And they still fit after as winter scurries out of here. It's a twisted world we live in when there's snowstorms in the Southeast and we're in the middle of a very balmy thaw. It's safe to say that I can shelve the salt until next winter.
Aaron Patterson, a wrongfully convicted former Illinois Death Row inmate whose sentence was commuted and pardoned by former Governor George Ryan, is campaigning for the Democratic Nomination 6th Congressional District of the Illinois House of Representatives against incumbent Patricia Bailey. I looked at the map for the district this afternoon; a distance of one block is all that separates me from the possibility of having Aaron Patterson as my state representative. After having witnessed a stump speech by Patterson last night I am breathing a heavy sigh of relief that gerrymandering has prevented that from happening.
Patterson gave his stock speech last night about his history with the state prison system- how, as a former gang banger, he was beaten and tortured into confessing to double murder in 1986. Patterson was suffocated with a typewriter bag and pummeled with a phone book. He managed to find a paper clip and used it to scratch his claims of torture and innocence into a bench.
That experience is the foundation for his campaign. Patterson promises to form an "innocence commission" if elected to the state legislature whose sole purpose is to monitor and investigate the claims of innocence by Death Row inmates. Never mind that Illinois currently has no inmates on Death Row since George Ryan emptied it as his last official act as Governor.
It's what Patterson told the audience after his campaign pledge that startled me. At the urging of his "associate": Fred Hampton, Jr., the son of the Former Black Panther leader murdered by Chicago police in 1969, Patterson began a long, meandering speech about a "revolution" taking hold. It sounded as though he was trained in saying the lines. Patterson tripped over his words numerous times during the speech.
Finally, he summarized by saying, "It's time for a revolution. If the ballots won't bring it about, the bullets will!!" The hip-hop artists left onstage had to pick up the pieces of Patterson's lyric threat. "Sometimes in order to bring about change," one of them said, "you need some bloodshed. Hopefully we won't have to come to that."
Patterson's run is a long shot, at best. Bailey is running with the full weight of the Daley machine behind her. But should Patterson pull an upset, he should seriously consider getting some more rational advisors to help him with his platform. Unless, that is, seventeen years on Death Row makes him believe those words.
Friday, February 27, 2004
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Money Green Only
Meanwhile in today's Sun-Times Mary Mitchell's turned her "somebody-done-some-black-woman-wrong" song toward the upscale State Street boutique G'bani. The store, owned by African American couple B.J. G'bani and Trevian Kutti, put together a unique merchandising campaign this month: "Whites Only" and "Colored Only" window displays.
Ms. Mitchell wrote, "... (S)tanding on the sidewalk, peeping at the shoes, I knew the truth. The offensive window display was being used to sell shoes."
Wow! I knew that and I'm not even a journalist!
More from Ms. Mitchell: "G'bani's marketing strategy is edgy and slick, but it is also irreverent and disrespectful to the people who died so a different generation of black people could sell toe teasers on the Gold Coast."
That's the conundrum with merchandising and advertising. There is an artistic merit to all advertising and merchandising that gets lost in translation when it is infused with commerce. This is particularly offensive to some when advertising incorporates imagery or visuals that have a shocking emotional value, like G'Bani's take on Jim Crow signage.
I seem to remember Accenture using sound bites from Dr. Martin Luther King in Super Bowl ads a few years back. Those bites are not public domain- the King family oversees tight control over Dr. King's image and writings. I'm sure they were handsomely compensated for the use of the footage that ran in the ad. Is the allowing of Dr. King's words to market an accounting firm any worse than taking hurtful imagery and selling shoes like G'bani?
Ms. Mitchell's column is much a much-needed voice for the African American community in this city. Over the past eight years she has written her column Ms. Mitchell has brought to light countless examples of the continued prejudice against African Americans. However she doesn't do it enough. Far too often her columns take on the embittered voice of a woman who hasn't forgotten or forgiven that her man ran out on her, which clouds her judgment sometimes and frustrates her readers with cries that she's a "one-issue" woman airing her own dirty laundry out in public.
I think Ms. Mitchell's barking up the wrong tree here. For all her righteous indignation about G'bani's window displays and her accurate assessment that racism is still alive and well in America, G'bani could be held up as an example of what Dr. King fought for. It's clientele is diverse- if well-heeled (pun intended)- and it's minority ownership in a traditionally white populated neighborhood is testament that we don't live in times of legalized segregation anymore. The images that disturbed Ms. Mitchell and many of her readers are over forty years old now. Their hurt should diminish and heal with time, if we allow it.
I remember that the Chicago Public Schools didn't implement desegregated busing until 1977. I know because I was one of the first schoolkids on the CTA buses heading to the North Side for a better chance at a quality education. But I've also learned not to emotionally fly off the handle when I'm brought face-to-face with imagery I don't agree with, like the G'bani window displays. Maybe Mary Mitchell could afford to be a bit pragmatic.
Then again, maybe Ms. Mitchell's angry because she can't afford the shoes G'bani sells on a Sun-Times columnist salary.
Ms. Mitchell wrote, "... (S)tanding on the sidewalk, peeping at the shoes, I knew the truth. The offensive window display was being used to sell shoes."
Wow! I knew that and I'm not even a journalist!
More from Ms. Mitchell: "G'bani's marketing strategy is edgy and slick, but it is also irreverent and disrespectful to the people who died so a different generation of black people could sell toe teasers on the Gold Coast."
That's the conundrum with merchandising and advertising. There is an artistic merit to all advertising and merchandising that gets lost in translation when it is infused with commerce. This is particularly offensive to some when advertising incorporates imagery or visuals that have a shocking emotional value, like G'Bani's take on Jim Crow signage.
I seem to remember Accenture using sound bites from Dr. Martin Luther King in Super Bowl ads a few years back. Those bites are not public domain- the King family oversees tight control over Dr. King's image and writings. I'm sure they were handsomely compensated for the use of the footage that ran in the ad. Is the allowing of Dr. King's words to market an accounting firm any worse than taking hurtful imagery and selling shoes like G'bani?
Ms. Mitchell's column is much a much-needed voice for the African American community in this city. Over the past eight years she has written her column Ms. Mitchell has brought to light countless examples of the continued prejudice against African Americans. However she doesn't do it enough. Far too often her columns take on the embittered voice of a woman who hasn't forgotten or forgiven that her man ran out on her, which clouds her judgment sometimes and frustrates her readers with cries that she's a "one-issue" woman airing her own dirty laundry out in public.
I think Ms. Mitchell's barking up the wrong tree here. For all her righteous indignation about G'bani's window displays and her accurate assessment that racism is still alive and well in America, G'bani could be held up as an example of what Dr. King fought for. It's clientele is diverse- if well-heeled (pun intended)- and it's minority ownership in a traditionally white populated neighborhood is testament that we don't live in times of legalized segregation anymore. The images that disturbed Ms. Mitchell and many of her readers are over forty years old now. Their hurt should diminish and heal with time, if we allow it.
I remember that the Chicago Public Schools didn't implement desegregated busing until 1977. I know because I was one of the first schoolkids on the CTA buses heading to the North Side for a better chance at a quality education. But I've also learned not to emotionally fly off the handle when I'm brought face-to-face with imagery I don't agree with, like the G'bani window displays. Maybe Mary Mitchell could afford to be a bit pragmatic.
Then again, maybe Ms. Mitchell's angry because she can't afford the shoes G'bani sells on a Sun-Times columnist salary.
Goin' to The Chapel...
San Franciscans watch out. Rosie O'Donnell's coming to get married. Apparently she was appalled at the Shrub's comments about seeking a Constitutional amendment banning gay marriage. While I have no right to criticize her decision, it does smack a little of opportunity. I mean, they've only been marrying gays for a couple of weeks in San Francisco. She could've been there sooner with her resources.
Maybe she has some leftover M&M's from the Martha Stweart trial to toss at the crowd when she does tie the knot.
Maybe she has some leftover M&M's from the Martha Stweart trial to toss at the crowd when she does tie the knot.
The Priorities of Chicagoans
It's the type of story tailor made to provide levity at the end of a local newscast. But this is Chicago, where we turn a blind eye to our mayor when he tears up airport runways in the middle of the night and wiggles his way free of a hired truck scandal custom fit to reward political patronage and influence.
The big news here is we're gonna blow up a baseball, people. We gonna blow it up reeealll goooooodd!!!
It's called the "Bartman Ball" and it is the most recent symbol in a near-century of futility by the Chicago Cubs. For those of us who care about baseball- and the Cubs- enough to pay attention, the Cubs were only five outs away from making the winning their first National League pennant since 1945 when Bartman interfered with a possible play by Cubs outfielder Moises Alou on the foul ball. Alou couldn't make the play and the Cubs, who were leading 3-0, went on to lose the game 8-3 and eventually the series. Since then the Cubs have emerged as pre-season favorites to win the National League pennant and boast arguably the best starting rotation in the major leagues. Meanwhile Bartman has pulled an Osama, becoming a recluse and refusing to give interviews on the subject.
The foul ball has taken on a life of its own. Recovered by a lawyer after Bartman's deflection and removal from Wrigley Field amid death threats from fellow Cubs fans, it was sold at auction for over $113,000 to Grant DePorter, the general manager of Harry Caray's restaurants. Since then, the ball has become a media circus that can only have happened in Chicago. Under constant security, the ball has been treated to a lobster dinner, a "nap" in a baseball glove, and a deep tissue massage. I kid you not. Reports of Costa Rican hookers being flown in to send the Bartman ball off "like a real man" by the State Legislature have not been confirmed. All this leads up to the destruction of the ball later this evening. While officials are being tight-lipped about how the ball will be destroyed, they have asked the city for permission to use explosives.
Meanwhile, busloads of people who should be doing more productive things with their lives- like go to school, work, or post an entry in a weblog- are converging upon Channel 5's new window studios to get a look at a bona fide woman from New York. NBC has brought Katie Couric in to officially christen the new studios and hopefully cut into the sheeplike housewife cult of Oprah Winfrey. The past two mornings Tribune plaza has been littered with the predictable array of crudely drawn homemade signs with Couric's name misspelled. "Kattie, Elmwood Park loves U!!"
Yup. We have our priorities.
The big news here is we're gonna blow up a baseball, people. We gonna blow it up reeealll goooooodd!!!
It's called the "Bartman Ball" and it is the most recent symbol in a near-century of futility by the Chicago Cubs. For those of us who care about baseball- and the Cubs- enough to pay attention, the Cubs were only five outs away from making the winning their first National League pennant since 1945 when Bartman interfered with a possible play by Cubs outfielder Moises Alou on the foul ball. Alou couldn't make the play and the Cubs, who were leading 3-0, went on to lose the game 8-3 and eventually the series. Since then the Cubs have emerged as pre-season favorites to win the National League pennant and boast arguably the best starting rotation in the major leagues. Meanwhile Bartman has pulled an Osama, becoming a recluse and refusing to give interviews on the subject.
The foul ball has taken on a life of its own. Recovered by a lawyer after Bartman's deflection and removal from Wrigley Field amid death threats from fellow Cubs fans, it was sold at auction for over $113,000 to Grant DePorter, the general manager of Harry Caray's restaurants. Since then, the ball has become a media circus that can only have happened in Chicago. Under constant security, the ball has been treated to a lobster dinner, a "nap" in a baseball glove, and a deep tissue massage. I kid you not. Reports of Costa Rican hookers being flown in to send the Bartman ball off "like a real man" by the State Legislature have not been confirmed. All this leads up to the destruction of the ball later this evening. While officials are being tight-lipped about how the ball will be destroyed, they have asked the city for permission to use explosives.
Meanwhile, busloads of people who should be doing more productive things with their lives- like go to school, work, or post an entry in a weblog- are converging upon Channel 5's new window studios to get a look at a bona fide woman from New York. NBC has brought Katie Couric in to officially christen the new studios and hopefully cut into the sheeplike housewife cult of Oprah Winfrey. The past two mornings Tribune plaza has been littered with the predictable array of crudely drawn homemade signs with Couric's name misspelled. "Kattie, Elmwood Park loves U!!"
Yup. We have our priorities.
Tuesday, February 24, 2004
Talkin' 'Bout A Revolution That Needs To Be Put On Hold
I voted for Ross Perot in 1992. The reasoning was simple: although I am morally opposed to everything the GOP- more accurately, the neo-con idealogues who've hijacked the party- stands for, I sniffed Bill Clinton out as a carpetbagger long before Stuttering John asked Gennifer Flowers if she would sleep with any of the other candidates.
One thing that Slick Willie advocated that I actually liked was his promise to allow gays in the military. For the record, I am not a homosexual, but I don't agree with the Armed Forces policy towards gays in the military. The argument that gays and lesbians in uniform would be bad for morale was the same argument the top brass used to disallow blacks, Latinos, and women from serving for so long. In the years since, it's also been proven to be an unfounded argument.
So, after Clinton won in '92, took office, and immediately waffled on that campaign promise with the inane "don't ask, don't tell" policy, I decided to speak my mind. It was March 1993 and I was due for an annual performance evaluation. Back then it was customary for the end of an evaluation form to contain some space for the one being evaluated to express some feelings about shipboard life under the assumption that it would not be counted against him in evaluation. I had just finished reading Randy Shilts' book on gays in the military Conduct Unbecoming and was feeling pretty emboldened.
So when I came upon the question I wrote, " I believe that the President should not have waffled on his stated campaign promise to allow gays and lesbians to serve proudly and openly in the United States armed forces. I believe that the discrimination against gays and lesbians in the military is a contradiction of the basic Constitutional rights and freedoms of expression we have sworn to uphold and defend with our very lives. Such discrimination makes me ashamed to put on a Navy uniform at times."
Apparently my division officer didn't see things my way. A easygoing Vietnam veteran and chief warrant officer, he pulled me aside three days later and asked me to have a word with him and the Chief Engineer, a short balding man with a Napoleonic complex and a stickler for military bearing. We clashed a lot.
"I read your comments at the end of your evaluation," said Warrant Officer. "Care to explain?"
"It's pretty straighforward, sir." I said.
The Chief Engineer, who didn't like me because I was pretty straighforward, cleared his throat and spoke in his Kermit the frog croak. "So you're saying that you think two hundred years of policy should be thrown away-" he snapped his fingers- "just like that?"
"Yes, sir," I replied. "I do."
"Why would you write something like that? Do you have some of these tendencies?" The Chief Engineer became agitated. "Are you a homosexual?"
I stared at him with a poker face and answered, "Not that it's any of your business, Commander, but if you don't ask I won't tell." Then I winked at him and blew him a kiss
His face grew redder than the red trucker hat he wore that designated him as a member of the engineering department. He ran up to me and got in my face, our noses almost touching. Behind him, my division officer didn't know whether to laugh or pull the Chief engineer away. The chief engineer screamed, "I know you only have a year left on your contract, but I'm letting you know that I'm watching you and if you so much as breathe wrong I will bring charges up against you so fast that your head will spin." He backed away from me, smugly assured in his authority.
I raised myself from the desk I was leaning against. "I heard that all the time in boot camp, sir. And I wasn't scared of it then, either." As the chief engineer left the office Warrant Officer put an arm around my shoulder and asked, "Why do you pull this shit? Why do you insist on speaking your mind all the time. You'd be on the fast track to an officer candidacy if you just keep you mouth shut, you know that?" I looked at my reflection in my boots and said, "Sometimes you have to speak your mind in order for things to change, sir."
"Okay I agree with you, off the record." Warrant officer had a sober expression on his face. "But do you think that'll change things overnight."
"I never thought it would, Warrant," I replied. "But I guarantee you'll never forget that I showed the fortitude to stand up for what was right even when it was wrong to do so."
Four years later I filed a Freedom of Information Act request to obtain my military records in order to use my GI Bill. While reading my records and letting the memories flow back like a swelling river I came across some information I never knew. The Chief engineer filed a complaint against me and asked that I be investigated by Naval Investigative Service for alleged homosexual activity. The complaint was never acted upon as it never went past my ship's Commanding Officer.
I remembered that today when I heard that the Shrub proposed a Constitutional amendment outlawing gay marriages. If there is anyone who reads this who still doesn't think that we are entering a cold Civil war, now do you believe me?
One thing that Slick Willie advocated that I actually liked was his promise to allow gays in the military. For the record, I am not a homosexual, but I don't agree with the Armed Forces policy towards gays in the military. The argument that gays and lesbians in uniform would be bad for morale was the same argument the top brass used to disallow blacks, Latinos, and women from serving for so long. In the years since, it's also been proven to be an unfounded argument.
So, after Clinton won in '92, took office, and immediately waffled on that campaign promise with the inane "don't ask, don't tell" policy, I decided to speak my mind. It was March 1993 and I was due for an annual performance evaluation. Back then it was customary for the end of an evaluation form to contain some space for the one being evaluated to express some feelings about shipboard life under the assumption that it would not be counted against him in evaluation. I had just finished reading Randy Shilts' book on gays in the military Conduct Unbecoming and was feeling pretty emboldened.
So when I came upon the question I wrote, " I believe that the President should not have waffled on his stated campaign promise to allow gays and lesbians to serve proudly and openly in the United States armed forces. I believe that the discrimination against gays and lesbians in the military is a contradiction of the basic Constitutional rights and freedoms of expression we have sworn to uphold and defend with our very lives. Such discrimination makes me ashamed to put on a Navy uniform at times."
Apparently my division officer didn't see things my way. A easygoing Vietnam veteran and chief warrant officer, he pulled me aside three days later and asked me to have a word with him and the Chief Engineer, a short balding man with a Napoleonic complex and a stickler for military bearing. We clashed a lot.
"I read your comments at the end of your evaluation," said Warrant Officer. "Care to explain?"
"It's pretty straighforward, sir." I said.
The Chief Engineer, who didn't like me because I was pretty straighforward, cleared his throat and spoke in his Kermit the frog croak. "So you're saying that you think two hundred years of policy should be thrown away-" he snapped his fingers- "just like that?"
"Yes, sir," I replied. "I do."
"Why would you write something like that? Do you have some of these tendencies?" The Chief Engineer became agitated. "Are you a homosexual?"
I stared at him with a poker face and answered, "Not that it's any of your business, Commander, but if you don't ask I won't tell." Then I winked at him and blew him a kiss
His face grew redder than the red trucker hat he wore that designated him as a member of the engineering department. He ran up to me and got in my face, our noses almost touching. Behind him, my division officer didn't know whether to laugh or pull the Chief engineer away. The chief engineer screamed, "I know you only have a year left on your contract, but I'm letting you know that I'm watching you and if you so much as breathe wrong I will bring charges up against you so fast that your head will spin." He backed away from me, smugly assured in his authority.
I raised myself from the desk I was leaning against. "I heard that all the time in boot camp, sir. And I wasn't scared of it then, either." As the chief engineer left the office Warrant Officer put an arm around my shoulder and asked, "Why do you pull this shit? Why do you insist on speaking your mind all the time. You'd be on the fast track to an officer candidacy if you just keep you mouth shut, you know that?" I looked at my reflection in my boots and said, "Sometimes you have to speak your mind in order for things to change, sir."
"Okay I agree with you, off the record." Warrant officer had a sober expression on his face. "But do you think that'll change things overnight."
"I never thought it would, Warrant," I replied. "But I guarantee you'll never forget that I showed the fortitude to stand up for what was right even when it was wrong to do so."
Four years later I filed a Freedom of Information Act request to obtain my military records in order to use my GI Bill. While reading my records and letting the memories flow back like a swelling river I came across some information I never knew. The Chief engineer filed a complaint against me and asked that I be investigated by Naval Investigative Service for alleged homosexual activity. The complaint was never acted upon as it never went past my ship's Commanding Officer.
I remembered that today when I heard that the Shrub proposed a Constitutional amendment outlawing gay marriages. If there is anyone who reads this who still doesn't think that we are entering a cold Civil war, now do you believe me?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)