We were assigned to write an essay on the theme
preserving democracy for the American Legion or VFW
contest. I forget which group sponsored the contest, it seems.
I recall the solemn moment I realized the cost of loss of democracy
as I pondered the yet-to-be-written script of how it could be done.
Democracy could be lost and its greatest strength laid askew
across our inattentive road to future growth and glory,
an old and Founding-of-America story.
As if !
As if !
I scoffed at myself as I looked around and listened to
the soldiers, sailors and airmen recently returned from WWII.
Those who fought against fascism and for democracy over there
would never permit freedom’s loss here. They would not !
And yet !
And yet !
I could clearly see all around me the powerful need
of individuals cowered by fear of others’ success.
“Keeping up with the Joneses” had become a litany,
a passion, a way of life, that had become de rigeur.
The challenge of battles now laid aside no longer sustained the pride.
Competing to win became a holy grail.
Leagues formed for bowlers and ballers;
their boys played Little League as parents hollered.
Trophies filled up cases with virtuous wins.
Still, this was not enough to satisfy anyone.
I heard the call and response to the world all around me,
“At least I am free, white and twenty-one.”
What ?
What ?
Free, I understood. That is what America stands for, right ?
But, white ? How is that a right and why does it matter ?
Where was that coming from? Where was that fight ?
On the movie screen with John Wayne and his troops
who pushed Native people aside and onto reservations
to avoid annihilation, hiding American’s need to claim
a false superiority, to be better than someone, anyone.
For if we are all equal, none of us can be better than another.
On the television screen we saw burning crosses held aloft
by robed and hooded Southerners hiding their sense of inferiority.
In the North the inferiority hid secretly, under false pride
that claimed no true victory over the South’s perfidy
when it refused to stay within the nation, and hurt our surety
that our Union of States could survive as equal and free
despite the legacy of enslaving people who should be free.
Viet-Nam was aflame, bombed and napalmed in our name.
Those old enough to fight and die were too young
to buy a drink or vote. Most not yet twenty-one.
Ah, I see.
Ah, I see.
And so I did not write an essay; but, a play.
Two characters with Iron Curtain names to delay
the defensive need to deny the truth I would display.
A young nephew visited his uncle in jail,
conversing through the bars of his cell,
trying to understand how it came to be his uncle
was not, and never would be, free.
The 1st. Amendment had become distorted by media,
by political ads and an opposition party
who eschewed the growing power of those formerly subdued
to salve white supremacy, and simple jealousy.
The 2d. Amendment had become distorted by the NRA and KKK;
armed to the teeth they would say is the only way
to keep America white and free as it was meant to be.
“Be careful, young nephew,” his uncle warned.
There are those who would do you harm to silence you.
“Elections no longer count, when the count is misconstrued.”
Only in the final moment, of the final scene, we knew
freedom had been lost in the USA at some time hence.
Freedom is only as strong as me and you, equals
not better than one another, Americans all.
Vote now before America falls.
It took over 60 years to see the words I put on the page
that long ago day, become reality.
The wars fought long ago never ended.
Because human beings always need to know
they are enough, though never better than another, though flawed.
They are treasured and loved more than money and profit.
America need not fall; but, you must vote for those
who recognize who you are and what you could become.
For those who see the possibility of a future
where all men, women and children are the true treasure
of a nation where all are free to engage in democracy.
Vote now. Not for the past; but, for a future that can last.
LABOR DAY 2022
My earliest memory of Labor Day was being lifted by my father from the stroller and placed on his shoulders. I remember feeling I might fall back and my mother’s hand holding me in place while she warned my Dad, “Be careful, honey.” Dad still had on his apron. He left work with his wife and children to watch the parade striding past his restaurant. I have no idea if the doors to the restaurant were left open. My guess is, knowing how the family business functioned, some uncle stayed inside to keep company with those already sitting at the bar this early in the morning. We never missed a parade.
Labor was honored in this Ohio factory town surrounded by farms. The parade was huge. The parade started a block away from the restaurant so we watched the parade walkers gather and assemble, the floats line up, the horses struggle against the urge to run, held pacing in place by their riders. We kids rejoiced in the front row view with insight into parade warm-up.
Every workplace, it seemed, had a float and/or groups of walkers. Factory workers carried their union flags and smiled as they passed out candy to the kids. Flags were in abundance. Everyone in town participated in some way. Boy scouts and bands, dance and gymnastics academies, florists and glass blowers…farm equipment, police cruisers and fire trucks…politicians in cars, their wives and children smiling and waving.
The parade queen was slightly less popular than the military and VFW contingent led by soldier, sailor, airman and marine cadres, followed by equipment from the local National Guard Armory. The soldier most vivid in my post-World War Two memory wore an unusual uniform. Dad explained he was one of the last living Civil War Union Army survivors. I shall never forget that man, ancient and proud of his service to country. He was bigger and better than the tanks, to me.
When I was about four or five years old I was considered old enough to sit on my dance school float. We were placed between two high school bands. It was deafening, if jaunty. I always got nosebleeds in the hot sun. Thus, I held a handful of increasingly bloody tissues in my hands; so, I could not wave at the crowd, nor wave away my humiliation. That never stopped me from climbing aboard the float. I simply learned humiliation should never get in the way of trying something new, and being part of the community. The ability to embrace humiliation cannot be underestimated. It has gotten me through every stage of life.
Farmers and factory workers lived and worked together in my small town. On Saturday afternoons farmers’ trucks and factory workers’ trucks were parked side by side on the town square while their wives shopped, kids sat on benches eating ice cream, and the men stopped into my dad’s restaurant for a quick drink. Later their families would join them for dinner there. Many of the farmers also worked in the factories, the unions protecting them both. A strong middle class grew in strength recognized by politicians as crucial to the country’s national defense. Post-war workers and politicians valued the middle class and encouraged its growth.
As I left for college the town was changing. A conglomerate was formed to shut down and take over local dairies, United Dairy Farmers was not a union protecting dairy farmers. It started the downward slide of strong family farms, substituting investor controlled farming which has usurped most of American farm production despite the current interest in “farm to table”. for centuries Farm to Table was firmly in place; until, investors saw a way to make money off the labor of farmers. Factories eliminated Research and Development divisions, relying on the easy gain to pay investors profits rather, than plowing profits into future gains which would ensure job growth and livable wages. Workers and farmers became serfs to investors. Today, even doctors and hospitals have become serfs. Wall Street investors now control their schedules, their workplace conditions, their decisions while practicing medicine.
To make such a return to serfdom succeed unions had to be undermined and destroyed. After a short time, the parades ceased. Celebration of serfs’ labor made no sense. Companies which no longer invested in future growth and sound wages certainly would not invest in parade floats. Undermining union strength and avoiding the growing recognition that regulation of pollutants, safety for workers, and labor rights was accomplished by moving factories overseas. Acres and acres became ghost towns where workers mourned lost jobs.
Brown fields blocked recommissioning the use of these acres to other uses. The costs to small towns was monumental. Politicians no longer valued workers but investors. Labor day lost it meaning. It simply became another day to sell hot dogs and potato salad, and lawn tents for family picnics, to those underemployed or out of work; cheap food for those no longer receiving a living wage.
There is a resurrection going on. Over a million Americans have died in the Covid pandemic. The ongoing endemic and threat of more pandemics to come with global climate change disclosed a reduced work force. The broken immigration system, refusal to acknowledge existing refugee laws, and racial prejudice have further reduced our workforce. Supply chain issues have exposed the flaws in sending production of goods overseas, only to get stuck and threaten economic growth.
These insights are giving rise to re-unionization of the American workforce. Our young workers have had it with wages so low they must have two to three jobs, cannot afford training or retraining to higher paying jobs, and must live in their parents’ basements. Workers refuse to remain serfs, working for Wall Street instead of Main Street. Workers have reason to hope this Labor Day. I only hope the parades can resume someday before I am gone. I eagerly await an epic Labor Day Parade as wonderful as those I attended as a child. It would mean labor is once again recognized and properly valued. I wish the same for workers everywhere. Higher wages, more parades. Workers unite!
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