Hindsight being 2020, Kennedy was a bullshit artist. Starting this sit down with three bulb-headed journalists (they all have very big heads, including Kennedy, who - though he looks modern compared to the others - was actually a strange, almost alien-looking man), his first question was how difficult he found the job of President. He answers by turning to foreign policy, and my first thought (as I'm sure it was for many blacks even then) is "What the hell is he talking about Pakistan for?" For blacks in the early '60s, issues like reparations were as much on their minds as they are now. No one could claim no one was alive, who was responsible for any harm, then. But, as usual, the nation's mind, and collective concern, were elsewhere. The Congo. Cuba. Russia. Anywhere but at home. These adventures in "saving the planet" are why America's claimed, then, as now, there's never enough money for settling with blacks. It's a lie.
This talk obviously takes place after the Cuban missile crisis, so we know most everything he's saying is a lie, because that was resolved by a secret deal the public wasn't told about, involving removing missiles from Turkey. Kennedy was a very good liar. Knowing he's lying makes it easier to see him calculating. And he does so very calmly. Knowing he's lying also makes it sting when, only once, he brings up the Constitution. Because I know he's bullshitting again, and only using it as a shield against the public. Not cool, Man, not cool.
Kennedy reminds me that humans have to live long enough to achieve wisdom, to truly appreciate how low a level mankind normally functions. He didn't get enough time to reflect on how despicable his actions were, when lying wasn't just part of the job, but his way of life. Knowing his personal life, he was - literally - honest with no one, beyond his father and brother. It's for this lack of character that the hippies soon practically destroyed the suit and haircut, as a façade for dressing up deceit. Give the lowly T-shirt some respect.
At one point he says it's around January '61. So this talk took place about one month before I was born, as America was discussing whether or not I could go to school with white kids. It's strange to think my life's spanned all that time. Or that I won't be aware of the world, or my own existence, for about four years after this. And I'll be dead soon. (What a concept.) I remember the despair surrounding Kennedy's death, but nothing more. Not even Bobby's killing years later. MLK's death I remember, because my foster father got a bucket and cried into it during the funeral. I barely remember anything about the Nixon years, beyond a vague recognition of Watergate. I wouldn't be politically awakened until Jimmy Carter's turn, when the whole Jim Jones/Harvey Milk thing shook the world by killing 900 blacks. Heady stuff at 17.
The subject of blacks finally comes up, but in a discussion of the government's role in education. Apparently, James Meredith had just staged his protest in Mississippi, and the racism he was faced with, Kennedy says, made his job more difficult. But he's clearly sympathetic to Meredith's position, so I can see why blacks liked him. This is when his charm shines through. Enough so I can see how his assassination crushed people. He had a great smile.
If he hadn't been fuckin' everything in sight, he probably could've really been something.
Yes. And. My grandfather told us there was no safe place on Earth. I know American blacks love to write chapter and verse about how they’re American, blah blah Founding Fathers blah blah more perfect Union. Maybe.
ReplyDeleteThat’s why y’all invented the blues, run so well, and are in general, amazing. Paul Mooney did a great joke about it in which he concludes, “The American Black Negro Is the shot.” Which became the Broun Fellinis song T.A.B.N.I.T.S.
Our song would be, “The Guyanese, (Jamaican, Barbadian, Nigerian, and a few others) black Negro survives.” American blacks are so fascinated with who did what.
Caribbeans, (like the parents of Kamala, so many stars of hip hop, Colin Powell, and more) were fascinated with passports. We know that anyone who traffics humans isn’t going to change their mind and “be cool.” They are going to lie about it.
Tribes don’t mix. Race mixing fails. We are an exception, in the same way that most folks are NPCs. Safety, civilization, truth and justice are always artisanal — meaning, they are always (almost?) small-batch, high vigilance temporary fixes for a planet which, at its best, seems like a kind of hell for black folks. And our challenge is to make all that pretty.
This was a great black take on that period of time, though. Nice work, Troy. You did a yeoman’s job.