September 15, 2005
Cornel West on Katrina
Cornel West on Katrina
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Cornel West, co-chair of The Tikkun Community and professor of African
American Studies, recently spoke out about the larger meaning of Katrina
from the standpoint of African Americans.
Katrina
Summarizing an interview with Professor Cornel West
It takes something as big as Hurricane Katrina and the misery we saw among
the poor black people of New Orleans to get America to focus on race and
poverty. It happens about once every 30 or 40 years.
What we saw unfold in the days after the hurricane was the most naked
manifestation of conservative social policy towards the poor, where the
message for decades has been: 'You are on your own'. Well, they really
were on their own for five days in that Superdome, and it was Darwinism in
action - the survival of the fittest.
People said: 'It looks like something out of the Third World.' Well, New
Orleans was Third World long before the hurricane.
It's not just Katrina, it's povertina. People were quick to call them
refugees because they looked as if they were from another country. They
are. Exiles in America. Their humanity had been rendered invisible so they
were never given high priority when the well-to-do got out and the
helicopters came for the few. Almost everyone stuck on rooftops, in the
shelters, and dying by the side of the road was poor black.
In the end George Bush has to take responsibility. When [the rapper] Kanye
West said the President does not care about black people, he was right,
although the effects of his policies are different from what goes on in
his soul. You have to distinguish between a racist intent and the racist
consequences of his policies.
Bush is still a 'frat boy', making jokes and trying to please everyone
while the Neanderthals behind him push him more to the right.
Poverty has increased for the last four or five years.
A million more Americans became poor last year, even as the super-wealthy
became much richer. So where is the trickle-down, the equality of
opportunity? Healthcare and education and the social safety net being
ripped away - and that flawed structure was nowhere more evident than in a
place such as New Orleans, 68 per cent black. The average adult income in
some parishes of the city is under $8,000 (£4,350) a year. The average
national income is $33,000, though for African- Americans it is about
$24,000. It has one of the highest city murder rates in the US. From slave
ships to the Superdome was not that big a journey.
New Orleans has always been a city that lived on the edge. The white blues
man himself, Tennessee Williams, had it down in A Streetcar Named Desire -
with Elysian Fields and cemeteries and the quest for paradise. When you
live so close to death, behind the levees, you live more intensely,
sexually, gastronomically, psychologically. Louis Armstrong came out of
that unbelievable cultural breakthrough unprecedented in the history of
American civilization. The rural blues, the urban jazz. It is the
tragi-comic lyricism that gives you the courage to get through the darkest
storm.
Charlie Parker would have killed somebody if he had not blown his horn.
The history of black people in America is one of unbelievable resilience
in the face of crushing white supremacist powers.
This kind of dignity in your struggle cuts both ways, though, because it
does not mobilize a collective uprising against the elites. That was the
Black Panther movement. You probably need both. There would have been no
Panthers without jazz. If I had been of Martin Luther King's generation I
would never have gone to Harvard or Princeton.
They shot brother Martin dead like a dog in 1968 when the mobilization of
the black poor was just getting started. At least one of his surviving
legacies was the quadrupling in the size of the black middle class. But
Oprah [Winfrey] the billionaire and the black judges and chief executives
and movie stars do not mean equality, or even equality of opportunity yet.
Black faces in high places does not mean racism is over.
Condoleezza Rice has sold her soul.
Now the black bourgeoisie have an even heavier obligation to fight for the
33 per cent of black children living in poverty - and to alleviate the
spiritual crisis of hopelessness among young black men.
Bush talks about God, but he has forgotten the point of prophetic
Christianity is compassion and justice for those who have least. Hip-hop
has the anger that comes out of post-industrial, free-market America, but
it lacks the progressiveness that produces organizations that will
threaten the status quo. There has not been a giant since King, someone
prepared to die and create an insurgency where many are prepared to die to
upset the corporate elite. The Democrats are spineless.
There is the danger of nihilism and in the Superdome around the fourth
day, there it was - husbands held at gunpoint while their wives were
raped, someone stomped to death, people throwing themselves off the
mezzanine floor, dozens of bodies.
It was a war of all against all - 'you're on your own' - in the center of
the American empire. But now that the aid is pouring in, vital as it is,
do not confuse charity with justice. I'm not asking for a revolution, I am
asking for reform. A Marshall Plan for the South could be the first step.
· Dr Cornel West is professor of African American studies and~ at
Princeton University. His great grandfather was a slave. He is a rap
artist and appeared as Counsellor West in Matrix Reloaded and Matrix
Revolutions.
Interview by Joanna Walters, in Princeton, New Jersey
Posted by mbowen at 11:38 PM | Comments (0)
Foreign Countries
Foreign countries have responded generously to Hurricane Katrina. Donor
nations and their contribution:
Country Support
Afghanistan $100,000
Armenia $100,000
Australia $7.6 million
Azerbaijan $500,000
Bahamas $50,000
Bahrain $5 million
Bangladesh $1 million
Belgium Medical/logistics teams
Canada 2 helicopters, 32-person rescue team, evacuation flights, medical
supplies
China $5.1 million cash and relief supplies
Djibouti $50,000
Finland Search-and-rescue team; 3 logistics specialists
France Tents, tarps, MREs, water treatment supplies, cleaning equipment
Gabon $500,000
Georgia $50,000
Germany MREs, high speed pumps, forensic experts
Greece 2 cruise ships
India $5 million
Iraq $1,000,000 cash
Ireland $1,000,000 cash
Country Support
Israel Tents, first-aid kits, baby formula
Italy Generators, water pumps/purifiers, tents, med supplies
Japan $200,000 cash and $844,000 in relief supplies, $1.5 million in
private donations.
Kuwait $400 million in oil, $100 million cash
Maldives $25,000 cash
Mexico Transport vehicles, 1 helicopter, ambulance and medical teams.
Mongolia $50,000 cash
Nepal $25,000 cash
New Zealand $1.4 million cash, search and rescue teams
Nigeria $1 million cash
Norway $1.54 million in relief supplies
Qatar $100 million cash
Republic of Korea $30 million cash and in-kind donations
Saudi Arabia $5 million from Aramco, $250,000 from Agfund
Singapore 3 helicopters
Sri Lanka $25,000 cash
Taiwan $2 million cash, medical supplies
Thailand Forensic experts, blankets and food
UAE $100 million cash
UK MREs
Venezuela Up to $1 million
Source: State Department
Posted by mbowen at 06:39 PM | Comments (0)
September 09, 2005
Visiting the Dream Center
i stopped at target late this afternoon and picked up quite a load of diapers, baby powder and baby oil. since it was right in the middle of rush hour, i took surface streets to the center. it's still abuzz with activity. they have more than enough clothing for adults. the need is baby things: clothes, wipes, diapers, powder, etc. the lady told me there are 200 families being housed. the radio says 100. anyway, i asked what one can do to meet the folks. she gave a big smile and said, "come to church." what i learned is that the newly arrived will attend service with the host folks of dream center. services are thursday evenings at 7pm and sunday at 10am. location: angelus temple in echo park. you may recall that's the headquarters for the foursquare international church founded by amee semple mac pherson............
from there i went to lacma and caught part of a free friday night jazz set. nice change of pace. then to popeye's at la brea and jeffereson and then to the pad.
now, tis time for some shakespearean reading and then, early zonk tiempo.
Posted by mbowen at 10:00 PM | Comments (0)
September 03, 2005
Katrina Update
for all intents and purposes, the guys at this morning's men's club
meeting all wanted to talk about hurricane relief. we voted to send $2000
-- most likely through the Episcopal relief and development fund. we'll
also make an effort to gather clothing items during the coming week. i'll
make an announcement during tomorrow's service challenging other parish
organizations to do something as well.
i mentioned that i would be going to smart and final this afternoon to get
some diapers and other goods. one member (who is on less than a fixed
retirement income) gave me $10.00 cash and another wrote a check to me for
$100.00. from church i went to the KRST unity center at 78th place and
western and introduced myself to the women in charge. they told me a
truck had left earlier in the day to pick up stuff from some other sites.
another truck will be back early in the week for another pick up. if i
don't get back there today, i'll certainly do so tomorrow.
will keep u posted.
(talked to sylvia this morning.)
[i heard that cuba has offered to send medical
personnel...........hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm]
Posted by mbowen at 01:59 PM | Comments (0)
September 01, 2005
Katrina…It’s a Black Thing
For more reasons than I will explore here, I hate the fact that this country is fighting a losing war in Iraq. America never should have mounted the invasion (Yes…Bush lied then and now his mendacity of yesterday is overshadowed only by his contemporary utter stupidity. That’s another story for another time.) One of the things I have reflected on over these seemingly endless months of military misadventures is what it must be like to live in a place like Baghdad, a city under siege. And when the tsunami hit Indonesia I wondered about the power and unforgiving “nature of nature.” Now, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and parts of Florida are experiencing unprecedented disaster as a direct result of Hurricane Katrina. (On an irrelevant, I have only met 2 females with that name. Both were very gentle women to a fault. So much for a name.) Although I have backed away from much of my 60s and 70s thinking about race in general and Black people in particular, I have never moved away from my horror over the ever-downward spiralling nature of poverty as a tenacious reality and destitute human beings…of every color and kind.
Because my television viewing is less than minimal (if that’s possible) I initially received what I learned about the storm via radio, the newspaper and the internet. All the time I knew that the stores about misery, dislocation, isolation, etc. were unquestionably the stories of Black people. One reporter said that being in New Orleans was like being in a Third World country! How ironically and unintentionally accurate. Looking at photos of people wading through varying levels of water was exactly like seeing pictures of African villages. Sparse belonging, empty expressions, confusion…hopefulness, anticipation all combined.
When I first heard about the looting, my reaction was automatic and typically American: “Oh, that’s terrible!” And I remain convinced that looting ain’t cool, but “terrible?” Once again it daughter Debbie to the rescue. Without extending a stamp of approval, she queried, “What would we do [under those circumstances]?” No money, no credit card, no food. Oh, I certainly know what the moralists would intone about right being right and wrong being wrong no matter what. But when those proclamations are touted one is probably warm, well fed and most likely gainfully employed. One is not scrambling around in the midst of unprecedented chaos. Again, another story. BUT…shooting at helicopters deployed to rescue people from the Astrodome? That’s not revolutionary or frustration-initiated or evening an score from historical misuse, abuse or slavery. That is just plain STUPID. (Yes, Mr. President, you do indeed have Black counterparts! Even if humans aren’t created equal, they get that way after a while.)
But there’s another dimension here. It has to do with something I’ve been thinking about recently having to do with Black male leadership. Or Black men in general. The facts speak for themselves so I note simply: P. Diddy now simply (a fitting word) wants to be know as Diddy; Jesse is in Venezuela noting that the President should condemn (ever-foolish) Pat Robertson; local Nation of Islam leader Tony Muhammad tells an L.A. cop, “Make me!” and although we still don’t have all of the so-called fact, got his butt whipped; and Ludacris continues “Pimpin’ All Over the World.” Whew! Yielding to a tendency to ask the wrong question, I ask, where are the outcries to do something positive?…like mount a campaign to send money or organize a caravan or send food or clothing to those whose total existence has been uprooted by mindless Katrina? All storms are that way. Why no Black politicians, religious leaders, civic mouthpieces, ad nauseum taking the lead, filling the void? Where is the real leadership when it is so desperately needed? The answer is an easy one: Waiting on the sidelines for white folks to mess up! Waiting for white folks to “Make me!”
I always entertain the prospect that there is something wrong with my own picture – the one that I see or the one that I draw; that I am missing something or, seeing all that needs to be seen, that I place an emphasis where it doesn’t belong. Could be. In the meantime I pray for those who are in those unbelievably water-logged places. Yes, and I likewise pray for the shooters and the looters too albeit that the shooters should be jailed with all deliberate haste.
Finally, I still my own restless soul at times like this by doing another thing I have no reluctance to do: SEND MONEY! I’ve written checks for the Episcopal Relief and Development Fund and the Red Cross. And when I do a closer-to home family financial thing, I’ll gulp down a Colt 45!
Life is unpredictable, often (as now) tragic; but ever…good.
Cheers, beers, fewer fears (Guess who’s still in charge?)
Posted by mbowen at 11:18 AM | Comments (0)
August 30, 2005
Me ‘n’ Brock Peters
“But above all, to thine own self be true.” (Polonius to his son, Laertes, in Shakespeare’s Hamlet ~
No…I did not know Brock Peters. And I don’t recall the details of any of the movies in which he played. I distinctly remember what he looked like and, most of all, that resounding voice. I imagine him singing…..somewhere. When I heard that his memorial service would be held at St. John’s, I decided to attend…for no special reason other than my sense that the occasion would be “big” and some occasions of a certain magnitude beckon me. I was well rewarded by being there. But let me back up a bit.
That morning started off as a regular one. Nothing special, nothing disconcerting. Then I picked up the L.A. Times (an early morning ritual and, in this case, a mistake of sorts). In the California section, there was an article (with assorted pictures) on the street confrontation between Nation of Islam’s local leader, Tony Muhammad, a crowd of angry black folks and LAPD. Minister Muhammad was allegedly punched and kicked by the police, and subsequently busted for assault or something along those lines. Prior to everyone’s arrival, there had been a gang shooting and one man was killed and another wounded. The crowd had gotten worked up (interestingly not because of the shooting) because they felt the man had moved after lying there and that the paramedics could have done more to save his life….or something like that.
This whole “mess” quite unexpectedly got real close to me. It was all like another grand urban drama. Neighborhood madness (aka homicide), cops, anger, confrontation, allegations and counter allegations, press conferences, investigations...etc. Very simply and immediately I said to myself, “I am sick and tired of what happens in this city. I am ready to leave!” And I wasn’t kidding. The only places that came to mind were (oddly?) Seattle and/or “anyplace in New England.” I didn’t care who was right or wrong in the confrontation, I was just mentally tired of the locked-in or locked down pattern of community death, destruction and delusion. All too regular, all too predictable. I might even guess that by the time I finish this piece (which won’t be today) someone else will have been beaten or butchered.
My failure in this instance is no different from what it has been all too often: I foolishly look for the interjection (intervention!!) of reason and some semblance of community logic. No, I have never nor will I ever be an apologist for rogue cops. Contrary to the views of many, they are out there looking for (make that initiating) confrontations, assaulting folks, plotting “evidence” and being as “disruptive and extra-legal” as the people they are suppose to “go after.” What I am talking about it the sad pattern that nobody wants to address: the fact that one black male knuckleheaded shot and killed either an other black male knucklehead or some non knucklehead!! That’s the heart of the matter for me. And that in and of itself is what dramatically initiated the Los Angeles Exit Option. I wasn’t shocked; I was totally pissed! And even though there was no truly fixed destination, what I was sure of was that the price of gas would be just as outrageous. That brought a welcome smile. I knew there wouldn’t be as much driving as Los Angeles demands. Partial relief in that regard.
Then, a little later in the morning, I headed for church. Again, I had to smile because although I got there 40 minutes before the beginning of the service, I had to go 5 blocks south on Flower Street to find a parking space. So be it. The service helped in an unexpected way. I was quickly reassured that there were other things happening in Los Angeles other than the shoot ‘em ups and other forms of endless, ceaseless, mindless violence. And although I have never been star-struck, there were men and women who made good of their lives by pursuing the arts (and entertainment) and saw enough in that to at least appear to be overwhelmingly positive. Their focus for those 2 ½ hours was to honor a fellow artisan. What they did didn’t make this city any less chaotic. There remains meanness in the streets and behind closed doors; but it gave me the needed reminder that it is possible, albeit not always easy, to be in the presence of men and women who take themselves and their attendant “issues” off the stage of life long enough for the literal and symbolic spotlight to be on someone else. Hollywood folks who moved well away from center stage.
Years ago, Dietrich Bonhoeffer called Jesus the “man for others.” I’d expand that to say I was fortunate—make that blessed -- to be in the presence of “men and women for another.”
That’s what it was all about and that, bar nothing, made my day.
Posted by mbowen at 10:30 PM | Comments (0)
August 28, 2005
Stolen From Dad's Drawer
I am secretly publishing my father's missives as Pundad. You have to understand that he doesn't own cable or a cell phone. He's on a different plane than the rest of us. I have decided to do this because I can't keep track of his stuff any other way and I don't want to have to go sorting through it after he's gone. So I take on this burden until I think he is ready to.. which probably wont be for another 5 or six years.
This will be the second time I've done this. The first was called 'Down Front'. You see, about three times a year, Pops comes up with a new publication and sends it to us. He's a very creative thinker, and well, you'll see for yourself.
I'll start backdating posts that I have archived in Google Mail. It'll take a while, but I think it will be worth it.
Posted by mbowen at 09:52 AM | Comments (0)
August 27, 2005
Me ‘n’ the Mountains
Reminder: The “Me ‘n’…” writings have to do with personal experiences… something I am not accustomed to writing about, but look forward to sharing.
Most life experiences have a history, a point of beginning. And many of those beginnings are rooted in childhood experiences. In this particular instance I am lucky enough to be able to pinpoint my (nothing short of) passion for mountains. The place is New Haven and the mountainous place within that urban space was no less a giant than West Rock located oddly enough at the western edge of the city. Living in McConaughy Terrace housing project put me (the family!) pretty much at the base of the mountain. It could be seen form the apartment, and without the dilly dallying that young folks invariably do when going anywhere, the closest trail could be reached in 20 minutes. Most of the time I went with others (brother and/or friends) but being too young and foolish to harbour fear, I sometimes went alone.
The path/trail was a totally familiar one so there was no sound reason to think I was exploring new territory. Yet that is exactly what I felt every time. The very thought of “onward and upward” had a magical ring to it. If I wasn’t an explorer, then I sure as heck was a pioneer! And I didn’t quibble over whatever difference there might be between these words. Whatever the label, I certainly wasn’t just another project kid going where he had no business. In an unspoken yet real sense, I had claimed West Rock. It was inarguably my mountain. These many years later there are only two distinct spots at the top of West Rock that I vividly remember. One was the vista – a point from which much of New Haven could be seen. No massive skyscrapers dotted the skyline but Yale Bowl and the waters where the university’s crew team practiced could readily be singled out. From another less dramatic spot, I could see “all the way to” West Rock’s cross town mountainous relative, East Rock. I recall being told that East Rock was taller. So be it. “Tall” was not enough of an attraction to cause me to switch allegiance. East Rock was in East Haven and that was not a familiar place to me. East Haven only meant Lighthouse Point and lots of Italians. And that was that. (We only went to Lighthouse – as we simplified the designation -- in the summer; and there were plenty of Italians in the project and even more less than a mile away in Woodbridge….so like what was the big deal about East Rock? Besides, somebody had already claimed my rock and had no need for another one! To be at the vista, however, was more significant than just having a good view of the city. It was literally to be at the very edge of unimagined danger! The drop was steep, sudden and unforgiving. I would often lean over as far as I would and could and imagine myself to be tempting fate whatever that might have meant at the time. I equally (and foolishly) imagined myself slipping and falling only, at the last desperate moment grabbing a solitary branch heroically sticking out of the side of my unforgiving mountain. Whew, an endless stream of childhood close calls. I often dreamed about this same scenario, even as an adult.
The second spot, a short distance from the vista was historic Judges Cave. I don’t want to do a history number here. I’ll let it go with saying that Messieurs, Whalley and Goffe (aka regicides) successfully hid from the British troops who were tracking them down for their role in the condemning to death English King Charles I in 1649. Long before I knew or cared anything about its history, Judges Cave was the ultimate location for hide and seek and small mountain climbing atop my bigger mountain. That was the full extent of its utility in those early years. Nothing more was sought or required. ~ The mountain love and fascination has remained unabated these many years later. I think it was daughter, Debbie, who recently labelled it a “fever” and who am I to argue with a young, intelligent daughter? (And she’s pretty, too) Interestingly enough, I now find myself not at all concerned with the most fitting word to describe the power of the attraction. An attitude ‘bout the altitude? What I do know is that I am not in the mountains as often as I’d like to be and when I am there, I feel much better than I do in countless other places. So, having trekked to Mount Whitney’s summit 4 times and, but for the badly swollen ankle of my (absolutely no gender-slammin’ intended) female hiking partner, 5 times. There is indeed a straight line between West Rock and the High Sierras.
Closer to home there is Angeles National Forest and the scenic San Gabriel Mountains. I leave it to those who devote their lives or professions to recording the wonders of mountain ranges in general and the San Gabes in particular to provide appealing and informative details. My more immediate personal leaning is to “frequent them frequently and enjoy them immensely. As I sit (initially in L.A. County’s sprawling Kenneth Hahn Park) putting these thoughts together I think about the San Bernardino Mountains – perhaps a 2 hour drive from home. But when I think about that same mountain range, I invariably think about Big Bear and Arrowhead and hotels and shops (even malls) and cabins and hundreds even thousands of people. Caveat: The mountains most assuredly belong to everyone as well they should. There is an awesome quality about the San Bernardino Mountains, the eastern cousin of the San Gabes. But I see an interesting parallel. Like East Rock they are “too far” from where I live. And that diminishes their appeal. Yes, I recognize a contradiction here. The contradiction has to do with distance. An unrushed trip to the High Sierras takes about 4 hours. Yet the town of Lone Pine at Whitney’s “base” has a distinct small western town feel about it; and that makes a difference. The “town” below the road to Big Bear/Arrowhead is Redlands, a still growing city.
Big Bear and Arrowhead are intended to draw the masses from the cities – Riverside, San Bernardino, and, most definitely Los Angeles. So, everybody heads there. But when everyone is in the mountains, I need not be there. For me, it’s that simple
Interestingly, I am “trapped” in a desire to share those life experiences that have been good to me. So, in this instance, I am always trying to talk family and friends and people I don’t know that well to head for the mountains. As a social worker in the 60s I corralled the social workers in the unit I supervised to join me for San Gabes treks. We easily convinced a numbers of recipient mothers to let us bring their children along. And some 30 years later I formed a small cadre of Antioch colleagues (when we were still at Marina del Rey) to likewise “head for the hills.” Unapologetic about my enthusiasm, I convinced another set of Antioch folks to do the same just last Sunday morning. (I went to the early service at St. John’s.) We ended up with 15 women, men and children in varying states of bodily readiness. For reasons others would be more adept at explaining, I always have an easier time convincing women to come along than is the case with men, I am totally open to having as many dudes as might be interested; but they aren’t. Like a number of other things, that really used to bother me. I looked long and hard for some reasonable explanation. I don’t do that any more…at all. I “indiscriminately” put out the “Y’all come” word and without a touch of anticipatory anxiety, I wait and see what will happen. If folks bite, I am pleased because I am very sure they will enjoy the experience. If, for whatever reason, they choose not to come along, I shrug and…load up my backpack anyway. Life is grand and short in that order. I have been at those wonderful altitudes with the curious, the cautious and the committed and…alone.
Part of the enduring wonder and majesty of mountains is, like the blues, they don’t care who’s “got” ‘em.
Posted by mbowen at 06:02 PM | Comments (0)