



M E D I A - A R T S - P O L I T I C S - C U L T U R E




WHEN JOHN EDWARDS ENDED his candidacy for president, he called for Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton to pick up the mantle of poverty awareness that he had been carrying pretty much on his own for the past four years. Indeed, Edwards, who brought the issue to the fore in the previous campaign with his notion of "Two Americas," has made the topic of American poverty--especially in the South--his controlling metaphor, particularly through the Center on Poverty, Work, and Opportunity at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and his One America Committee. For better or worse, no public figure has devoted more of his energy to addressing systemic causes of poverty than Edwards. That said, I would argue that one reason Edwards never got the traction his candidacy deserved is because he focused too heavily on class during his campaign--a topic that, ironically, America is more uneasy about than race or gender.
Based on the poverty-line calculations developed in the 60s and using the Consumer Price Index as a measuring stick, around 12% of Americans live in poverty or "below the poverty line." However, according to United Nations calculations, which look at people who make less than 50% of the median income, America has a poverty rate of 17%. Yet, when polled, most individual Americans identify as middle class. Few Americans admit to being poor, and even fewer like hearing wealthy people talk about poverty.
Indeed, poverty remains one of the most slippery areas of American social identification. How easy now to pass as not-poor and how critical to be able to do so. One of the most powerful narratives of American mythology is the possibility of wealth--rags to riches, pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, the self-made man, Horatio Alger, Donald Trump, Ross Perot. After 200 years of Capitalism, a strong strain of class consciousness remains in the American social fabric: if you are poor, that's your choice.
While a person can't help what gender or ethnicity s/he is born into, one can do something about social class. At least, that is the standard line. What's more, if one does not improve his or her social class, there is still a painful aura of failure attached, a laziness label, what we might call the prejudice of the poor.
Writers like Curtis Sittenfeld, George Pelecanos, William Faulkner, Richard Russo, and Robert Pinsky have explored the deep prejudices of economic class in their fiction and poetry, but such conversations have yet to migrate with such complexity to the political realm. It is this profound problem that Edwards sought, like no other public figure, to address, and sadly, because we don't know how to have this conversation, it probably cost him the race.
Why? Americans don't like to be told they are poor, and most poor Americans refuse to publicly support candidates who make poverty such a key issue out of fear of being seen to need an economic safety net. To sign on with Edwards might be to admit to poverty, to confess one cannot acquire on one's own. This is why Obama and Clinton won't say the P-word. Some pundits have criticized both for letting Edwards' poverty message go the way of his candidacy, but both intuit that address poverty issues as "poverty issues" is a dead-end road.
Few White Americans want to be talked to about being poor by a well-off Black man; even more importantly, Obama knows that such a tack may make him come off as an angry Black Man, a better-coiffed Al Sharpton. And, to be truthful, how authoritative can Senator Clinton sound about poverty? She is not herself poor, she has never made poverty part of her senate work, and her husband stole any Clinton-based-poverty thunder years ago.
Obama does have a good record trying to improve impoverished conditions. Right out of Harvard law school, he went to work as a community organizer in one of Chicago's poorer neighborhood. Over the course of his campaign, I suspect he will address issues of poverty without using loaded terms. He will talk about solutions rather than problems, policies rather than poverty.
However, until the stigma of being poor is removed from American popular and social culture, it's hard to envision how a politician can really address the issue. Public perception is as important as law in solving social problems--and neither can tackle the nearly impenetrable mythos of American upward mobility.

RECENLTY, SOME MEDIA CRITICS have cited the increasing visibility of African American men on TV and in films with making Barack Obama's candidacy for president palatable to mainstream America, including a short piece on NPR. Television shows like Queer Eye for a Straight Guy, Will & Grace, Ellen, brought gayness out of the closet and onto the sofas of living rooms across Middle America. Now, it's just weird if there isn't a quirky, well-dressed gay man in a sitcom. It has become almost quotidian.
With Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama as frontrunners for the Democratic nomination for president, one wonders which candidate America has been best prepared for by popular culture. The Black Man or the White Woman?
On one hand, the popular espionage series 24 allowed us to believe the impossible--that our president could also sell us Allstate Insurance. Beyond that, though, viewers were given a rare luxury: a smart, capable, ethical Black president. The charismatic David Palmer navigated the treacherous waters of terrorism, assassination attempts, and overly dramatic background music and became (much like Martin Sheen in West Wing) a far more desirable president than the one running the actual world.
That said, he didn't last long. Unfortunately for all of us, the writers of 24 had Palmer assassinated, and we were never supposed to think it was racially motivated. Now that's fantasy!
Still, a few seasons later, his brother, Wayne Palmer, became president, enabling us once again to imagine a Black Man in the White House. But, just as W is not H, Wayne was not David. Both Palmer Presidents were good men and seemed appropriate for the position, and I have to say, I loved thinking of David Palmer as my Commander-in-Chief. But, it’s hard to think of persuasive examples beyond 24.
Contrast this with the numerous examples of female presidents.
First, network television elected MacKenzie Allen to the presidency in the short-lived but good-hearted Commander-In-Chief, in which MacKenzie Allen looks a lot like Geena Davis. She may not have been in the oval office as long as George W. Bush, but she is taller.
The best thing about the remake of the sci-fi series Battlestar Galactica is the wonderful Mary McDonnell as the president of the Colonies--the metaphorical United States. She out-thinks the male Commander Adama, and her character never descends into caricature.
Most convincing, though, is the fact that the new president on 24 will be a woman! That's right, Hillary herself has agreed to star in the new season of the show, which may make her the first sitting president to hang out with Kiefer Sutherland but not the first sitting president on the Fox payroll.
Okay, so it's not true that Hillary will be the next Fox president--that goes to two-time Tony winner Cherry Jones--but it is a fact that the conservative network has supplanted a Black president with a female one. Is Fox trying to scare us? Is it all part of a larger right-wing conspiracy? Or, is imagining a woman as president now so plausible, so seemingly normal that the network of Bill O’Reilly is ready for the change as well?
IN A NIGHT OF many surprises few were more puzzling than the shockingly different outcomes in the Democratic primaries in Oklahoma and Kansas. As I write this on Tuesday evening, my home state of Oklahoma voted overwhelmingly for Hillary Clinton over Barack Obama 54% to 31%. On the other hand, the Okies' neighbor to the North--some would say their virtual demographic twin--went for Obama, who snatched an amazing 73% of the Democratic votes across the border in Kansas.
How is it possible that two nearly identical states with so many things in common (values, agriculture, a strong rural base, lots of wheat, a hatred of Communists, and bigger hatred for all Nebraska sports teams) embrace such different candidates? Of course, Obama's mother was born in Kansas while her father was in the Army, so that may have had some significance; but it's hard to imagine that a transitory birth in the 40's actually affected people at the polls in 2008. Rather, I suspect it has something to do with the very different role that race has played in the ontology of the two states.
Kansas has enjoyed a long history of being among the more progressive Plains states in regard to race, particularly slavery. The so-called "Free Staters" of Kansas fought immigrants from Missouri and other Southern states (sometimes called "Border Ruffians) who hoped to make the new territory a slave state. Bolstered by their own immigrants from the Northeast, the influx of pro and anti-slavery forced reached a head in 1854, and pre-War skirmishes broke out over the next four years. Guerrilla fighters on the side of the Free-Staters during these wars became known as "Jayhawkers," which is now the mascot for the University of Kansas. Eventually, Kansas entered the Union as a free state, and Kansas has nourished a long legacy of racial tolerance.
Not so for Oklahoma.
In terms of both African American and Native American racial issues, Oklahoma has a complicated and difficult past. This began when the Eastern half of the state was set aside as Indian Territory, eventually becoming the termination point for the Trail of Tears. Even up into the 20th century, Oklahoma was a major site for Indian removal and relocation. In addition, Oklahoma bears the burden of the nation's largest race riot--the Tulsa Race Riot of 1921--in which over 300 people were killed. Indeed, at times, there was a kind of triple-segregation in Oklahoma: red, black, white each together, each apart.
Though it is the 21st century and Oklahoma's racial issues are less incindiary than they were 100 years ago, a legacy of cultural memory remains, as do important symbols. For example, I wonder if the University of Kansas logo (Jayhawks) serves as a constant visual reminder of the values that helped found Kansas, and as such daily reinscribes into the consciousness of Kansans their anti-slavery history.
Similarly, I wonder if the OU mascot (Sooners, named after the people who sneaked early into the Land Rushes) serves as a different kind of indicator of the State's troubling history of segregation and Indian Removal. White Oklahomans didn't really engage in wars to keep Oklahoma "Native" or to protect African Americans. In fact, race has always percolated under the surface in Oklahoma; never fully ignored but never fully tapped either.
This is not to say that Kansas hasn't had it's own racial issues; to be sure it has. And, in recent years, Oklahoma has tried to do better with its Native heritage. But, we see daily the many ways in which American culture and values were shaped by its earliest settlers and their cultures and values--in a country of states, should we expect them to be any different?
And so it is that two States who should embrace the same presidential candidates are among the most diametrically opposed in this regard. We think that the past has passed, but as William Faulkner noted, our past is often our future.
N AN ODD NIGHT, two of the oddest moments involved watching not the candidates themselves address the nation but the famous personalities on the dais near them.
In the case of Mike Huckabee, it was Chuck Norris. The plaid-shirted, red-bearded Norris captured as much of the camera's gaze as Huckabee himself. In Norris' countenance, one got a glimpse of the self-possessed smugness that comes with certainty--the certainty of right and wrongness, white and blackness, god and godlessness, gay and straightness. It was strange to see Walker, Texas Ranger asking to be taken seriously as a visual icon of the political process. For a little over a year now, Norris has been writing a pro-Republican, pro-Jesus column for WorldNetDaily, but Huckabee's decision to place him front and center during his Iowa victory speech says a great deal about both men, their values, and how each is asking to be read: Huckabee as badass and Hollywood cool; Norris as validated, anointed, chosen.
Similarly, during Hilary Clinton's subdued, seemingly rehearsed concession speech that conceded nothing, the real magnetism in the room was to her left--her husband, Bill. Clinton's third place finish was, clearly, a blow to her and her followers, but no one looked more devastated than Bill Clinton. It was difficult to know if his overt discomfort was caused by her address (more an argument as to why her experience and deep pockets qualify her for the presidency than an appeal to the heart and soul of the electorate) or by the stunning outcome of the caucus. Perhaps it was my own projection influencing my perspective, but he looked to be holding back the urge to grab the microphone and say everything that was not being said at his wife's presentation and all that would be coverd at Obama's. One also senses that the heaviness in President Clinton's features portends the potential crush awaiting his as he hits the campaign trail. If he pulls out all the stops stumping for his wife, he (and others) may see this as a statement, even a referendum, on his presidency. How painful this reality must be for him.
Watching both Norris and President Clinton drives home the fact that so much about the campaigns and elections are about more than the candidates. They are about what the candidates see when they look into the two-way mirror that is the American electorate.