I came of age in the seventies. I know the “Good Times’ life: the ironic – temporary layoffs, Good Times, ez credit ripoffs, and the optimistic- 3,4,5, Good Times, leave your cares behind. Contradictions: Giddy in the club, singing “there’s no stopping us now”, while I knew the drama at the tractor factory. There, the first women hires were celebrated- a party, a banner, and a newspaper feature. 9 months later, they were laid off, forever. I understand that life is hard, victories may be brief, and the future is not guaranteed. That is in my nature and my nurture.
Yet, that is not enough to explain today; today is different.
Last week, I watched Trevor Noah’s comedy special. He wondered about the term African American. He did not seem to know about Fifties USA, a world of Italian Americans, Irish Americans, Polish Americans, Jewish Americans, Mexican Americans, Native Americans, Puerto Rican Americans, Lithuanian Americans, Japanese Americans… The sixties arrived with our first ethnic, Catholic president (John Kennedy). We, ethnics, were on the rise and we had power in the Democratic party. We had good paying jobs that were important to building the country and the economy. We were out of the tenements and into homes with lawns. African Americans fit into this stew, in a way that Afro Americans or Black Americans did not. It is hard to imagine today as most ethnics have melted into white America, Hispanic America, or Asian America; jobs, industries and even homes have been lost; and only the very rich have power.
It is different and it is difficult to even know where or how to begin to make sense of this world.
Forty years ago, I heard a story about the Chinese Revolution. Before the revolution, many poor people, would cross the street if a rich person was near or if a rich residence loomed so that their “bad luck” would not rub off and bring bad luck to the rich. Yes, it was a propaganda story and yes, it made me feel lucky to be an American. Forty years ago, Americans were largely free from this kind of superstition and self- hate. I believed this part of our democratic, debate loving, anti-elitist American character/culture was immutable. We might be “scratchin’ and survivin'” but we were also “hanging in and jivin'”. We were proud citizens. It was inconceivable to me that that a culture that idolizes the rich and favors the privileged would grow to dominant. It was inconceivable that so many ordinary Americans can rationalize their losses in this new world with self-loathing and shame. History forgotten. It is a different world and it is difficult to know where or how to begin.
Violets in the Grass 