiring Americans the world over still think this country is worth the trouble of getting to . . . Here’s hoping they stay right about that, even when we don’t let them in. That’s not to say we shouldn’t be concerned about all the people who want in, and who break our laws . . . But we should be just as worried, if not more, that our national life could deteriorate so badly that they no longer bother to try . . .
I’m reminded of Paul Johnson, the British historian and writer, who says: “I’ll start worrying about America when people from all over the world cease to want to go there, to become American, to join their project.”
(I have heard him say several versions of this, and the above is a paraphrase.) (I’m not sure there’s a keener student of America, or a greater appreciator, than Johnson.) (His history of the United States may contain factual errors. Sure. But at the level of ideas? When it comes to the essence? Oh, my goodness.)
• People have been marveling, rightly, at images from the Webb Telescope — a space telescope. We also have the Hubble Telescope. Which puts me right back in the Clinton years: with Webb Hubbell.
• Let me recommend an editorial from the Washington Post: “With the world distracted, Cuba cracks down on dissident artists.” It’s good to see the editorial page continuing the tradition of its late editor, Fred Hiatt. And of his predecessor, Meg Greenfield. An eye on “the boys in the camps,” as Bukovsky would say. You could also say: the dissidents in the dungeons.
• While I am recommending: Here is an engrossing, masterly piece of journalism by Sam Dolnick, in the New York Times. It could be a little movie. (The heading of the article: “He Had a Dark Secret. It Changed His Best Friend’s Life.” The subheading: “Tin Chin and Mo Lin were inseparable at the homeless shelter. But one of the men wasn’t who he seemed to be.”)
• The setting of that story is New York. Over the weekend, I took a long walk through a neighborhood or two in Queens — neighborhoods I was not familiar with. I would like to record two observations:
1) There is an amazing number of places of worship. Churches and Islamic centers. (Synagogues, I did not see, so far as I’m aware.)
2) There was an amazing number of people who were masked, outdoors. I wondered why. Could it be that they were not vaccinated and thought it prudent to wear a mask? Could it be that they were vaccinated and wanted to put a further layer of protection between themselves and the un-?
I don’t know. But I hadn’t seen as much mask-wearing, outdoors, in a long time.
• In a store, I met a man whose name tag said “Sherpa.” Was he from Nepal? You bet. And he is bidding to be a classic American entrepreneur, it seems to me.
• Daniel Hannan had a column in which he lamented his fellow Brits’ adoption of various American expressions, including “taking the Fifth” and “curveballs.” I have a peeve myself. About 15 years ago, Americans started saying “full stop,” instead of “period.” Why did this happen? The popularity of Bridget Jones movies or something?
• Many years ago, at the Standard, a colleague of mine wanted to use the word “quango,” in an article. An editor objected: a Britishism that too few readers would understand. He himself had never heard or seen the word. Neither had I. Cool-sounding word, not that I’d ever use it (except maybe in a British context).
What does it mean? Here is a definition from Merriam-Webster: “a partly autonomous regulatory agency,” especially “one in Britain organized outside the civil service but financed and appointed by the government.”
• Here is a truck in New York. My kingdom for a “fewer”!
• Okay, let’s talk food — and economics:
“Modern Vietnamese sandwiches,” huh? Well, what if I want old-fashioned Vietnamese sandwiches? Obviously, the market isn’t working for me. I’m gonna give post-liberalism a shot . . .
• Man alive, do some people know how to picnic. Here’s a scene in Central Park:
• Finally, here is my ancestral Dairy Queen, near the corner of Packard and Stadium, in Ann Arbor. For the past 60 years, it has been owned by but two families: the Rosses and the Cohens. I visited this DQ — my DQ — last month. The s’mores shake is A-1.
Thanks for indulging me some Memory Lane. I’ll see you later.
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