THE YEAR OF HER

Theory : In my lifetime, which is now in its tenth decade, I have watched as men ruled the world. There have been few women during that time who have gained power. So far as I can remember, none of them — the few women — have embarked on stupid wars, indulged in genocide, engaged in conspiracies to disenfranchise or disembowel their own citizens, given orders for the killing of millions of people, or murdered their own compatriots.

OK, maybe Evita was a bit over the top, or Imelda with her 3,000 pairs of shoes, and Suu Kyi turned out to be something less than a new Virgin Mary. But nothing on the scale of the Kaiser, Hitler, Stalin, Nixon, Kissinger, Kennedy, LBJ, BushII, Milosevich, Mugabi and their ilk. By and large, where women have ruled, we have seen a leaning toward democracy. There has been peace. Where men have ruled we have seen carnage, slaughter, hatred, and destruction.

That’s on the international level. On the domestic front the economic crooks — the grifters, the scammers, the conmen, the major white-collar criminals — have been men. The jails are full of them. The courts are full of them. We have grown used to them. From the Trumps and Madoffs to the directors of Wells Fargo and Volkswagen. Today they have congregated in the White House. They come in all shapes and flavors. But among women, aside from a few with special flair, like Leona Helmsley or Imelda, they seem to be scarcer.

My conclusion : If we go to the polls next month looking for a general rule to apply (instead of trying to investigate the actual qualifications of the candidates, who can be expected to be no more truthful in their answers to our questions than Supreme Court nominees) we can do no better than simply declare this the year of the woman. I’m for Her could be an all-purpose campaign slogan, without the need for all that wasted posturing and postering we normally put up with at election time.

How to do it : Go into your voting booth and take a few extra moments to look over the ballot. Take up the felt pen provided. (Pick it up off the floor where the previous voter left it for you.) Circle the names of the women candidates. This will cut the choices down considerably, especially in places like New York and North Carolina, where smoke-filled-room government has been the norm for so long. That will ease your choices.

Where there is only one woman included among the contestants for an office (usually the case, unless there are none), just fill in the little oval for her and move on. If there are several women (This may happen this year more often than in the past; we have seen more activism lately) you may have to consider other factors, like color, wealth, or determination. My inclination is to favor a nice shade of café au lait and enough money to cover the costs of complying with all the obstructionist registrations and forms that will instantly be set up by the male establishment. In the cases where none of the women’s names are familiar, just make a random choice, and move on. Don’t sweat it.

If there are no women listed, just don’t vote for anyone. This is generally considered a vote for the incumbent, but there are risks to my program as there are in any political plan. You can’t vote for “none of the above”, the rules won’t allow it. The message you send by withholding your vote altogether is that you don’t approve of any of the people on offer. When the tallies for the women candidates come in and are seen to be greater than those for the men on their tickets, it will not take a genius analyst to get the message. Too late for this time, perhaps, but a lesson for the next.

Cons : We lose some good men with experience who have simply been frustrated by their distaste for the kind of all-out war practiced by the Republicans since Nixon. Some will be Democrats and some will be Republicans. Their expertise will be missed. If they are old, they will have to retire, which it may parhaps already be time for them to do. If they are young, they can welcome the broom that is sweeping the old farts out of the way. If they are truly desperate they can transition, as the modern expression has it. It is not necessary that complete emotional transformation accompany a strategic gender switch. Many Spanish Jews who converted in the 1500s landed quite successfully on their economic feet, and their descendants are still enjoying the fruits of their pragmatism.

Pros : We gain a whole fresh attitude on the part of our elected leaders — one more concerned with promoting sexual and economic equality than with backroom deals, at least to begin with. Women trying to level the playing field and give everyone the shot at the pursuit of happiness, though sometimes loud-mouthed and inelegant, have a better chance of rescuing us than the old-style cigar-chewers and pussy-snatchers we have grown to tolerate. There are no guarantees, but I’ll take my chances on the women.

P.S. : As an extra plus, you can make your own lapel buttons. “I’m for Her” is short, easier to spell than “Chantorella-Savoskowicz” and relieves you of any doubts about correct pronunciation. Same goes for the yard signs, although my preference would be to forget about those — they just fill the waste bins after the election, to no purpose. A generously proportioned “HER” lettered with a Sharpie on a shirt cardboard or a panel from an Amazon box, and placed prominently in a

front window should suffice.

But VOTE!

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The End Game

A lot of ink and hot air are being expended these days on suggestions for strategies to survive Trump and get back to a normal civilized form of government. Of course they all depend on a clear distinction between “us” and “them”, which renders them futile, since we don’t agree even on that differentiation. Both sides consider themselves “us”.

As a democrat (or, more accurately, a democratic socialist) I regard the Trump-GOP army as definitely “them”, but of course Trumpists and Republicans regard me as “they”. Since “my” side tends to rely on such old-fashioned notions as facts and truth for support and “their” side relies on hand grenades and a combination of made-up numbers and chants and red baseball caps, we don’t seem likely to be able to find common ground any time soon.

What, then, can we look forward to?

It seems to me there is only one obvious scenario. First, we have to hope that the division is not “we” and “they”; it is tripartite.

1. Old-style Democrats, nowadays increasingly the young

2. Old-style Republicans, nowadays holding their noses and counting their blessings, but increasingly skeptical

3. Trumpians, exulting in their newfound power to disrupt the old networks that that believe formerly oppressed them.

There are no obvious reasons that I can see to expect much in the way of wholesale crossovers, certainly not enough to seriously affect the current 50/50 split between the (1)s and the (2)s and (3)s combined. Over time, the lack of willingness to face facts among the (2)s and (3)s is likely to show up in the form of cracks in the body politic itself. (If nation states are to deal successfully with one another they must be able to rely on each other’s promises, and not be subject to overnight “repeal by tweet”; and as grandiose promises of job restoration and economic revival are seen to fail, one by one over time, even the most raucous chanters or financial predators will be forced to admit that there is underneath it all still an incontrovertible “truth”.) This will leave us (1)s to pick up the pieces and try to put the body politic back together again. But we are talking here about a process that will take a long time — probably generations. During that time there is a real danger that frustration will push us (1)s to adopt the know-nothing tactics of the (2)s and (3)s in an attempt to speed up the denouement. This would soften the distinction between the two sides and delay the final confrontation.

But if Trump, being unable to give the (3)s what they want (complete and permanent domination of the government) eventually fails to produce (as he must fail, since he has no program except “Heil, Donald!” and not enough insight to see that he is intellectually challenged) where will his enthusiastic troops next turn? To the bankers and giant corporations who screwed them originally? To the Democratic “Deep State” that represents to them a worldwide conspiracy to take away their guns and their religion? Or perhaps to a new party, more reality-based, but still unwilling to admit that there were no dinosaurs roaming Colorado 4,000 years ago and that the desertification of our little blue planet by human misbehavior is not only possible but perhaps already beyond the point of no reversal?

Is there any chance that the young of both factions might see their youth and energy and better educations as sources of optimism and their numerical strength as a practical asset and form a new political party that would be capable of an end run around the road blocks to reform that the entrenched careerists have until now managed to maintain? If so, who would lead such a crusade? Has our worsening division over the past 40 years left us anyone who enjoys the confidence of both sides? Can the overwhelming power of the moneybags on both Left and Right (the Koches and Soroses) so corrupted the sources of political recruits that no revival of good government is any longer possible?

You and I, dear reader, will in all probability not be around to see how this script plays out. With a certain amount of luck, though, our great grandchildren will. And they will have every right to ask, between black-lung coughing fits, “Where the hell were you when this could still have been stopped?”

Well, where are you?

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Genetic Monuments

My name is Vance. When I was ten years old I lived in Asheville, North Carolina. In the square at the center of town there is an obelisk of impressive dimensions. On its base is carved the single word, “VANCE”. My parents used to kid me that they had erected it when I was born.

Next to the obelisk was a water fountain. No, there were two water fountains : one marked WHITE and the other marked COLORED. I don’t recall paying any particular attention to that as a kid. It was just part of the world that a ten-year-old was learning to navigate. The seats in the trolley that took me to Pack Square from Biltmore were labeled the same way. That’s just the way things were in 1933.

Not until a couple of years later, after several trips to Brooklyn to visit my grandparents, did I begin to really see those labels and think about what they meant. There weren’t any like that in Brooklyn. Everyone in Brooklyn drank from the same too-little burble of tepid water, trying to keep his lips away from the little spout out of which it emerged, which might well harbor any kind of strange germs you could think of, but they were not assumed to be necessarily either black or white. Nobody died from it. I started asking questions.

My displaced Ivy League parents gave me the “When in Rome…” bit, along with the “No point in rocking the boat…” bit, but I found that unsatisfying. A few years on, when I got my chance to cross the Mason-Dixon Line for good, I did. I have never been back, or regretted it. I discovered a world where, at least legally, skin color didn’t matter. Although I saw that none of my physician grandfather’s patients on Hancock Street were black, and no one in my private high-school class was black, and nobody who lived on our block in Bedford-Stuyvesant — this was 1936 — was black, and my very proper grandmother, who happily ate off the dishes washed by her black maid and wore the clothes she washed, would never have dreamed of inviting her to the table. There were no black kids in our neighborhood “gang”, either. The block of Jefferson Avenue directly behind ours marked the sharp dividing line between the white stubborn holdovers and the invading blacks. Our back yards and their backyards touched, and both were visible from our second-floor windows, but a mis-hit ball over the fence was considered as irretrievably lost as though it had flown to the deepest heart of the Congo.

What has this got to do with today’s news?

Well, General Zebulon Vance’s obelisk still stands in Pack Square, and probably most passersby haven’t any idea who he was (a big deal Confederate military hero, extensive slaveholder, and active politician during Reconstruction times). The obelisk was erected during a wave of similar Confederate monuments and statues intended as a 1896 middle finger to the 1865 winners by the 1865 losers who were exploring their states-rights power to continue to celebrate their cause. I will assume that the drinking fountain situation has been set right by now, but as last year’s Charlottesville rebellion vividly demonstrated other symbols are newly under attack, on the grounds that they are offensive to an increasingly black population that feels dissed by this white granite cavalry prancing on its pedestals with their oversized gloves and broad-brimmed hats. After all, much as I disapprove of the man, he has to be right once in a while. “We won; you lost. Live with it.”

There are an awful lot of these (often awful) statues populating the public squares of the Old Confederacy and still remaining to be dealt with. If we are to avoid future Charlottesvilles, it would be nice to have some agreed-on policy for guidance. So I have a suggestion.

There was once prevalent a (perfectly reasonable) myth that colonial portrait painters, who found it difficult to get to their patrons and subjects in the snows of winter, used to spend the cold months snug at home preparing generic bodies and backgrounds that could quickly be fitted out with specific faces when the weather improved. There is, so far as I know, no real evidence for this, but it remains an excellent idea. My suggestion is simply that we apply it to celebrity statuary and edifices of all kinds. The rearing stallions (or geldings in the more DAR dominated locations) and the brandished swords could be easily supplied with alternate (alt-right or alt-left, according to the prevailing political winds) heads and faces. The stones inscribed VANCE around the base of Asheville’s obelisk could be made interchangeable with other blank blocks without the cost of full demolition and reconstruction.

Sensible, but totally impractical, you may say. Well, I have to point out that some of our ancestors didn’t think so. Unless you exclude the ancient Egyptian pharaohs from among our ancestors, they were probably among the first to adopt the practice. Ramses II, who enjoyed one of the longest pharaonic reigns, figured it out early on. He simply had his masons locate the cartouches with which earlier monument-building pharaohs had signed their temples and tombs, and, after erasing their hieroglyphic signatures substitute his own. Presto! He had both acquired an additional monument to his own glory and had dimmed the name of his predecessor at one stroke. I would think this would appeal to our Donald on both counts. And in these times of incipient dictatorship, what the Donald says goes.

As to the actual galloping granite stallions and sword-brandishing heroes, a reconfigured face here and there would be enough to do the job in many cases. Not a difficult assignment for a sculptor. Other identifying accessories could easily be removed or exchanged. The largest of the large monuments (like Napoleon’s Arche de Triomphe) wouldn’t even have to be renamed. Nobody ever calls it that anyway. In Paris it’s L’Étoile. Haven’t heard any complaints from Napoleon.

I wonder how long it will be before New York City’s “Triboro Bridge” and “59th Street Bridge” will be replaced by “The Robert F. Kennedy” and “The Ed Koch”? You can still today hop in a yellow cab and say “Idlewild” and have a good shot at making your flight on time, and that name was officially changed more than fifty years ago. No cost beyond a few overhead signs and some tourist confusion.

So here’s to Ramses’s breakthrough discovery. Prosit!

But now we perhaps need to proceed to a more fraught subject. What about citizens glorified more by their works than their statuary? As scholarship, and the book industry’s pressing need for new sales digs up more and more dirt about famous people, should Michaelangelo’s dalliances with little boys prevent us from admiring his David?  Should Wilhelm Furtwängler’s games of footsie with Hitler’s thugs disqualify his recordings of Beethoven? What about Wagner’s unabashed anti-Semitism? Consign the Ring Cycle to the dustbin, a casualty of Dachau? “Michaelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni” was Michaelengelo’s full moniker. Maybe we could just change his signature to “Buonarratti”? After all, Plato owned five slaves when he died. None of our heroes is perfect. Hard as it may be to believe, even Donald is reported to have flaws.

That’s for another time. For now we should concentrate on how to give a generic statue a specific identity on demand. And the associated problem of what to do when a formerly honored honoree falls out of favor? Can we rename Columbus Circle just “the Circle”? Maybe “Santa Maria Square”?

Problems, problems.

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