7.03.2018

The Baltimore Online Book Club: A review of "Ironweed" by William Kennedy

This is the twelfth edition of The Baltimore Online Book Club. After each meeting, I place a review of the book discussed online. Our next meeting will take place on July 26, 2018, during which we shall discuss "The Blue Flower" by Penelope Fitzgerald. Online members are encouraged to read that book along with us, and post comments in the comment section, once the review is posted.
The book selected for our June meeting was "Ironweed," by William Kennedy, which is the subject of the present review. 




Ironweed
by William Kennedy
Penguin Books
New York, N.Y. 1984
227 pages

    Introduction

This excelent novel received the Pulizer Prize in 1983, and several other awards as well. This is not surprising; what is, surprising, however, is that the novel was rejected many times before it was accepted for publication.

The novel portrays two unforgettable characters, Francis Phelan, and his on-and-off girlfriend, Helen Archer. They are, along with many other characters in the book, homeless. Neither Helen nor Francis are antiheroes, however. Francis might be less educated, but he is very strong, upright, and moral. What precipitated his downfall was a fatal accident: he dropped his infant son while attempting to change his diaper; he cannot handle the guilt and leaves his loving wife and two children and becomes, well, a bum. The novel takes place in the late thirties, as Francis winds his way back to Albany, his hometown, where his wife and family still live. That his family will welcome him back at the end of the novel, after over two decades of abandonment; that Francis had left behind his responsibilities due to guilt at his son’s death--a plot like this would at first blush seem nearly impossible to turn into a successful novel. And yet Kennedy pulls it off with mastery. Francis is an impulsive man who is not prone to reflection, to put it mildly. He is very hard on himself; he is pursued by inner demons, who never let him forget what he has done. The main reason why he didn’t return earlier is his feeling of utter worthlessness. Perhaps this feeling has attenuated over the years; perhaps this is the reason he is returning to Albany. We don’t really know, for in Francis’s case his feet do the planning, as it were, not his brain. He has no conscious plans to return, yet return he does.

Kennedy’s style is a combination of almost Joycean obscurity, lyricism, and wordplay, alternating with an almost Hemmingwayan directness and simplicity. I suppose the former was the reason many publishers hesitated to accept the manuscript. We can be grateful that  they eventually did, for Kennedy’s Joycean side is quite admirable. The Hemmingway aspects allow the reader to follow the plot easily, without understanding every line.
Just like with Joyce, Kennedy has packed a lot of information in his descriptions. He does this with a remarkable sense of understatement, a very admirable quality.

I would like to underscore this characteristic by a discussion of the references to music in Kennedy’s portrait of the second unforgettable character of the book, Helen Archer.

Helen Archer and Music

Helen and Francis are complimentary characters. Francis is uneducated; Helen attended Vassar. Francis has a poor self-image; Helen, despite everything, respects herself and remains as upbeat as possible. Inner dynamics drove Francis to homelessness; Helen became homeless by the machinations of her family and on the part of a former lover. Francis lacks insight; Helen has a sharp analytical mind. Helen was well on her way to becoming a professional musician before things collapsed, through no fault of her own. 

Kennedy masterfully uses Helen’s taste in music over the years as a means to illustrate her character. He does this with understatement and subtlety. Most readers might well gloss over the references. Being an amateur musician myself, I am able to sort most of them out. For those unfamiliar with the musical compositions mentioned in the novel, something is indeed lost, yet one can almost fully enjoy the novel nevertheless. Kennedy knew what he was doing.

First we must answer this question: why is Helen’s name Helen? We find out on page 56. The sentence begins after Helen sings a song at a seedy nightclub, to general acclaim:

The applause was full and long and gave Helen strength to begin “My Man,” Fanny Brice’s wonderful torch and Helen Morgan’s too. Two Helens.

Probably not too many readers will get this reference, and Kennedy, true to his fashion, does not belabor this. Helen Morgan, (1900-1941), was, in my opinion, the best torch singer of the first half of the past century. She sang in speakeasies and, unfortunately, became a self-destructive alcoholic. She attempted a comeback in 1941; she collapsed on stage, her liver being irrevocably damaged. Two Helens, two musicians, two alcoholics, one fictive, one real.

I would like to insert here a recording of hers, a recording with which, I have no doubt, Kennedy was familiar. It is from the 1936 film, Show Boat. It was recorded at the end of an age that favored sentimental interpretations; Fanny Brice’s rendition of My Man does indeed strike modern listeners as being ‘over-the-top’. Yet Morgan's sentimentality manages to transcend sentimentality. She was also a consummate actress. Every note in the performance has been carefully thought out, yet it also seems quite spontaneous. Listen to her exquisite, unexaggerated (for the time) phrasing. Notice her hand gesture when she sings, “It’s surely not his brain.” How wonderfully she sings and phrases “but I love him,” at the end of the song. Whether one likes this type of music or not, there can be no doubt that this is a spectacular recording. Kennedy chose his references well. It is a tribute to is musical sophistication. 









Frequently, homeless people have difficulty finding a place to sleep. One wintry night, Francis takes Helen to a car where a homeless acquaintance, Finny, resides; there is only room for one guest. Helen immediately realizes that this is a betrayal. Francis is “cuckolding” himself, for he well knows that the both figuratively and literally dirty old man, Finny, will expect sex in exchange for allowing Helen to sleep in his car. He does indeed grope her and demands that Helen masturbate him, which does not lead to orgasm, much to Finny’s chagrin, due to the debilitated state of his health. Helen realizes that, after nine years, Francis is ending their relationship—he is, after all, and even if he doesn’t realize it, in the process of returning home to Annie, his wife. On page 111, Kennedy writes:

The day had all but begun with music. She left Finny’s car humming the “Te Deum”; why she could not say.

This cryptic reference is almost certainly to Handel’s “Dettingen Te Deum,” the granddaddy of all Te Deums. Helen is humming the opening fanfare, a trumpet and drum orchestral delight. I invite everyone to listen to the opening section on YouTube; any version will do. It is one of the most joyous pieces of music ever written; Handel’s extroversion is in marked contrast to the inner world of Bach.

Why should Helen be humming this joyous piece at such an awful moment in her life? I will give two possible reasons. The first is that music has always been a refuge for her; the joyous music of Handel was at the moment much needed to drown out the horror of her recent experience, as well as her sorrow at Francis’s betrayal. The second reason is that Helen’s inner nature has always been an upbeat one; this piece was probably familiar to her since childhood—It reflects the way she sees or at least used to see the world. Kennedy’s subtlety and restraint are in full focus here; he just mentions the piece and moves on, leaving it to the musically educated to figure out the hidden meaning, and allowing the less musically-aware reader to skip over the reference and to read on.

As the chapter progresses, we are informed about Helen’s unlucky past. She was musically gifted from an early age, and, to her father's delight, practiced the piano diligently. She was well on her way to a promising career as a musician, when her father sent her to Vassar. After two months there, she was informed of her father’s death by suicide. We learn later that her father left her enough money for her to continue her education. Her mother however, conceals this. Her mother informs her, as narrated indirectly on pages 118-119:

Archer killed himself because he had squandered his fortune; that what money remained would not be wasted in educating a foolish girl like Helen but would instead finance her brother Patrick’s final year in Albany Law School; for a lawyer can save the family. And whatever would a classical pianist do for it?

Years later, while nursing her ailing mother, she discovers the will that her mother had concealed. She leaves, leaving her mother in the care of her brother, who promptly has their mother admitted into a nursing home, where she soon dies alone.

After Vassar, Helen gets a job with a man who owns a music store. She plays various pianos in turn for customers, some musically sophisticated, some not. She becomes the mistress of the owner, a married man, who, after several years, dumps her for “a younger woman, a tone-deaf secretary, a musical illiterate with a big bottom.”

Poor Helen!

Kennedy hereupon provides two music references of extreme importance:

…and on that awful day Helen sits down at Arthur’s grand piano and plays “Who is Silvia?” and then plays all she can remember of the flight of the raven from Die Winterreise.

                                                                 p.126

“An Sylvia” is a famous Schubert lied, The text is a German translation of the following poem form Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona:

Who is Sylvia? what is she,
   That all our swains commend her?
Holy, fair, and wise is she;
   The heaven such grace did send her,
That she might admirèd be.

Is she kind as she is fair?
   For beauty lives with kindness.
Love doth to her eyes repair,
   To help him of his blindness;
And being helped, inhabits there.

Then to Silvia let us sing,
   That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
   Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring.

Here is an excellent performance of this lied from YouTube, sung by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau, accompanied at the piano by Gerald Moore.




Kennedy mentions this lied at a poignant moment in the book, the significance of which is apparent only to those who understand the musical reference. The song represents the ideal image Helen has of herself; indeed, she was well on her way to become a modern version of Shakespeare’s Sylvia. We can be sure she knew this lovely piece by heart; she, in fact, plays it from memory.

Her fall is illustrated by another Schubert song, die Krähe from the song cycle, Winter’s Journey. Schubert was very much capable of writing songs of musical delight such as An Sylvia; a depressive, he was equally able to write songs of utmost despair. Winter’s Journey, (Schubert omitted the definite article), consists of twenty-four lieder written to texts by Wilhelm Müller. Experts contend that Müller is at best a mediocre poet, but I think he is much better than he is given credit for. The texts provide a short story, as it were, of a young man losing a battle with despair. What would sound like a bad line in a poem standing alone becomes better when one considers that it is spoken by a man whose mind is deteriorating. This is how, I think, The Raven is to be understood. I translate the text, from memory, freely: 

A raven (crow) has been following me since I left the city; it has been circling above me the entire time. Raven, strange creature, you will not abandon me? Are you seeking to capture my body as your prey? I doubt if I’ll be able to continue at my  walking stick for much longer. Raven, let me finally see faith until the grave,

Standing alone, this poem strikes one as being over-the-top; in context, however, supported by similar poems, one can understand the use of such an image by an average mind in the process of dying from despair. Schubert certainly took it seriously, very seriously. The image is indeed horrible: the protagonist pictures an impending future where his abandoned  body is picked clean by a bird of prey.

Kennedy chose one the most despairing, yet beautiful, songs in musical literature. 

Here is an excellent recording from YouTube, performed by Hans Hotter, baritone, accompanied by Gerald Moore at the piano:




To paraphrase Shakespeare, some are born to tragedy some have tragedy thrust upon them. Kennedy supplies a wonderful little detail here: while Helen can play the Sylvia lied by heart, “she then plays all she can remember of the flight of the raven…” Helen doesn’t have the latter lied memorized, because tragedy has been thrust upon her; a tragic outlook is not intrinsic to her nature. She has probably phantisized that the “For Sylvia” lied might as well have been titled “For Helen.” She probably had been aware of the Winter Journey lieder previously, due to their extreme beauty; she didn't memorize any of them, however, due to their extreme sadness.  Now, unfortunately, she gets the meaning.

At the end of the chapter, we find Helen dying alone from cancer in a seedy hotel room where she and Francis periodically stayed, when they had enough money.  Before renting this room for the night, she steals a recording of Beethoven’s Ninth, so she can die holding the music she loved, if not the man she had loved, with a passion. Throughout the chapter, Kennedy quotes from the text of Beethoven’s choral symphony, including this one, which apparently sums up Helen’s view of music and humanity:

Oh embrace now, all you millions,
With one kiss for all the world 

Those familiar with the score know what follows, sung with great conviction by the chorus:

Brothers, above the tent of the sky,
A loving Father surely dwells.

One can easily surmise why Kennedy left these two lines out. This is a modern novel. There is no Providence at work above the many scenes of human suffering. There is sorrow, there is joy; there is happiness, there is despair. God, however, has nothing to do with it.

Yet there is a hint of triumph in Helen's final misery. She has sacrificed herself for the one she loves; she has been true to herself in good times and in bad. She remains to the very end a stranger to lies, deceit, greed, bitterness, and envy. Although she dies alone, she is not really alone; the last thing she hears is the triumphant finale of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. The joy of music, if not the joy of a happy life, remains with her until her last breath.

We have gotten to know Helen through the music she loves. How subtly, understatedly, and artistically has Kennedy accomplished this task!

Ironweed is indeed a gem.

                                       *
This is the twelfth edition of the Baltimore Online Book Club. You are welcome to read past book reviews of the Baltimore Online Book Club by googling the title of the novel along with my full name, Thomas Dorsett. You can also find them on my blog, thomasdorsett

1. The New Life by Orhan Pamuk
2..Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
3. Exit Ghost by Philip Roth
4. A Sport and a Pastime by James Salter
5. Life and Death are Wearing Me Out by Mo Yan

6. Tender is the Night, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
7. Pierre or the Ambiguities by Herman Melville
8. Time's Arrow by Martin Amis
9. Mumbo Jumbo by Ishmael Reed
10,The Book of Disquiet, by Fernando Pesso
11. Purple Hibiscus by  Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

7.01.2018

An Arbor Day Poem

For Trees on Tu B'Shevat



Your roots are literal and you
actually reach for the sky—
Each trunk is a capital “I”—
How peaceful it must be to be
first person singular figuratively!
Even one leaf banishes despair,
(metaphorically speaking, one strand
Of hair)--You never gray, you gold,
red, and brown; and, unlike ours,
season after season yours faithfully
comes back.  Fed by lifelines of
centuries-old, lithe and
organically willed-to-live veins,
leaves restore youth every spring.
Take a stand for challenged oaks
is not a command—Even when
gnawed during youth, yes, even if
crippled by long-since-dead deer,
oaks don’t need encouragement;
every one rises as high as it can.
Adult coiffures become canopies,
only 3% of sunlight reaches kids—
Yet saplings accept what they get,
and, most unlike us, never complain.
Tough love!  Yet If they received light
as they’d like, they’d grow too fast and
become deadly-thin.  I just read a book
(pages of tree flesh) that asserts roots
talk to each other via vast networks of
underground wires, fungi their go-betweens;
what do they say?  “Bagworms are
devouring us!  Constellate defenses,
neighbors!”  In one word: survive.
Choose life--Brothers, sisters, I am
a tree, you are a tree, long máy we
all flourish and seek sunlight yet!



This poem first appeared in The Deronda Review, Vol. 7, number 2

6.24.2018

Trump Just Might Be One Of T h e m !

I have been around for a long time, and have followed politics for a long time as well. Like most people, wars I've always found to be especially disturbing--why were people doing such horrible things to one another? I remember the Korean War, but was too young to understand the background of the conflict. I remember the Vietnam war as well, and couldn't forgive Johnson or, later, Nixon, for its (unnecessary! and immoral!) horrors, such as the widespread use of civilian bombing. By now you can imagine my response to the completely unjustified invasion of Iraq, with its hundreds of thousands of casualties, not to mention its trillion-dollar expense. "We are doing Iran's dirty work," I remember telling others at the time; a prediction that has since been proven to be correct.

During times when I was convinced that my country was making bad decisions, I always consoled myself with the following thought: at least this isn't Nazi Germany!

For the first time in my life, however, I am beginning to see similarities with that awful regime and our current one. I am not exaggerating. Our institutions and traditions remain largely intact, along with our glorious system of checks and balances. The public, at least the progressive section of it, is vigorously opposing separation of children from parents at the border. These are good omens. But the fact that this separation took place, not to mention that it is supported by many, is one of many ominous tendencies. I am not saying that we are becoming Nazi Germany; I am saying, however, that the current president's sympathies are much more with fascism than with democracy.

I have always been extremely uneasy about comparing any American regime to Hitler's. We are so much better than that! What is the source of my present misgivings? What lead me to believe that Trump, deep down, might be one of them?

Born one month after the end of World War ll, I was horrified from an early age by the war against fascism, which resulted in the greatest destruction that the world has ever seen. The response of many adults around me was, "We won! We won!" Although I was certainly glad and grateful that the Allies had been victorious, I had difficulty getting beyond the war's wanton destruction--fifty-five million dead, the epicenter of which was the unspeakable crimes of the Holocaust.

My father despised the Germans. I could not accept the belief, however,  that all inhabitants of one country were worse than all inhabitants of another. Since my relationship with my father was conflicted as far back as I can remember, I decided to learn German as an act of defiance, and also as a way to prove my conviction that "all people are the same." I studied German in high school and went on to study German in college as well, after which I spent a year studying German in graduate school before switching to medicine.

Despite having been a busy pediatrician for many years, I did not neglect the German language. To this day, I can read, speak, as well as write in German.

I am still very appreciative of German music and literature; I still believe that Germans as a  whole are no better or worse than members of any other ethnic group. Being able to approach history from a German context, however, deepened my horror about what was perpetrated in Germany's name.

This is a huge subject; I will limit my discussion here to how I came to believe that Trump has marked fascist tendencies.

The Nazis began their debasement of the German language from the very beginning. They coined malevolent memes and used them to foment antisemitism everywhere. I will provide only a few examples.

After The Nuremberg Laws were passed in 1934, a new crime arose, "Rassenschande," "shame against the race." German has the unique ability to form compound eotfd which are much more direct, and in this case, more vicious, than indicated by an English translation; the English translation of "Rassenschande" seems muted and bureaucratic in comparison. The is especially true of an especially horrible compound adjective: "judenrein". When mass deportation of Jews from German cities took place after 1942, cities or towns were declared "judenrein," that is, cleared of Jews, once there were no Jews left.  "Cleared of Jews" however, doesn't cut it: the world literally means "pure of Jews"; the cognate of this Nazi-coined word is "stubenrein," that is, "housebroken." The real meaning of this malevolent word is closer to "purified of filth."  This is the word Nazi newspapers used, while, all over Germany and Austria, people were marching to the strains of "Deutschland erwache, Juda verrecke!"--"Germany, awake, Jewry, croak!" Oh, the horror, the horror! These are but two examples of debased, dehumanized language perfected by the Nazis.

I was well aware, from the beginning of his regime, that Trump was a malignant narcissist in addition to being a liar, a racist, and someone unfit to be the president of the United States. His performance since becoming president has deepened this awareness.

Yes, Trump is a racist. Having been the head of the notorious birther movement for five years prior to his election is a good indication of his racial animus. Even worse, when five teenagers were accused of raping and severely beating a white jogger in Central Park, he ran a full page ad in the New York Post demanding, before a trial took place,  that they receive the death penalty. Even worse--far worse: when, years later, the five no-longer-young men were proven innocent by DNA analysis, Trump recommended that the convictions should not be overturned. How can this be explained other than by a racist animus against Blacks? (There is, of course, much more evidence which illustrates Trump's fondness for America's Original Sin.)

Yes, he is a racist, but this didn't make him a Nazi in my eyes. After all, racism has been a prominent part of the American story from its inception.
What made me come to the conclusion that Trump's racism was worthy of Nazism?

On June 19, 2018, Trump tweeted the following:

Democrats are the problem. They don’t care about crime and want illegal immigrants, no matter how bad they may be, to pour into and infest our Country, like MS-13. They can’t win on their terrible policies, so they view them as potential voters!

My God, I thought to myself: he is one of them! I never thought that I would ever compare a U.S. president  to Nazis. How dare I make such a comparison?

(I would like to make clear at this point that I'm certainly not implying that Trump is an advocate of mass murder; I am asserting, however that Trump would be much more comfortable in a fascist role rather than in a democratic one. And, oh, by the way, if he had been a German businessman in 1933, which side do you think he would have been on?)

I can't imagine that any American in higher office--at least since the Civil Rights Movement--would ever use the word "infest" to refer to human beings. He is implying that these Hispanic refugees are vermin, vectors bringing a plague of crime into the United States. (Never mind a fact that can't be emphasized enough: migrants, both legal and illegal, commit crimes at about half the rate of native-born Americans.)  "Infest" here struck me as coming from the same dark place in the human soul that spoke of "judenrein" seven decades earlier.

In the midst of mounting scandals and egregious behaviors, this tweet was hardly noticed. Its significance, however, has struck me deeply. For me it was the broken window through which I got a glimpse into Trump's soul.

Now Trump's constant stream of lies is beginning to remind me of those of  Josef Goebbels. Now Trump's periodic rallies are beginning to remind me of Nazi rallies. Now Trump's cozying up to dictators and his contempt for democratic allies remind me of that demon himself, who once said in Mein Kampf that the great advantage of fascism is that it brings all leaders down to its level. In this context, his admiration for dictators and disdain for allies makes sense.

The man who has no empathy, the man who is our president, appears to be a fascist at heart:  the majority of American hearts, however, follow the beat of a brighter and better drum.

We must, however, take Trump's threat to democracy seriously. This is not a conservative issue, nor is it a progressive one: it is an issue of justice and of humanity; it is an issue of patriotism.

Please join me in peaceful, vociferous and active opposition to this man who, at his core,  seems to be--horrible to say--not one of us, but one of them.

6.19.2018

Sample Letters



Note: I am posting a copy of a letter I sent to my congressman today; with appropriate modifications, I also wrote to both Maryland senators. I am posting this simply to encourage all of you to write your own letters to your congressman and senators. Caged children can't wait; we must act now! Oh,  and by the way, I didn't send the letter to the President. You know and I know it wouldn't have done any good. 

                                                                               4408 Wickford Rd.
                                                       Baltimore, MD 21210-2810
                                                       June 21, 2018

Congressman John Sarbanes
2444 Rayburn HOB
Washington, D.D. 2055

                                         
Dear Congressman John Sarbanes,

I am appalled by the current practice of separating children at the border. As a pediatrician, I am well aware of the fact that children are not little adults. Tearing families apart can and will have lifelong traumatic effects upon children, let there be no doubt about that. 

Give me your tired and poor, and we’ll put them in cages? Lock up those yearning to be free? What are we becoming?

This is not a conservative or liberal issue. No other position is morally tenable—Separating parents from children must stop now!
I know you share this view. My request is that you be much more aggressive about it.  Two thousand children torn away from their parents constitutes a calamity—Even an extra day in  detention can cause great harm.

Using children as hostages in order to obtain funding for a border wall crosses the border to evil from good—fight hard for what’s right, Congressman; fight the Liar with fire!

The torch of Lady Liberty is being dimmed; we’re depending on you and your colleagues to make it shine brightly again.

Please rage, rage, against the dying of the light!

If you have any suggestions on how I can help, please let me know them.

Sincerely,



Thomas Dorsett M.D., M.P.H.



                                                        4408 Wickford Rd.
                                                        Baltimore, MD 21210-2810

President Donald J. Trump
Washington, D.C.
Dear President Trump,

You are America’s Orange Nightmare. Make America great again—resign!

Sincerely,


Thomas Dorsett M.D.

"Don't Take Jesters Into Outer Space"

                                          --Wislawa Szymborska

One day, they'll be laughing on Enceladus.

Clowns on a tightrope from Deimos to Mars!

(Meanwhile, Sunyatta. the black bear, expands.)
Truth is, perfect worlds don't happen--

Truth is, clowns will build space towns
that look like Detroit.

Don't worry, Shakespeare will be translated
into dialects spoken on Titan

where they'll be stored at absolute Kelvin
beneath New New Jersey's methane lakes.

Don't worry, one December 38th, Wislawa
Szymborska will rise from a wormhole

and take us to poems light-years beyond
abandoned tents and motionless flags.

                                      Thomas Dorsett

This poem was first published in the May-June 2018 issue of The Broadkill Reivew.

Commentary

One of my favorite Latin proverbs provides a key to the interpretation of this poem: Caelum non animam mutant qui trans mare current. This maxim comes from the Odes of Horace, which is translated as follows: They change the sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea. In other words, you can't escape yourself with a change of scene--especially if you rush compulsively to that change of scene.  After packing your clothes and hurrying off to a place where you intend to start anew,  you might imagine that your old self has been left behind; once you arrive, however, you will discover that the one unpacking your socks is the same person who packed them.

We humans will take our positive qualities, that is, wisdom and love, along with us once we begin to colonize extraterrestrial worlds; we will, alas! also take along our greeds, hates, and delusions as well.This poem illustrates some of the possible effects of the latter.

What can redeem us? Since I am a poet, I symbolize what is needed by the advent of Wislawa Szymborska, the great Polish poet, who here represents poetry in the broadest sense of that word, namely, the  non-egotistical dedication to life with as little greed, hate, and delusion, as possible. 

I am not naive; I realize that this transformation is almost as unlikely as the The Second Coming.This explains my reference to wormholes and the impossible date of December 38th. With love, however, incredible progress isn't impossible at all: steps toward that transformation are very possible indeed. All of us can make our world and ourselves a little bit better, I have no doubt about that. Commitment to this transformation is what makes us human; it is, I believe, why we are here.

Note: "Sunyatta" is the Buddhist term for "Emptiness"--here symbolizing the relentless expansion of space.


6.12.2018

Trump's Obscenity is Far, Far Worse than Samantha Bee's


It’d been a little over a week since Samantha Bee, the popular  comedian, referred to Ivanka Trump with a vulgar slur. Bee was infuriated—rightly so, in my opinion—with the current policy of separating children from their families at the border. The incident seems already to have been largely forgotten; the day after Bee’s commentary, there was a flurry of rage on the airways and on social media, but this soon subsided. Each day seems to have its own scandal in the age of Trump; each day the previous day’s fuss is forgotten. Roth once said that it is difficult to make sense of a culture where “everything goes and nothing matters"—a perfect description of Trumpworld and his enabling media. Like so many examples of conservative rage, classic examples of which are found in Trump’s tweets, the “Bee affair” has been used to deflect attention from the real issues, in this case, the horrific separation of children from their parents, which goes on unabated.  Rage against this deflection informs this article, the hope that things will improve informs it as well. They have to!

Let us first turn our attention to what Bee actually said, along with a few conservative comments tweeted in response.

The Controversy

On May 30, 2018, Samantha Bee said the following on her cable show:

You know, Ivanka, that’s a beautiful photo of you and your child. But let me just say, one mother to another, do something about your dad’s immigration practices, you feckless cunt! He listens to you! Put on something tight and low-cut and tell your father to fucking stop it.

The next day, as one might expect, Fox News and the conservative tweetworld were, well, “shocked.” Here are two examples from prominent conservatives, representative of many:

This is disgusting. How is this acceptable? And how are we expected to take any of these publications seriously if they gleefully repost something like this  at the same time they (rightfully) condemn Roseanne?  You know the saying Love is Love. Well, Hate is Hate.
                                                         --Megyn Kelly

Compare ABC’s reaction to Roseanne Barr’s tweet with TBS’s no- reaction to Samantha Bee and you’ll see a double-standard in action. Three’s no uprising against Bee. Why? Because she is liberal. Because the MSM (mainstream media) protects Obama and his aides, but not Trump. The hypocrisy is sickening.
                                                        
                                                        --Ari Fleisher

What Bee said and Barr wrote are not equivalent. Barr tweeted a racist comment, while Bee used an expletive, however improperly, to defend the vulnerable. That's a very big difference.First, 


Before discussing Trump's policy of separating children from their parents, I would first like to recount our family’s use of expletives, in order to enable the reader to understand better my reaction to this incident.

The Use of Expletives at Our House

It’s not that we have zero tolerance for expletives at our house, it's just that it never occurs to us to use them. I guess it’s a matter of style. My wife, Nirmala, hails from India; we married in 1974, two years after she came to the United States. It is my impression that educated Indians eschew expletives; this is true of all her relatives here and abroad; it also applies to the many people I have met in India. (How do I know when my wife gets angry? Her face turns red. Then she expresses her anger with a rapid barrage of words—without even a darn!)

Following her example, I never heard my son use a curse word. (He is an adult, and we remain close). I must admit that I have used an expletive on very few occasions when I’m very angry at the world, around a dozen times or so in the last forty years. I also admit to being the moody and depressive member of the family. In short, on a scale of 1 to 10 where five represents average expletive usage, I would imagine our family would score very, very much less than 1.
I do admit using the ‘n-word’ on one occasion, in front of my son.  (What I said was the “n-word” not the actual word). We were in the car together; Philip changed the radio to a rap station. I listened to the lyrics. “Phil,: I said, “I don’t like the use of the “n-word” in rap. It's vulgar, and white kids, who listen to a lot of rap are going to repeat it."  “Dad, It’s not ‘n-i-g-g-e-r” but ‘n-i-g-g-a; a term of endearment among blacks--By turning an insult into its very opposite, it is a form of resistance to the racism which blacks face on a daily basis." “I still don’t like it,” I said. It is, of course, not much of a shock for my son to use either term, since he is black. (Background: my wife is Indian, I am of English descent, and our adopted son is black.) It wouldn’t be right for me to use either term, of course, and that’s fine with me, because I don’t.

Just because we don’t use expletives, however, doesn’t mean that we melt when we hear one.We listen to a few cable TV shows, where hosts and guests often pepper their speech with “f—ks” and “sh-ts,” and that's fine with us. For us, it’s more of a matter of not the words you say, but the decency of what is being said. A good example is the dispute, long ago, between Richard Pryor and Bill Cosby. (We never liked Bill Cosby. We thought his attempt to appear so squeaky clean was an attempt to cover up something a good deal less clean inside. We were prescient in this regard, as everyone knows by now).

Cosby was lecturing young black males, advising them to clean up their speech. No more expletives please! Be like his family on the sitcom. He excoriated Richard Pryor for using so many expletives during his performances. Richard Pryor’s response to Cosby “Have  a Coke and shut the fuck up!” A truly brilliant response that couldn’t have been better said any other way! Cosby, the product which advertisers love, vs. Pryor, the comic genius, a product of a difficult life—who do you think won! Nirmala and I laughed and laughed at Pryor's Zen-like retort.

We don’t watch the Samantha Bee show. But if we had seen the episode in question we might not have liked her use of the expletive, but we would have hardly noticed it. Out anger would have been directed, in solidarity with Bee, at Trump. Why?

Trump’s Obscene Immigration Policy

On May 8, 2018, Trump adopted a policy of “zero tolerance” for individuals crossing over the border other than at official sites. At the time of this writing, over 11,000 children, some as young as a one-year-old, have been forcibly separated from their parents, while the parents face prosecution for having crossed the border illegally. Some remain at detention sites, many others have been placed in foster care in various states of the country; communication with parents has been sporadic at best. The designated facilities and foster care system were completely overwhelmed, since there had been no adequate planning to accommodate so many children.

This is an abominable practice; it is obscene. Samantha Bee would have had to string together a nearly infinite number of c-words to approach the obscenity of Trump’s policy. How have the media reacted? They were shocked by Bee’s vulgarity. Never mind the vulgarity and horror of Trump’s immigration policy. Once again, coverage of a core issue was deflected by emphasis on, well, nonsense.

When I listened to Trump officials defending this inhumane policy, I was tempted, if only for a moment, to throw a shoe at the TV. 'The adults have committed a crime, and, when that happens, separation from their children is a frequent consequence'.  Yeah, right.

I am a retired pediatrician. I know well that children are not little adults. Forced separation from their loved ones can cause serious trauma in children, the effects of which can last a lifetime.
There is no justification for this horrendous practice; it is not required by law.The true reason for this practice was expressed by John Kelly, the Homeland Security secretary: the purpose is to deter immigration.

The most important moral law by far is,“Love thy neighbor as thyself.” Hillel’s version is especially apt here: "Don’t do anything to others that you wouldn’t like others to do to you". How would these officials feel if kids in their family were forcibly removed from their mothers in tears? It is said that a country is judged best by how it treats the most vulnerable. The vast majority of these immigrant families have been through a lot. Violence in their native lands has forced them to flee. After a long journey, none would have expected this ungodly treatment.

Morality demands that children never be separated from parents except for reasons of neglect or abuse. This time it’s the U.S. government doing the neglect and abuse!

I am ashamed of my country’s actions in this regard, deeply ashamed. I believe there will be future documentaries dealing with the consequences of this criminal policy. That some lives will be seriously damaged, of this I have no doubt.

What did the one whom I sometimes call “El Orange Pesadilla” have to tweet about this crime against humanity?: “Separating families at the Border is the fault of bad legislation passed by the Democrats. Border Security laws should be changed but the Dems can’t get their act together! Started the Wall.”

How many expletives would Samantha Bee have had to say to approach the obscenity of that quote? Make-America-Prate-Again, indeed.

For the first time in my life I can understand how good Germans must have felt during the Nazi terror. The important difference is that our democratic institutions, although increasingly under siege, are basically still intact. It’s up to us to utilize them and stop this horror now.

6.08.2018

What Did That Self-Help Guru Say?

"Simply subtract your age from 65,
and that's how many good years you have left."
That makes mine fewer than minus three!

Once vim is reduced to a negative toddler,
is it O.K. to sit and forget half your French?
It is not. Instead, before I'm minus four,

I shall sing and descant upon love
an a language I as yet don't understand.
Perhaps I'll send him a postcard from Kandahar,

perhaps I'll send him an elephant tusk
made out of marzipan
by a lovely, crazy German living in Irkutsk;

he apparently thinks old age is the time
to stare like a cow while a fly
navigates a bulbous nose. Should I rage?

No, rages are unseemly after minus three;
having outgrown my terrible minus twos,
I'm ready for a raucous minus youth,

and if I find a tarantula in La Descubierta,
I promise I won't send him a fanged memento mori
in a silver candy box, crawling on blue cheese.

                                     
                                               Thomas Dorsett


This poem first appeared in The Broadkill Review, May-June 2018

Notes

An actual self-help guru devised the formula mentioned in the poem, although I forget his name.  Although the protagonist of the poem is a bit younger than I am, we both strongly believe that 65 is not the end of life!