Trumping Mr. Finch

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Human beings lie. This is part of who we are. This does not mean we do not tell the truth. We do to many and varying degrees. But to deny the former is to invalidate the latter.

In other words, it can’t all be good. If it all were, then the very definition of the word good would be meaningless if you took in the actual events of everyday life.

Which brings us to Donald Trump. Did you watch him? See him? Hear about it? I thought so.

Oh.. that guy?

Oh.. that guy?

Relax, this is not going to be about him – though in his alternate reality speak everything seems to be. Or at least told in terms of him. Which is what we all do to varying degrees (Note: See paragraph #1). But it’s all about degrees, isn’t it? And what we say – and to whom.

Harper Lee, who wrote one of the most famous and iconic books of any American author, To Kill A Mockingbird, has a new novel coming out this week – her SECOND at the age of 89. Rather, it is her first book (Note: As far as we know) but her second PUBLISHED novel.

See how tricky this lie thing is?

Suck it 50 Shades, I made books hot again

Suck it 50 Shades, I made books hot again

Ms. Lee’s latest is entitled Go Set A Watchman and she has been getting a lot of flack – or perhaps it’s just press – for daring to take Atticus Finch, the father figure (admittedly based on her own father) she immortalized as possibly the most principled man – certainly lawyer – on the planet in TKAM and portraying him as a racist in her new/old novel.

Now let’s set aside the fact that for whoever he might be based on Atticus is a fictional figure and that Miss (Note: She famously prefers Miss to Ms.) Lee actually wrote Watchman more than several years prior to her most renowned creation – which was first published in 1960. The real question that seems to be eating reviewers, readers of advanced copies and now the general public is:

Has Harper Lee been lying to us all these years? Is Atticus Finch really a….RACIST? A guy who she apparently chronicles in the new book once attending a Ku Klux Klan meeting and then later denounced the U.S. Supreme Court’s Brown vs. the Board of Education decision that desegregated the American school system?

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Okay, well, maybe that’s really two and a half questions. But really it all boils down the first – is she LYING to us? For if we cannot believe in the heroism of Atticus Finch, a guy who took on a whole Southern town in the 1930s and dared to successfully defend a Black man falsely accused of raping a White woman then – well – what else is NOT TRUE?

Um, A LOT.

Don't look at me!

Don’t look at me!

And, well, OF COURSE SHE’S LYING. As well as TELLING THE TRUTH.

None of this stuff is simple. The question we should be asking ourselves is: What is the broader truth and how do we recognize THE BIG LIE???

As a writer it amazes me to think anyone truly believes that Atticus Finch was the exact representation of Harper Lee’s real father. He couldn’t possibly be because:

  1. He is a written representation of a flesh and blood person from one subjective storyteller’s (individual’s) point of view – meaning he’s one-dimensional and frozen in place at the author’s whim rather than three-dimensional and able to roam free on his own
  2. He was played by Gregory Peck in the movie… and
  3. The movies are cultural representations of some of our most convincing lies, though not always our biggest ones, and people who win Oscars for these roles cannot possibly be entirely telling the truth since THERE IS NOT A LARGER THAN LIFE MOVIE HERO THAT EVER, EVER, EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD EVER existed in real life as they do when they’re rendered 22 feet tall and 52 feet wide.
Named AFI's #1 Greatest Movie Hero

Named AFI’s #1 Greatest Movie Hero

That we, or so many of us, could truly believe Atticus Finch was indeed real is the secret of the movies and what makes them great, enduring and an art form that will probably never disappear no matter how hard the major movie studios try to make this so with the financial choices they’ve been making as of late.

Yet all the shock and disbelief that a white man of the Deep South who was raised at the turn of the century and practiced law in the 1930s would ever have had a racist thought in his belief system truly does take me aback. Of course, it also surprises me that there are tens of thousands of people across the country who believe Donald Trump when he categorizes illegal Mexican immigrants as rapists sent here purposely by its government who are killing innocent Americans walking down the street en masse.

Interesting form of logic

Interesting form of logic

In the interests of fairness – and we here at NOTES always attempt to give equal time to opposing views no matter how nutty (Note: I didn’t say we didn’t editorialize) – it is certainly true there are among illegal Mexican immigrants a few rapists and others who do kill innocent Americans walking down the street. Mr. Trump, in fact, found one or two examples of such he reiterated to a room of crazed red meat conservatives and libertarians this weekend in Las Vegas at a Freedom Fest Convention. But it is also true that the vast majority of illegal immigrants – either from Mexico or other countries – are NOT rapists and murders. If this were so we would see a spike so high in crime statistics that no amount of real life Atticus Finches could exonerate from our daily lives and minds (Note: That is, if he did ever exist, which, I might remind you again, he did not).

To put it in terms Miss Lee might see fit to approve of – why can’t Atticus Finch be both a wonderful man, father, attorney and humanitarian yet also be a person who, through his life, espoused, hosted or otherwise considered, any number of less than admirable thoughts and views? This does not make him a bad person – simply a real person.

Yet if one were to measure him as a whole person one must consider whether his dark views represented him in the majority or if his life’s work – both professionally and personally as a father – took up the lion’s share of his existence and was not the true portrait of who he was. In the case of Atticus Finch, who among us would not say that even with what we know of him he’s still, when all is said and done, a pretty moral guy. We were not told a BIG lie about him – instead what we got were a bunch of truths that need to now be balanced against, well, a whole group of other, more disturbing facts.

This is not the case with Donald Trump – or at least it doesn’t appear to be given the information we now have about him on hand.

He traffics in THE BIG LIE. The celebrities who win the top prize on The Apprentice are not really hired by him. His proclamations that our Southern borders are the most unsafe that they’ve ever been are not borne out by current day statistics which show that today’s murder rate in a border town like El Paso, Texas, for instance, is at an all-time low. His continual claims that Pres. Obama has failed to create jobs, especially compared to his recent Republican counterparts are also untruths. In fact, the economy has gained FIVE times more jobs than under Pres. George W. Bush and the unemployment rate (5.6%) is below the historical average.

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#nailedit

None of this is to say the economy is absolutely great, Pres. Obama is faultless or that illegal immigration ceases to be one of many issues needing to be addressed in a more efficient manner.

It is only to proclaim that in each news cycle Donald Trump and many others like him (Note: You be the judge of whom – this has nothing to do with political affiliation) do tell THE BIG LIE. They use bluster, emotional manipulation and all kinds of sophisticated theatrical trickery in order to prove ill-conceived points, devoid of or carefully shading the facts to their own benefit and, specifically in Mr. Trump’s case, to advance whatever narrative he’s choosing to publicly spew at the moment.

Ding Ding Ding

Ding Ding Ding

I’m familiar with what he/they do because these are all part of the arsenal any writer uses in his or her work daily when creating compelling characters and/or watchable situations. Miss Harper Lee also knows about this – A LOT MORE about this than I do. But in entertainment – and literature – these are merely tricks of the trade.

For Donald Trump and others like him they are divisive weapons being used to take the reigns of the ACTUAL world by any BIG LIE necessary.

Watch out for them, they’re dangerous. As for Trump himself, well let’s just say he’s no Atticus Finch – no matter which of Miss Lee’s novels you choose to read.

Skin Deep

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I used to joke that even though I appeared to be a white, gay Jewish male I was, really, a big Black woman – preferably one who could sing like Aretha Franklin, Jennifer Hudson or, if I chose to go a bit more exotic, Nina Simone. Well, live long enough and any metaphor becomes obsolete and somewhat offensive – or even timely.

Chairy, is that you?

Chairy, is that you?

It’s difficult to know what one can joke about anymore. Certainly, it’s impossible to decide just what is timely. I decided late this week to bite the bullet and write about Rachel Dolezal, the just resigned former president of the Spokane chapter of the NAACP who was exposed as biologically White after a decade or more passing as Black (Note: Though there was and is still some debate on just what constitutes being Black). But then the idiocy of our national obsession with Ms. Dolezal was swiftly shifted by the actions of one truly undebatable WHITE 21 year-old Southern male.

When Dylann Storm Roof walked into the historic Mother Emanuel Church in Charleston, S.C., one of the first Black churches in the country, and shot nine innocent Black people dead after spending an hour as part of their Bible study group on Wednesday night, the meaning of being Black in America once again became crystal clear.

It is not about releasing your inner Aretha Franklin. It is not about crimping your hair, fighting for civil rights, having friends and family members who are African-American in bearing, or possessing any appreciation or talent for rapping, soul food recipes, community service or the historical nature of oppression.

NoSMDH

To be Black in the U.S. means to be at risk and to always be, in some small or even miniscule fashion, and despite your apparent economic or social status, looking over your shoulder. It means to be in danger even when you feel 100% safe. And, if one makes the decision to survive and live a relatively happy life, it means deciding, given those parameters, to figure out a way to turn the other cheek on all that and – like all the rest of us – play the hand you were dealt to the best you can so you can fulfill your destiny.

On the other hand, what the hell do I know about being Black in America? What can any White person every REALLY know? Not very much. Because on some very, very teeny tiny level being Black in America is NOT yet like being like all the rest of us – as I just so cavalierly mentioned in the last line of the paragraph above. I guess I will have to be on a journalistic learning curve for the time being on that one for, as we now once again know, old habits die hard.

As a screenwriter and journalist I’ve imagined myself as characters in countless scenarios. I have been male, female and various other animals of all kinds of ages, races and heights with extremely moral codes and deadly murderous streaks. I’ve been a Hispanic single mother, a wealthy Black politician, a white female cabaret singer, a nerdy Jewish boy (Note: That one was soooooo easy) and, currently, a very young white newspaper editor from the Midwest in the mid 1970s with a penchant for justice so strong that I am now in the process of risking my job, friends and family for my principals despite all seeming logic to the contrary. (Note: Don’t worry, that character’s story WILL have a somewhat victorious ending. I mean, please – it’s Hollywood).

something like this...

something like this…

All of these imaginations, presumed personalities and dramatic machinations, as a therapist told me years ago, are merely outgrowths of a personal talent for invention, or more precisely, reinvention, that helps the real me deal with life. I concoct stories as a coping method to deal with difficult situations (both fictional and from my real life) and create my very own convincing beginnings, middles and ends around them. But this only works as a way to make me feel better about who I am and the events around me – as I have painfully learned over the years. Although it can certainly be the impetus for me – and perhaps my limited or maybe one day vast audience – for seeing the truth/my truth and creating personal change it is a fiction. In other words, it is not, nor can it ever be, real life. Meaning – it was not reality.

In other words:

One can’t walk in someone else’s skin because we are all born with our own very specific skin.

Marvel Studios made this abundantly clear in a recently leaked Sony email that reveals that in its contract for the Spiderman movies with Sony it is a legal requirement that the movie Spiderman’s human alter ego, Peter Parker, must always be CAUCASIAN and HETEROSEXUAL and that Spiderman himself NOT be a HOMOSEXUAL.

oh spidey....

oh spidey

As if there were ever a chance any of these could ever thus be so.

When a rumor recently floated that renowned British actor Idris Elba could one day be the future and first Black James Bond it created an international Twitter exchange, culminating not only with eventual denials from Elba but a public statement by 1970s movie star and former Bond co-star Yaphet Kotto that the mere idea of that was ridiculous and silly.

And that’s only in the movies. Imagine how uppity it could get in other areas. For instance, let’s take politics. Can you consider that one day that we might actually have…I mean, that there could sometime in the future really be…a Black president of the United Sates?

wait a second....

wait a second….

Oh. Right.

Of course, this says nothing of how Black you have to be in order to be categorized as BLACK. Pres. Obama is half-Black and half-White, which seems to count as being Black. Yet some years ago, it surfaced that Broadway star Carol Channing’s paternal grandfather was Black, making her about 25% Black. Yet this seems to be enough for her to still be considered White, though perhaps that’s just because she’s 94 years old and we’ve always thought of her as such. Still, it doesn’t make it good for the public racial future of Rachel Dolezal. She might have two children with a Black man who identify as Black and several adopted siblings who are Black but now that the closet door has been opened she can never truly change her public face – meaning skin color.

That this would count for anything seems so odd, doesn’t it? I mean, don’t we all require or at least hope our houses and apartments are painted a new, fresh color before we move in? Yes, that color has traditionally been white but lately eggshell, gray, putty or even…well, pick you choice are starting to become popular. Though not yet Black. Can you ever imagine Black walls? I mean, really….

I just can't get behind this...

I just can’t get behind this

My husband and I have just moved into a new home that is set against a hillside. It’s safe but over a three week period we’d noticed more than a small rock or two falling into our patio and decided to hire some experienced people to haul out some of the dirt and gravel and build some small barriers for reinforcement and ensure (as much as possible) the safety of ourselves and our dog.

The head of the crew we hired to do this is not Black but he is Mexican (Note: Let’s call him Walter, just for fun) and over the last few days we’ve bonded over a mutual respect for the machinations of Mother Nature and a shared penchant for somewhat politically incorrect humor. Walter and I have joked about everything from my lack of knowledge about plants and building things to the fact that all of his siblings have advanced and multiple college degrees in various “professional” occupations while he decided to go into the family business of taking care of the yards (Note: In his case it’s usually grounds, he’s slumming with us) of many of these same professional people.

the tao of snoopy

the tao of snoopy

Nowhere was this more apparent to Walter than when his working class self went to his local bank to cash a large (well, by my standards) check for supplies I had written to him personally. No sooner had he gotten to the teller for the deposit than a manager was called over to look over the check. After a few minutes, the guy looked Walter dead on and the following conversation ensued:

Bank Manager: This check looks washed.

Walter: Huh? What are you talking about?

Bank Manager: It looks like a fake.

Walter: Well, I saw the guy (Note: That would be me, Your Chair) writing it from his own checkbook.

Bank: Well, just remember, it’s gonna come out of your account if it’s no good.

Walter pauses, thinks. Then –

Walter: Well, okay, but I mean, I trust the dude.

Bank Manager: Okay, but — remember — it’s your responsibility.

um... what?

um… what?

The first thing I did when Walter related this story – after reassuring him about the money – was to ask him what the heck it meant for a check to be washed. He explained it’s when someone takes a check, washes off the ink and then fills in their own amount. Okay, I thought, that’s nervy and inventive – but these checks are brand new – is there something about my signature or writing that makes them look dirty?

My second reaction, as I thought about it, was outrage. I mean, really? Walter may be a big Mexican guy who lives in the hood, albeit in a nice house with a wife and two kids, and has an accent, but really – he has a business account there and he comes in all the time. Is he really going to pass a bad check?

This guy that questioned you about the check, this really pisses me off, I confess to Walter.

Ah, I don’t let those things bother me, dude. It is what it is.

Yeah, but I mean, I bet if I were trying to cash the check, I wouldn’t have gotten that remark, I tell him.

Probably not, Walter replies. But I’m used to it.

Of course, there are a whole bunch of things he could probably say about me, though it would have nothing to do with whether he’d cash my check.

Yeah, I hear that, Walter says.

One more thing, I tell him. I’ll bet this was a White guy, right? Probably like a middle-aged, middle class white guy, right?

Actually, Walter replied, it was a young Black dude. The Blacks and Mexicans, they got a thing going. But, well — I try not to take it personally.

Well, that makes one of us. I guess that’s some sort of start.  Though only kind of.