Poor People's United Fund

645 Boylston Street

Boston, MA 02116

(617) 262-5922 • (617) 262-1381 fax

e-mail: kip@ppuf.org

Boston's Spare Change Community

September 2003

When you are not reacting or responding to the day to day chaos, you tend to muse more. Summer at the beach provides that opportunity. While on vacation I had that opportunity _ to observe life as virtual, as seen on the TV screen. And I'll tell `ya, TV virtual reality is no real escape, but it certainly is the way America prefers reality. And `ya know what? It doesn't make the medicine go down any easier! In fact, it looks like a precursor to a national nervous breakdown. Below are a few of my own musings.

Dear Sisters and Brothers,

We suffer from a kind of cultural shamelessness. The last 5 or 6 TV spectacles, lasting several weeks, for instance, are creations of public humiliation in the hands of TV producers _ at best, a cretinous gaggle of lumpen in Bally's and Ferragamo's dictating our taste. And we, voyeurs that we are, can't wait to see the contestants slurping up mouthfuls of pig entrails, or swimming in the large container of scorpions and cockroaches, intent on winning $50,000. Or, we switch channels to witness the winsome college doctoral candidate or kindergarten teacher, gazing seductively into the glazed eyes of a hunky stud who might have a tough time spelling the word CAT, as a web of a million dollars dangles before her, similar to the ancient combat between the spider and the fly _ a little like a mismatched gladiator fight. Or, we switch again, in endless fascination, to view a parade of feckless incompetent suitors vying for the questionable privilege of "Marrying My Dad." Or, maybe we turn again to watch and listen to a dreary parade of children singing and dancing their poor little hearts out as their "Mama Rose" mommies mouth the lyrics of depressingly inane songs, all warbling, (frequently off key) for the chance to be on the, God forbid, Late Night Show with Jay or Dave.

Or, if we happen to think we might be better informed, we tune into Dan or Tom to be told America is winning the war. Or, a clumsy segue into morphing Bin Laden into Saddam, or nodding YES to the tube when we ponder with Dan or Tom where in hell the weapons of mass destruction really are these days. And, our casual acceptance of another 5 or 10, or perhaps 100, American soldiers being whacked today. Maybe we accept the tough decisions to cut all human services so we can have more of our own weapons of mass destruction. What shall it be tonight? Thumbs up or thumbs down on the Dixie Chicks? And, while we're at it, maybe it's time to beatify John Ashcroft when he tells us how many more of our historic, constitutionally approved, civil rights must be sacrificed for the greater glory of our heroic troops? Let's keep this nation free of terrorists at ALL costs and at ANY cost. Let's acquiesce our rights to any thoughts that sound like, God forbid, dissent. And, our patriotic apologies to Marion the librarian as she turns us in for conspiracy for reading unapproved books. And, when the post person drops off our copy of The Nation, we have to be prepared for the consequences.

In Germany, you might remember, kiddies who ratted on their parents were rewarded by the Reichstag. Of course, we realize such deeds call the notion of moral interpretation into view. It’s a shame we no longer have religious leaders who might help us determine the difference between right and wrong. But they, like our government, are too busy defending their authority. Our national beloved teacher of ethics, William Bennett, kind of blew it a little when he gambled $8 million dollars of the milk money at the Las Vegas tables. And, our religious leaders, oh my, they have apparently concluded that pedophiles are OK. It’s the parents and the lawyers that are the trouble makers and the scandal mongers. Have we all become 15 year old Twinkies?

And, Botox, reality TV, cloned sheep, a guy who was never voted president in the highest office of the country, and the morbid, numbing, mindless stories of J-Lo and Ben. Or, the privatization of everything and every public service not nailed down, the sinister growth and acceptance of right wing think tanks and their powerful influence on state government public policy without even so much as a murmur of debate. Or, the re-appearance, again, of a Hollywood spoiler coming to possibly govern his state in defiant numbskull monologue as in “hasta la vista baby.” Ah! The celluloid terminator! How fitting for the West Coast that has always threatened to fall giggling into the Pacific.

And so, here we all are trying to make the best of a really lousy reality. With unemployment the worst it’s been in decades, salaries going down or out, rents going up, services, (including food) being removed from the poorest of the poor. A bloated Pentagon going for all the toys in the politically correct playpen. And, finally, the democratic candidates, as usual, fighting among themselves, most of them about as helpful as mystery writer Tammy Hoag says, “as a bunch of eunuchs at an orgy.”

By all means, let’s have more virtual reality. Let us continue to ignore the real one. It’s much too painful. We ancients who lived through civil rights marches and protests, who saw the assassination of our national leaders, and who lived through flower power, Joni Mitchell and Dylan, remember dimly the words carved in a granite stone in front of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis where Martin Luther King was assassinated. On that gray slab were written lines from the book of Genesis, “Behold, here comes the dreamer. Let us slay him and see what becomes of his dreams.” It was all so long ago when we too had dreams, when we too cared about each other. Could any of us ever have envisioned, for instance, a Columbine, or the approval of a Clarence Thomas to the Supreme Court, or the incredible, incomparable sadness of 9/11. Or, an acceptance of what we have now, or what might have been, had we the guts to go for it.
I’m whining again aren’t I? Jesus, and I say that I think with a certain moral clarity. For the past several decades we have worked, I believe, worried and prayed and ranted and raved for the things we believed in. As you can see, we still are, and will continue to, until they get it right.

In struggle and hope,

Kip, Fran, Georgia, Celia and Liz