What 'Niggerhead' means for the rest of us

Though the narrative is rarely made this explicit, I believe there's a line of thinking that goes something like this: Racism, as a force in American life, for all intents and purposes ended sometime in 1968. The civil rights bills had been passed, Martin Luther King Jr. had been killed, and the work of consolidating the gains of integration was finally consolidated with President Obama's election in 2008. People who want to make a big deal of white-on-black racism are generally "race hustlers" who want to prey on our divisions for their own gain.

So while it's easy to write off Rick Perry's "Niggerhead" moment as a faint echo of a long-ago era—and echo that probably would only be heard in the South, really—I suspect there's a lesson in there for the rest of us. And it comes from this New York Times' article:

One woman said local residents had called the area by that name since long before Mr. Perry and his father had leased the property. 

“It’s a bunch of crock,” said a woman who, like other residents in Throckmorton (population 828), would identify herself by only her first name, Mary. “I’m sorry, we had nothing to do with it. Perry had nothing to do with it. It’s been there all this time. He don’t mean nothing by it, that’s just the name of it. 

She said she believed that the name could be traced back to the “slavery days,” adding, “It’s just something that’s been, long before Perry was even thought of being born.”

 As part of the "racism ended in 1968" meme, I believe, there has been a significant temptation to believe that problems that often plague black communities in America—unemployment, violence, poverty—have nothing to do with the 300 years of slavery and Jim Crow that came before the modern era. "It is what it is," to borrow a phrase, and if that leaves a lot of people who were born with advantages remaining in a position of advantage, well, that's just a coincidence, right? Anybody who really wants to work their way to prosperity—or, at least, a middle class life—can do so if they choose.

But the term "Niggerhead" apparently stuck at this Texas camp for decades past racism's apparent sell-by date in America—and nobody really seemed to give it a second thought until recent years. "It's just something that's been," we're told, without any reflection on why it's been or if it's the way it has to be. When it gets pointed out, the locals get angry and defensive. And why not? It's doubtful any of them were trying to be racist, and now it's a national issue. It's not a dynamic designed to produce thoughtful consideration.

Which is too bad. Racism clearly isn't the same force it was 60 or 70 years ago, but it's foolish to act as though it's legacy doesn't live with us still—sometimes in unexpected ways and places. When "Niggerhead" is a place where white politicians still do business, it suggests there is still work to be done.

The blessing and curse of computers in the kids' library

I was in the basement of the Philadelphia City Institute Monday afternoon—the kids' section of our neighborhood library—when I heard a mother persistently but quietly talking to her young son.

"No, you can't play on the computers," she told him, as he craned his neck toward a workstation where several other children were playing educational games. "You have a computer at home. You have computers at school. You have computers everywhere."

Shhhhhh!

I winced a bit, because I'd just had the same chat with my own 3-year-old son. I'd brought him to the library to find some fresh material for our pre-bed storytime, but he only had eyes for the computers. The same thing happened a week earlier during a visit to the main branch of the Free Library of Philadelphia—in that case his mother physically picked up him, carried him away from the computers and back to the books. And in both instances, I got grumpy: Why can't libraries have a computer-free zone for kids?

There's an element of hypocrisy in this, of course: I do almost all of my newspaper and magazine reading on my iPad these days, as well as a majority of my book reading. To the extent that I'm modeling reading for my son—and I think I do quite a bit—I'm largely modeling electronic reading. Is it any wonder that he is less inclined to explore a room full of paper books?

And there's also an element of "white people problems": We have iPhones, iPads, and computers at home—we're almost never in a place where we can't hop online. But it's a different situation for lots of Philadelphia kids—in some parts of town, it is estimated that only 25 percent of them have access to a computer and the Internet at home. The library thus provides a valuable resource to families, offering access to a tool that everybody else in American life takes for granted. It's easy for me to complain about the ubiquity of computers because in my life—and my son's life—they really are ubiquitous.

Yet...

I would love it if our local libraries could find a way to try to do something different. To provide access to computers to those who need it, while still doing what libraries have always done—provide a zone of quiet where one can escape into a story or study or one's own thoughts. Computers and the Internet are valuable, even necessary, things these days. But so is the quiet. It's tough enough for most of us to find that balance in our lives: The library could do us a valuable service by showing the way.

Four ingredients. Five kinds of yum.

Four ingredients. Five kinds of yum.

Douglas Olivant says it's time to get all the way out of Iraq

It is time for Iraq to stand on its own -- without a U.S. presence to disrupt its politics. There are significant factions within both Iraq's Kurdish and Sunni communities that would look favorably on a residual U.S. force in Iraq. They need to move on. The lingering U.S. troop presence on Iraqi soil is -- quite understandably -- perceived as an insult to Iraqi nationalism by significant portions of their fellow citizens. This is an issue that must be taken off the table so that Iraqi politics can normalize, not least with regard to Iraq-Iran relations. Ironically, it is by leaving Iraq that the United States can best let Iraq stand up to its Iranian neighbor. Ending what Iraq's neighbors perceive as its "occupation" by U.S. forces will finally permit Iraq to complete the normalization of regional relationships.

via foreignpolicy.com

On cooking, and accomplishment

I made a cassoulet last night.

Per Mark Bittman's instructions, I started by browning a length of sausage in olive oil, then set the meat aside. Into the pan went onions and zuchinni and celery, cooked a few minutes until they softened a bit. Then tomatoes and herbs, along with the sausage again, brought to a boil. Then I added cooked white beans—Jo did the prep work there. Then a simmer for 20 minutes. I pulled the sausage out, chopped it up, threw it back in the pan with some cayenne, and let it simmer a few more minutes. It was served with a side of warm multigrain bread purchased from the farmer's market (as were most of the ingredients mentioned above). There was wine.

I forgot to throw in two bay leafs. Nonetheless, a tasty, spicy stew. I am looking forward to leftovers.

Saturday's cassoulet was the result of a cooking kick I've been on in recent weeks. Part of the inspiration has been fall—often when I get adventurous in the kitchen—and part of it Bittman's new Kindle Single advocating the practice of cooking at home.

His argument is the same one you almost always hear him make: That home cooking is usually cheaper—and often faster—than ordering from restaurants. That it's usually cheaper and almost always more healthful than the processed foods we so often rely on. And that a meal well-made creates opportunties for community and bonding.

To his credit—and my benefit—Bittman isn't a "foodie," at least not in the sense that such folks attempt to dazzle you with the complexity and fanciness of their efforts. He doesn't require you to have stainless steel kitchen appliances, or spend a day laborer's weekly pay on a bottle of truffle oil. He wants to get you into the kitchen and cooking, and he offers simple-but-tasty recipes to provide you with easy entry into the world of real food. He sets the bar so low that I can leap over it.

Heretofore, my repertoire in the kitchen has (outside of a pretty mean breakfast sandwich) been largely limited to three dishes: Chili, spaghetti, and what we call "Tex-Mex"—a meat, bean, and Rotel concoction that can be wrapped in a tortilla or dumped on top of corn chips. Tasty, I guess, but limited. So with Bittman's guidance, I'm taking what I hope are my first steps into a larger world.

There's another element to all of this for me. In may, I had an emergency colostomy. In July, I had a second surgery, to remove a chunk of diseased colon that had wrapped itself around my bladder. I have diverticulitis. Sometime soon, hopefully, I will have a third surgery to reverse the colostomy and finally end  the long season of what my son has called "poop belly." I'll be able to restart my life, which has felt mostly on hold for many months now.

Now: My surgeon has never told me that 38 years of lazy, irresponsible eating created my medical condition. It could be genetics. But it could also be my 38 years of lazy, irresponsible eating. Making a real effort to cook—aside from actually being cheaper and faster than ordering from my beloved GrubHub.com—seems to be a real investment in my future health.

More to the current point, I am a stay-at-home dad and freelance writer. My surgical recovery has depleted my energy—and, at times, my spirits—to the point that I often feel I do neither job very well. Making a new meal, as I've done several times in recent weeks, gives me a sense of accomplishment that's pretty much been missing from my life lately. I browned the sausage. I chopped the vegetables. I stood over the stove. And I made something that wouldn't have existed without my initiative or efforts. This is, I imagine how amateur woodworkers feel, and with roughly the same odds of losing a finger to blade mishap. This is, I imagine, why my wife knits.

So much of my day, every day, is spent in front of a computer. To make something tangible and useful—not that the manufacture of words can't be useful—is a good and necessary thing. My next Bittman recipe combines just three building blocks: Noodles, butter, and parmesan cheese. It won't be difficult. But it will be something I made.

My first cassoulet.