I don't exactly know where my parent's political philosophy came from, but they had one and we lived by it. For sure, it did not come from spending long hours in classrooms, or from reading political science books. It did not come from C-SPAN, FOX or CNN pundits. They did not depend on the newspapers and magazines or political propaganda in their mailboxes.
Theirs came from personal experiences. What they saw, heard and felt everyday molded them, and ultimately, me.
As I look back from this distant vantage point nearly 100 years after they were born, it is not too difficult to imagine what historically significant events caused them to believe what they believed, to live the way they lived, and to teach their children the way they did.
Their lives were touched by the world around them, often in cruel and painful ways, yet they were not bitter.
Every day they were denied opportunities to participate in the American Way, yet they never ceased to try.
They saw the promises of "The Dream" and were told it could not be theirs but they dreamed anyway. And in spite of all the barriers, they found a way to slice off a piece of American Pie big enough that they could share it with others, with their families, their friends and their neighbors.
I discovered long after they had gone on to Glory that their strongest weapon against the odds was their unconquerable, deep-rooted sense of hope, their unrelenting faith in God and each other, and their ability to love everyone, even their most wicked oppressors.
They were not unique in their ways.
Most of our entire neighborhood, which encompassed Allen, Mackenna and Cudaback avenues and 24th Street, seemed to be attached to the same basic principles. They were all caught up in the same struggles against the same challenges at the same time.
Their personal lives were varied, some as first generation immigrants from Europe, some as immigrants from the Deep South, others simply cast away by the imperfections of the system.
But all of them were united in their struggle to survive, to succeed, and to win for themselves and for their children.
Everything we did was in preparation for tomorrow. We were constantly "saving" things for a rainy day. Nothing we had would be enough for tomorrow if we did not save some for later.
My father, born only a generation removed from slavery, seemed sometimes to be obsessed with security. He worked tirelessly to make sure that there would always be enough food, enough room, enough time for everything, for everyone.
Mom, raised in the ways of her Native American heritage, was much the same, having an unbridled compassion for her people, and to her everyone within her reach was part of "her people."
In those days, less encumbered than these tangled times, things at least seemed so much simpler. Good was good, bad was bad, right was right, and wrong, everyone agreed, was wrong. Democrats were Democrats.
In those days, Democrats represented the poor and the working poor. They were the unions, the less educated, the struggling classes who ran the machines, built the buildings, dug the ditches and did everything they had to do with their bare hands if need be.
Republicans were Republicans.
Even then, they were the wealthy, the owners, the landlords and businessmen. They were the privileged, the educated class, living in the bigger houses on tree-lined streets with garages for their cars and manicured lawns.
They hired us to do their manual labor, and we were glad to get the work, but we knew who they were, and they who we were.
They were them, and we us.
There was no possibility for identity issues.
We all knew exactly who was who, and what was what.
Somewhere in time those lines became so fuzzy, it was harder and harder to know who was who, and what was what.
Bad became good.
I vaguely remember being more than a little confused when our jargon started to change and "bad" was a good thing.
After awhile, it started to expand into politics and Democrats started sounding like Republicans and vice versa.
Probably the best at the game, Bill Clinton was a master of disguise. He could look like a Democrat and sound like a Republican, or depending on where he was, and who he was addressing, he could look like a Republican and sound like one too.
His brand of politics took off like wildfire, emerging as the most powerful technique in American political history, as the Republicans learned how to hide their agendas behind a Democratic mask, using television and mass mailing campaigns to affect the biggest political heist in recorded history.
They got the kit and the caboodle.
Now we will have to go back to square one, peel back the masks and see who is really behind them.
But I am sure Mom and Dad and their whole generation would have known the difference.
| Niagara Falls Reporter | www.niagarafallsreporter.com | November 19 2002 |