In a new series, Whimsical Graffiti, Arkansas Money & Politics editor Mark Carter tells it like he sees it. Check out his column every week on AMP.
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Delivering my son back to New Orleans for his sophomore year of college, a specific memory was jogged as we crossed the intersection of Saint Charles and Louisiana. Just two and a half years earlier, we were at that exact spot in historical-but-not-
This particular night in mid-February, the krewes of Sparta and Pygmalion rolled back to back. NOLA police, of course, were very much “cognito.” And I noted specifically men and women officers among them, black and white. On foot and horseback. Beyond those five identifiers (black, white, male, female, equine), I was ignorant.
As parade buzz intensified, we staked our claim in front of an IberiaBank next to a man who appeared to be in his 30s and his young daughter, maybe 6. And we had a blast.
Our little neighbor was loading up on parade swag (as all kids should), and we even shared some treasure — a long, plastic tomahawk with which she perhaps exorcised future frustration on a little brother included. (New Orleans simultaneously is the most “alternative” and yet non-PC place on the planet, and it’s glorious.)
The little girl’s father was doing it right – propping her up on his shoulders so she could catch more beads, gently but firmly admonishing when she didn’t say please or thank you. Like any good dad, he was laying a foundation of courtesy and manners.
Ultimately, the credits rolled — a group of cops walking in a group behind the last float signified the end of the show. These officers — again, women and men, white and black — were casually laughing as they strolled, ready to clock out and head home, no doubt. No unrest was seen at the intersection of Saint Charles and Louisiana that night; carnival-goers made merry and NOPD’s best provided a long leash but a watchful eye as they did so.
But once the cops made it past our spot, the father’s demeanor changed. Taking his daughter’s hand, this African-American dad walked out onto Saint Charles perhaps 50 feet behind the group of officers, and he grunted: “This is how you do it.” And he flipped ‘em a bird that remains displayed to this day alongside Johnny Cash in the Middle Finger Hall of Fame — the Black Man next to the Man in Black. The gentleman was making a very specific statement.
And as he had been all night, the father was teaching his daughter.
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Orwellian crosshairs: That’s where we’d find ourselves if the world in its current iteration were set as a novel. Throw in some Philip Dick, maybe even a little C.S. Lewis, who dabbled in his own social sci-fi, and we have quite the dystopian jambalaya brewing.
(And not necessarily for the reasons you may think. I recommend Lewis’ underappreciated That Hideous Strength, a “modern fairy tale for grown-ups” published in 1945 that rings chillingly true today.)
Of course, we’re not quite there yet. Maybe there’s a long way still to go. But to borrow a phrase from screenwriter William Rose, it’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world.
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