Monday, September 21, 2009

Faith No More?


A troubling element of our country’s political discourse has increasingly piqued my interest as of late. And on Tuesday, last week, it seemed to have trembled to a denouement in my mind.
Our lame-duck former President, Jimmy Carter, took it upon himself to address our national yellow streak in matters of pervasive (or perhaps only perceived) racial tension.

His comments were directed at a portion of the populace that he believes, from his own experience, to be a racist contingent that only recently began to voice “intensely demonstrated animosity” toward President Obama, a man who is bi-racial. His reasoning comes on the heels of Rep. Joe Wilson’s decorum-busting outburst during the President’s recent televised address to Congress.

Carter’s personal experience of the South does indeed justify his acknowledgment of existing racism; and some elements of a rancorous populous may in fact continue to harbor such bigoted personal views. But his comments directly singled out a certain protest movement, popularly known as the Tea Parties, though sometimes childishly derided as “tea-baggers”.

This grass-roots organized movement literally began when CNBC’s Rick Santelli floated the idea of a July 4th tea party on Lake Superior to protest government bailouts for homeowners with underwater mortgages. It was fueled further by Dr. Bob Basso’s YouTube video portraying a Thomas Paine-like patriot calling for Americans to stand up to the Washington elitists who were passing the trillion-dollar buck while at the same time calling them “cowards”. The protests got a head start by staging rallies around the country on the IRS’s April 15th filing deadline, and so have also been referred to as tax protests. The demonstrations have rallied further with “Town Hall” meetings hosted by constituents’ Congressional Representatives, focused on the debate over proposals for Health Care/Insurance reform that, if instituted haphazardly, would likely add more government bureaucracy and result in higher taxes to fund it.

But all of that couldn’t possibly matter due to the fact that our Nation’s 44th president is “a black man”.

Now I’ve thought of this myself, hoping to live up to Attorney General Eric Holder’s expectations for brave citizenship, and to not cower down by sweeping under the rug any possible racially-motivated misgivings. Problem is I still have trouble doing that. You see, I actually pay attention to campaign rhetoric and the vetting of candidates running for office. I know that Barack Obama was born in Hawaii, to a mother and father of dissimilar ethnicity. And that he spent time as a young boy in Indonesia. And that he went to Columbia University, home turf of radical Marxist William Ayers.

I also know that he is a husband, and a father of two young girls.

He, like the vast majority of the American public, whether protesting or not, has greater interests at heart than what color he or they or you or I are. He is a family man, and by all accounts, an American. I may disagree with his words and actions while he is representing our nation’s interests, but I am only doing so because he is the Head of State. I would not venture argument in regard to his family’s home life, as I would not expect argument to my own.

This is the difference between what Rep. Joe Wilson, the Tea Parties, and the Town Hall protesters endeavor to debate, and what true racists would use to disparage the man himself. Those who would follow the latter course are detestable, and it is not cowardly to marginalize them and deny them the satisfaction of their prejudice.

Unfortunately, I find it troubling that the leadership of the Democrat Party, from Secretary of State Hillary “it takes a village” Clinton to Rep. Nancy “for the children” Pelosi to Sen. Barbara “don’t call me Ma’am” Boxer to President Barack “teachable moment” Obama have repeatedly demonstrated a fundamental condescension towards the ability of average Americans to carry out spirited debate over national issues, and a lack of faith in our ability to conduct our personal and economic affairs. This lack of faith in the republic is untenable and in no way does it honor the intentions of this nation’s founders. It is primarily the republic’s responsibility to ensure domestic tranquility and promote the general welfare, and it is secondarily the government’s responsibility to assist.

And when Americans are patronized as “cowards” for not furthering the bitterness of the past, or branded racists for speaking out against encroaching legislation and expansion of government powers, then the image in my mind of Uncle Sam is no longer one of him pointing at me, personally, entreating me to stand and do my part. It is of a castigating disciplinarian wagging a chastising finger in my face.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

May Posterity


The first time I had the pleasure of camping at McGee Creek in the Eastern Sierra’s Owens Valley was in 1992. I was fifteen years old, and I sneaked my first beer from an unsupervised ice chest.
My father and I had traveled south with another Northern Californian down Highway 395 to meet the group that makes the yearly migration north from Bakersfield to Crowley Lake for the opening weeks of trout season. The traditional campground is at McGee Creek R.V. Park located just off the highway. McGee Creek flows down from the craggy peaks of the John Muir Wilderness and into Crowley Lake, which pools primarily from the Owens River running north to south. Other nearby lakes include beautiful Rock Creek Lake and Convict Lake, and a little further north is the June Lake Loop near Mammoth, California. The entire region is a trout fishing Mecca that yearly draws anglers from as far away as Los Angeles.

Since then, my Dad and I have been trying to schedule the trip every year when possible. We look forward to it like little kids anticipating Christmas morning. Now that he’s retired, he has no problem, and I make it a point every year to save my vacation hours specifically for the first of May.
Dad’s youngest brother, my uncle Kevin, tries each year to rally his Bakersfield coaching buddies to join the group of old-timers that have traditionally made the trip to Crowley. The normal weekend choice is the first in May, which is a week after Opening Day. The end of April is pretty busy and too crowded with competitive fishermen.
This year, however, we delayed the trip until the middle of May. The R.V. hookups were mostly booked for the normal weekend, and some of the old-timers were scattered elsewhere in the west. What a difference two weeks make! The weather was in the 80’s instead of the 50’s, and the sun was beating down as we set up our campsite. Usually it is cold, and blustery with wind the first weekend in May. This time we were in shorts and sandals by the middle of the first day.

Some of the finest memories I have of our trip to McGee is the food. When the larger group convenes, there is a coin toss to decide which night to have the barbeque spare ribs, and which night for the Tri-Tip! A large BBQ grill is hauled up, and others pitch in with potato salad, French bread, and 24-hour beans that once ended up as 48-hour beans due to the elevation and improper plans for soaking…
One year, we even had the fixings for fajitas as it was a Saturday Cinqo de Mayo. Perfect fare for lunchtime in the high Sierra. So on this year’s outing my uncle pulled out all the stops to meet expectations despite our dwindled numbers. He hauled up enough food to feed a small battalion. True to form, we ate like kings.

Uncle Kevin’s son, Austin, and our other cousin Jason were a welcome addition to the fishcamp this year. Austin had rarely been able to join us, and Jason had been absent for several years. So it would just be the five of us this year, all family. Until, that is, when sitting down to BBQ ribs that rivaled my grandpa’s, our campsite neighbor ambled over and sat down at our table. It was Rick, one of the old-timers who my uncle knew from many past outings. My uncle paused to reflect on how Rick’s son was here with sons of his own, and how they were the same size as Rick’s son was when Kevin first came to McGee! This was truly a multi-generational gathering place steeped in tradition. I then remembered how the previous year I had been sitting by the fire with another old-timer, Mike, who said that the first time he had camped up here was in 1966. Forty-two years of Crowley fishing trips!

After supper on both nights, we all stood around the fire and recalled various books and authors we enjoyed, and the philosophies embraced. We talked about faith, and the debate over Man’s place in the world. My uncle was especially pleased with the conversations; taking notice of how we discussed topics of higher worth rather than the typical mangathering’s frivolous jabbering about women and sin. This was something I hoped to look back upon with fondness years from now.

As the obsidian sky unfolded above us, my cousins Jason and Austin marveled at the stars, and the clarity of the nighttime heavens. The city lights and smog of Bakersfield hampers stargazing, and the contrast is awe-inspiring. We all agreed to make every effort to meet here again each year, and we look forward to one day bringing our own children with us to keep the tradition going.


For travel info and reservations contact:
http://mcgeecreekrv-campground.com/