Mayor Ray Nagin does have a way with words. His speech in New Orleans on the celebration of the King holiday raised both spirits and eyebrows when he advocated, nay promised, that his recently deluged city would once again be predominantly black. Immediately the pundits went to their microphones and the networks started cutting sound bites. He is a master at getting the word out, and the word is “chocolate.”
But I think I get it, at least in part. The challenge before Mayor Nagin is not only to rebuild New Orleans, but to remake it as it was. Gentrification is defined as what happens when a lot of money comes pouring into a poor area, making it no longer suitable for the poor. Without careful planning there will be a city rebuilt on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, but it won’t be New Orleans.
The mayor is not so much the governor of a city as the guardian of an attitude. We saw the same kind of mantle fall on Mayor Giuliani after the Towers. It is a prophetic calling to stand and lead.
As to the Mayor channeling God and Dr. King, I am not certain he speaks for either one. But his comments in total were more pertinent than the sound bites give him credit. Is God mad at America? Quite possibly. If God is true to His word, then yes, we are not where we ought to be. Is it because of Iraq, though, or because of New Orleans? One of the big issues on God’s to do list appears to be defending the cause of the poor and powerless. I think of the video footage of Iraqi citizens with blue fingerprints after voting. Then I think of the footage of those left behind at the Superdome. Who was more powerless and neglected?
The Mayor’s address was incendiary. I’m sure he meant every word of it. But was it racist? If there is real racism in Mayor Nagin’s speech, it will show on the news the next time New Orleans floods and the people standing chest deep in sewage are mostly black and all poor. Again.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Phones for Terrorists
Untraceable cell phones sold over the counter in big box stores may come into the hands of terror cells operating in the US. The troubling thing about this report is only that it comes as news. Are we that stupid? I am trusting that the FBI had a heads-up about these products usefulness in the field, given they appear from the news to be standard issue for the CIA. And thanks to the vigilance of Wal-Mart clerks in Texas we are now all aware that a purchase of large numbers of Tracphones will tip-off local law enforcement. The message to the terrorists is clearly that they may buy their disposable cell phones, but in smaller lots, and they will be put to the trouble of finding an open Wal-Mart. Take that!
I am all for a free and open market, and I am sure the members of the Michigan militia already have their cache of untraceable cell phones, ever prepared for the coming resistance. I am tempted to go out while I still can and get one or two for under the front seat. But there passed a point somewhere in the last decade when I wonder if we are being as smart as we can be about all this.
We are paying more attention to our borders these days, as we should. But more and more it seems that everything the terrorists need to bring us low is sold at the local outlets. Lenin was wrong, America won’t spend herself to death, she will sell it direct to her killers on the street corner for cold cash.
I am all for a free and open market, and I am sure the members of the Michigan militia already have their cache of untraceable cell phones, ever prepared for the coming resistance. I am tempted to go out while I still can and get one or two for under the front seat. But there passed a point somewhere in the last decade when I wonder if we are being as smart as we can be about all this.
We are paying more attention to our borders these days, as we should. But more and more it seems that everything the terrorists need to bring us low is sold at the local outlets. Lenin was wrong, America won’t spend herself to death, she will sell it direct to her killers on the street corner for cold cash.
Friday, January 13, 2006
Alito
Once again the United States Senate natters away its sole opportunity to really discover what sort of man has been put forward for the US Supreme Court. During judge Alito’s two days of questioning Republican Senators were fawningly playing softball, while the Democrats were predictably mired in issues that are so last millennium.
Senator Feinstein is reported to have said that Roe was a decision “women all over America have come to depend on.” Write a law- shape a culture. Or in this case overturn a dozen state laws via court order, and then staunchly defend the decision against over-overturning and declare it to be “settled (albeit extra-legislative) law”
Oddly enough, the second big issue for the Senators was Alito’s view on separation of powers.
Selah
Yes, the Senators who are up in arms about over-reaching in the Executive have no thoughts whatever about the courts overstepping into their own province of law making.
What emerges again, as in the hearings for Chief Justice Roberts last fall, is that the Senators are more taken with the daily scandal sheets than with the Constitution, and more interested in giving one another a black eye than in deciding what will work best for the country over the next thirty years.
On second thought, maybe it is for the best they leave lawmaking to the courts.
Senator Feinstein is reported to have said that Roe was a decision “women all over America have come to depend on.” Write a law- shape a culture. Or in this case overturn a dozen state laws via court order, and then staunchly defend the decision against over-overturning and declare it to be “settled (albeit extra-legislative) law”
Oddly enough, the second big issue for the Senators was Alito’s view on separation of powers.
Selah
Yes, the Senators who are up in arms about over-reaching in the Executive have no thoughts whatever about the courts overstepping into their own province of law making.
What emerges again, as in the hearings for Chief Justice Roberts last fall, is that the Senators are more taken with the daily scandal sheets than with the Constitution, and more interested in giving one another a black eye than in deciding what will work best for the country over the next thirty years.
On second thought, maybe it is for the best they leave lawmaking to the courts.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Epiphany
It is rude, is it not, to just show up on someone’s doorstep empty handed? My Chinese friends are passed masters at this grace of gifting. Most commonly this time of year it would be a bag of clementines (tangerines), always welcome gifts to ward off colds in the region of China south of the Yellow River without winter heat, and bearing the added advantage of being immediately consumable, as the host turns and regifts the visitor with a plate of shared fruit.
But as I remember growing up in central lower Michigan, there was a custom of Sunday afternoon visiting, where friends and relatives dropped-in unannounced on us on a weekly basis, there was no gift required. Their visit was grace enough.
Taking this class on the prophets from Trinity has put me in mind of the eternal struggle between promise and performance. Not the vast gap between my empty promises and my meager performance, but the delicate balance between God’s gracious promise to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and his expectation that we will nevertheless endeavor to do what we can in response.
So I am struck with the story of the Magi from the East (Baghdad?) who packed up their gifts to bring offerings to God. And I know all about the deeper meaning of the gold, frankincense and myrrh. And that the gold was especially handy as Joseph over extended his original trip plans to take in Egypt. But the Magi didn’t know any of that, maybe never knew. They just knew, with their oriental sensibilities, that they should oughta bring something. After all, you don’t just come to God empty-handed.
You bring your best. You prepare. You save up a lifetime to make this one pilgrimage. You clean up your act. You get straight. You get right. You hedge your bets, pack up your best stuff, put your out-of-office notice on, and hit the road.
And on the road you rehearse “the speech,” you anticipate the look of pleasure on the face of God, you lie awake and look at the stars, too excited to sleep.
And when you arrive, in the wrong place, unanticipated, somehow coolly unwelcome, ‘terribly sorry to intrude,’ redirected, finally meeting an infant God who teethes on the golden bangles, and snuffs at the incense, and tries to eat the white nodules of poisonous resin. This is your epiphany.
And yet the face of God is oddly pleased. Your gift is inappropriate, your preparations inadequate, your maps inaccurate, but your visit is somehow grace enough. He doesn’t really need anything else you have, just you.
But as I remember growing up in central lower Michigan, there was a custom of Sunday afternoon visiting, where friends and relatives dropped-in unannounced on us on a weekly basis, there was no gift required. Their visit was grace enough.
Taking this class on the prophets from Trinity has put me in mind of the eternal struggle between promise and performance. Not the vast gap between my empty promises and my meager performance, but the delicate balance between God’s gracious promise to do for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and his expectation that we will nevertheless endeavor to do what we can in response.
So I am struck with the story of the Magi from the East (Baghdad?) who packed up their gifts to bring offerings to God. And I know all about the deeper meaning of the gold, frankincense and myrrh. And that the gold was especially handy as Joseph over extended his original trip plans to take in Egypt. But the Magi didn’t know any of that, maybe never knew. They just knew, with their oriental sensibilities, that they should oughta bring something. After all, you don’t just come to God empty-handed.
You bring your best. You prepare. You save up a lifetime to make this one pilgrimage. You clean up your act. You get straight. You get right. You hedge your bets, pack up your best stuff, put your out-of-office notice on, and hit the road.
And on the road you rehearse “the speech,” you anticipate the look of pleasure on the face of God, you lie awake and look at the stars, too excited to sleep.
And when you arrive, in the wrong place, unanticipated, somehow coolly unwelcome, ‘terribly sorry to intrude,’ redirected, finally meeting an infant God who teethes on the golden bangles, and snuffs at the incense, and tries to eat the white nodules of poisonous resin. This is your epiphany.
And yet the face of God is oddly pleased. Your gift is inappropriate, your preparations inadequate, your maps inaccurate, but your visit is somehow grace enough. He doesn’t really need anything else you have, just you.
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