Black History Month is meant to celebrate the culture and achievement of African-Americans, to remember or discover significant events like the civil rights movement, and to acknowledge the icons who sparked change in American society. And the necessary backdrop to the celebration is remembering where we've been as a country. George Santayana said, "Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it." That's an interesting thought right now...especially since our country just elected our first African-American president. But to better understand where we are, we absolutely must remember how we got here.

And that's why I love this book -- Remembering Jim Crow. It's one of my favorites. It's not a book of stiff, academic history. It's not a contrived, over-the-top work heavy on rhetoric but short on objectivity. What it is is a collection of oral histories of people who lived during the Jim Crow era...including what you already know and what never would have occurred to you.

When reading Jim Crow, the parts I found most compelling were those where the interviewees talked about the very, very subtle facets of racism and the de facto rules of social subordination. These are the parts of America's history that aren't written in textbooks. Here's an excerpt from an interview with a man named Ralph Thompson, who grew up in Tennessee in the late 1930's and early 1940's:

[Parents] tried to keep you away from things that would be embarrassing when they couldn't fight back.
...
When you look back at it, you can tell why -- because they couldn't defend [us].
...
My daddy, if it was a white person around talking to him in some kind of business format, he would move away from us or tell us to go play or something. I guess it was to protect us from something that might be said to him that he wasn't able to defend.

The book also gives us some glimpses of the subtle but real pressures put on white people in the segregated south:

I can remember at the drugstore, some evenings we would stop in there and get ice cream, and the pharmacist was real nice to us.
...
In this particular drugstore he didn't put any stools at his counter. When you look back, I guess he said I'll treat you as fair as I can and if I don't put the stools here, I don't have to worry about nobody sitting down. You get your ice cream. You have to move on.

Though often sad or even disgusting, this collection of stories will, at some point, lift you back up because you'll not only remember the downfalls, but see the future. Really...if you can make time to read one book this month, I give this one the highest marks and enthusiastically recommend it. Even if you don't have time to read the book right now, you can listen to parts of the interviews on the Internet at http://americanradioworks.publicradio.org.

YES WE DID

change his clothes

Obama lives at my desk and, for a guy, he's actually got a decent number of outfits to wear...and some nice accessories.

So today, as you can see, Obama wore his grayish-blue jeans and a neatly-pressed Oxford shirt. Note that Obama has taken a well-calculated fashion risk by pairing his hipster shoes with a cowboy hat. Of course, Obama has brought me flowers...and wants to take me for a beer.

Now that's a change of clothing we can believe in.

And they never should. This book was published in 1958.*

"I know up on the top you are seeing great sights, but down at the bottom we, too, should have rights." -Dr. Seuss

*By the way, Yertle is the antagonist.
Don't go naming your turtle Yertle.
Name him or her Mack.
Well, I guess if your turtle is kind of a jerk you can name it Yertle.

McSweeney's cracks me up. So clever it is. And although I purposely intend to not go too much into politics on this blog, this piece is allowed because it's damn funny. So, without further ado, discourse, or description...

If A Unicorn Were On The National Security Council, by Ken Saji:


The unicorn starts out by laying out its plan to counter the North Korean nuclear threat. It says, "Create a giant rainbow over the entire country that lasts 100 years and then flood the DMZ with thousands of puppies—er, kittens. Because nothing's cuter than a kitten scratching and meowing to get in somewhere. Then, after we break through, the Marines go in and take over any nuclear facilities, turning them into 'Happy Centers,' filled with flowers, cupcakes, popcorn (low sodium), toys, smiles, trust, and kinship."

The vice president is swayed, but asks for tactical specifics. The unicorn presents a briefing memo written in watercolored rebuses. It's 630 pages long. The unicorn states that it's no small feat writing out "operational malfeasance" in pictures, and the president says, "Well, ain't that the truth."

The unicorn moves on and explains that increasing the Special Forces covert operations in the tribal areas along the Pakistani border would be productive. Currently in that region, says the unicorn, "there are way many factions, anti-U.S. sentiment, cobwebs, and frowns."

The director of national intelligence questions the unicorn's assessment, specifically the number of operatives needed. He says the undersecretary of defense stands by the current numbers.

The unicorn immediately questions any troop assessment coming from the Department of Defense. "How about," it says, "that leprechaun? Whenever we talked about Iraq, the leprechaun magically appeared and said our ground forces were sufficient."

"Leprechaun?" asks the secretary of defense.

"The one who celebrated Rosh Hashanah," says the unicorn.

"Wolfowitz," mouths the national-security adviser.

The unicorn nods its noble head.

The secretary of state is concerned about conducting clandestine missions without congressional approval.

The unicorn holds up in its mouth a document of legal indemnification, crafted by the White House counsel. It's written in crayon and contains language like "all busted up and such," but the unicorn maintains that it's ironclad.

Talk turns to Somalia and the growing threat of Al Qaeda in the capital city. "Have you thought," asks the unicorn, "of sending a legion of robots?" "Just one legion?" asks the secretary of the treasury. The unicorn lets the chief of staff take that one—it's not exactly sure how many make up a legion, as it's probably metric.

The unicorn remains silent for most of the conversation on Iran. In a break in the conversation, it interjects, "In developing contingencies against Iran, council members had suggested I contact a specific person at the International Atomic Energy Agency. My advisers soon told me that there is no person at the IAEA named Nukey McBombalot. This after multiple attempts to reach his secret office in Kapowville, as well as hundreds of dollars out of my own pocket spent on calligraphy on his invitation and place card for my tea party. Does anyone have any other contact information on him?" The unicorn thinks he hears the director of national intelligence stifle a laugh.

The vice president talks about supplying arms to Kurdish rebels. "How about," says the unicorn, "we swap out guns and use love guns." The unicorn starts to draw a rifle with an oversized barrel under the words "Love Gun!" and stops. "Let's shelve this for now," says the unicorn. Everyone quickly agrees.

The president emits a loud groan and points. There's a large pile of manure on the Situation Room couch. The council members look at the unicorn. "That's not me—and unicorns don't lie," says the unicorn. The president looks at the vice president. The vice president averts his eyes. They move on.

Talk turns to Iraq, and the unicorn wishes he had his teddy bear. The teddy bear who served on the Council on Foreign Relations. The one the unicorn took to Syria, and the unicorn saw the look on the Syrians' faces, like "Oh, man, don't let this teddy bear look me straight in the eye." And the meeting was going great until the teddy bear said that Damascus reminded him of his ass. So now Hezbollah is stronger than ever and the teddy bear is teaching social studies somewhere in New Paltz.

The chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff sternly opposes the unicorn's idea to airlift sunshine across the tribal areas of Afghanistan. He says something under his breath. "I heard that," says the unicorn. "Calling me just a horse with a horn is like calling Justin Timberlake just a singer or the secretary of state just a mannequin for Dress Barn suits."

To clear the air, the unicorn calls for a bathroom break. After a few minutes, it comes back and says how cool it is that the Sit Room bathroom has textured toilet paper. "Why is that?" asks the unicorn. "Because we're the government," says the secretary of defense. "Boy," says the unicorn, "I wish I used toilet paper." And everyone stares at the unicorn, and suddenly it wishes it hadn't said that. And then the unicorn wishes it were something else, like a monkey. One of those monkeys who use toilet paper. One of those wise, wise monkeys.