News & Views You Can Use
Jul 2, 2003
City Pages
This is the third installment of a series examining presidential performance using one-liners issued by each president. The first installment included the Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and Carter administrations. The second covered Reagan, Bush I and Clinton, and now the series concludes with Bush II.
George W. Bush and "I will leave no child behind." For all my obvious disdain for the President's dis-ease with language, I feel that this one sentence will come to define his presidency. Ironically, though, the phrase leave no child behind was borrowed - just as many administration officials were taken from previous administrations, just as his "Patriot Act" was taken from existing legislation, just as his economic ideas are contemptibly cheap, refried, Reaganist trickle down economics.
According to Ralph Nader, in a May, 2001, editorial in the San Francisco Bay Guardian, "leave no child behind" belongs to the Children's Defense Fund, which has long used it as a motto. The CDF, according to Nader, had words with administration attorneys concerning their appropriation of the phrase, but they were unable to stop it (www.sfbg.com/nader/151.html).
If the motto is important enough to steal (the CDF's campaign, "Act to Leave No Child Behind" is now a registered trademark), it can be considered a priority by which to evaluate the Bush administration. And the expression is general enough to apply to key components of administration policy.
On the most literal level, "Leave No Child Behind" refers to Bush's education policies. Campaigning, he pledged to ensure that all children would receive a quality education and that all teachers and all schools would be responsible in their delivery of the same. The "Leave No Child Behind Act" was passed with all due fanfare on January 8, 2002, and one year later, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton assessed its effectiveness in a statement on her senatorial website.
"After 8 years of increases in education funding averaging 10 percent, President Bush has suddenly slashed education funding. Last year he provided an increase of only 3.7 percent - just enough to keep up with inflation - and this year it appears that he is slashing the federal education budget.
"Against the objection of Senator Harkin, Senator Kennedy, and all of my friends here today, the President has proposed to cut $90 million from the No Child Left Behind Act and to provide $6 billion less for Title I than the Act calls for. Instead of ensuring that 'No Child is Left Behind,' the President is leaving countless children behind." (http://clinton.senate.gov/~;clinton/news/2003/01/2003108819.html).
Well, I guess if the money's not there; it's just not there. But where it has gone?
Bush inherited the largest budget surplus in American history. According to the Annual Report on the United States Government for the year 2000, a publication of the House of Representatives Policy Committee, there was a budget surplus of $236,990,000,000. The previous year the surplus was $124,362,000,000. The Federal debt was reduced by $333 billion dollars between 1998 and 2000. Public debt, which in 1993, stood at a "peacetime high" of 50 percent, had fallen to less than 35 percent of the gross domestic product (http://policy.house.gov/assets/ann_rep2000.pdf).
The 2003 report is less perky. According to government stats (http://policy.house.gov/assets/ann_rep2002.pdf), total revenues fell by five percent, from $2,406, 081,000,000 to $2,283,533,000, while expenses rose seven percent, from $2,278,804,000,000 to $2,441,183,000,000. That's a deficit of $158 billion dollars, and a turnaround from the year before, when there was a surplus of $127,227,000,000. The deficit for 2002 was $157,650,000,000.
According to the same report, the factors contributing to the deficit are related to the sluggish economy and to increases in government spending. The report states that the deficit "was primarily attributable to a $162 billion increase in 2002." Revenues during the same period fell five percent, but the only factor cited for the fall is "substantially lower capital gains tax collections due to the stock market decline."
What this means is that spending (the war on terrorism, as well as the normal everyday costs of the government's doing business) grew at a rate for which the government was unprepared to cope. However, the only reason mentioned for the reductions in revenues was a loss in capital gains revenues, which are blamed on the economy.
What's remarkable because of its absence is any reference of the impact of Bush's tax cuts on government revenues, which, let us admit, is how the government pays its bills. The chairman of the House Policy Committee, Republican Christopher Cox, is notably silent on this issue. In a brief letter attached to the end of the report, Cox says, "[D]espite real growth in the U.S. economy of over 3% in 2002, tax revenues fell for the second consecutive year. The result was the first deficit in five years. To avoid a return to chronic deficits, controlling spending and encouraging stronger economic growth must be our highest fiscal priorities."
If spending increased under a Republican controlled House, Senate and White House, the spending must have been seen as necessary. If it was necessary, then it strikes me that fiscally responsible folks (surely our elected officials fit into that category) would have the foresight to make sure there's enough money to pay for the new measures.
But revenues have decreased. The only reasons given are the slump in the economy and the obligatory nod to the war on terrorism.
I keep coming back, though, to Bush's tax cuts. According to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, the original $1.35 trillion tax cut (the one that gutted the surplus and left us fiscally unprepared for the spending levels required by the "war on terrorism") will cost us $2.1 trillion dollars over 10 years (www.cbpp.org/2-7-01costshort.htm). When fully in effect, the tax cut will be "four times as large as the budget for the entire Department of Education"; "more than three times as large as the Department of Veterans Affairs or the Department of Transportation"; and "twenty-four times the size of the Environmental Protection Agency." (www.cbpp.org/4-17-02tax.htm).
If this is the President's idea of leaving no child behind, I'm against it. In fact, I think they should all be left behind. No child should have to face kind of future such negligence and self indulgence is concocting.
Billy Claude Puckett
Billy Claude Puckett is a car salesman living in south Georgia. He is an ex-Peace Corps volunteer and a minister in the Church of Signs Following. He takes up serpents.
Sensible, Positive, Visionary
And Good For Everyone, Too
What if the White House and Congress were to do something sensible, positive, visionary and good for everyone, instead of... well, you know, the opposite of all of the above, as they've been doing?
Here's one big idea that would definitely be a plus for our people and for future generations: Launch a 10-year, $300 billion, crash program to provide energy independence for America. This would be a nationwide effort involving millions of us grassroots people to develop, build, and run a high-speed rail network, a distribution system for hydrogen-powered cars, energy efficient buildings and appliances, solar and wind-power systems, and other means to kick our nation's costly oil addiction.
It's called the Apollo Project, and it's a proposal that has been put together by 10 unions, including the Steelworkers, Auto Workers, Mine Workers, Service Employees, Machinists, and Electrical Workers. Among other good results, their bold plan can restore America's manufacturing jobs, link blue-collar America with the environmental movement, eliminate the need for more oil wars, build a sound energy infrastructure for the future, spur a national construction boom, stimulate the economy from the ground up, excite and unite workaday Americans in a shared mission and provide a positive model for the rest of the world.
Now that's sensible, positive, visionary and good for everyone!
Froodle-doodle, cry the naysayers in the White House, Congress and oil corporations - where are you going to get $300 billion to finance this? I say we should get it from where it went. Washington just doled out $350 billion from our public treasury to enrich elites who were already super-rich. Let's put $300 billion of that back in the treasury to finance this Apollo program for the good of all, instead of watching the privileged stick it in foreign bank accounts or buy more mansions in France.
This is Jim Hightower saying... To see the Apollo proposal for yourself, check out www.apolloalliance.org.
Jim Hightower
Jim Hightower is a political columnist, radio commentator and former Texas agriculture commissioner.
The More Things Change,
Flagpole Stays The Same
On June 20, a Friday, I stopped by the Globe for an afternoon beer. Before entering, though, I opened up the door to a dirty, turquoise Flagpole magazine bin and found it empty except for a brittle, faded newspaper sitting there dolefully. I grabbed it and headed into the bar, ordered a cold one, and sat down for a read.
What I found was yesterday's news. Okay, it wasn't really yesterday; it was 1994. The week on the front of the magazine was current. June 15, it said. But the year was long ago. I had unearthed a Flagpole as old as my pubic hair. Puzzled, I opened the crispy periodical and browsed the happenings of eight years prior: Page three: a letter from a reader named "Miss Sunbeam" written in a frustrated tone to a recently deceased Nirvana singer. Page six: a column entitled Ghost Fry by late beloved local poet/historian John Seawright, documenting the resistance in Northeast Georgia to the First World War. Page 17: a review of the Beastie Boys' latest effort, Ill Communications. Page 22: Movie Dope, featuring the likes of Tombstone, The Crow, Schindler's List, Crooklyn, and Speed. I looked around suspiciously. These were indeed the happenings of the past, but were things really any different now? Shit. I flipped to ABC. Nathan Sheppard was scheduled to play at DT's. There was a Boneshakers ad reading, "Something for Everyone," with a photo of a hard-abbed beefcake. There were dutiful reports in the politico section by Pete McCommons, exposing local dirtbag Commissioners. I took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, I thought, and gulped the last of my beer. What if, I thought, what if I walked outside into the sultry summer sun and saw the shiny oblong head of Michael Stipe? Would I ask him what their latest album was? And if he told me they were about to release a record entitled Monster, would I freak and run away, knowing I was trapped in a time warp?
I approached a pedestrian heading toward the Theatre. "What year is it?" I asked him.
"Huh?" he said, tilting his head slightly.
"Ah, forget it," I said, and walked away.
This is childish, I thought. Had I really done that many drugs in high school? There was only one thing to be done, I knew. So I put my hand to my brow, blocking the setting sun, and spotted another turquoise bin. I walked straight toward it, eyeing it the whole way. Before opening it, I told myself, "You're not 13. It is not 1994. You've been laid. You got your driver's license long ago. Hell, you've even voted. Just open the bin and forget all about this mess."
And there, on the yellowing pavement, I reached in and pulled out a colorful, modern-looking Flagpole. At the top it read, "2003." I breathed easy. I flipped it open and read today's news. I wondered if in 2010 there'd be Hollywood movies, stupid politicians and the timeless notes of Nathan Sheppard rising from the music underground. Of course there will be, I thought. And I betcha there'll be a magazine in a turquoise bin proving that it all went down.
Tanner Brown
Tanner Brown is a local writer who tells it like it is, even if it isn't.
Lewis vs. Klitschko
Heavyweight Fight
The Fight: The fight went six rounds and then was stopped per doctor's advice to the referee, Lou Moret - or, one balding spider monkey, as I thought of him while watching this super bout between a combined 13 feet of human height and 504.5 human pounds. Yes, this fight had it all, all the makings of an incredible drama, save not the blood and guts.
The Champ: 40 wins, two losses, one draw, 31 knockouts. Lennox Lewis attempts to defend his belt after the longest layoff of his career, not having fought in 377 days. Interviews show that he isn't in the least concerned about his replacement opponent. (The planned opponent backed out two weeks prior to the fight because of injury.) Lewis predicts he'll be the only one standing by the fifth round. Cockier than ever, the champ - always considered by many a "class act" - now appears more of a "crass act."
The Challenger: 32 wins, one loss, no draws, 31 knockouts. Vitali Klitschko is the number-one WBC Heavyweight contender. The Ukrainian speaks four languages, has a Ph.D. in sports science and has been waiting for this moment all his life. The lone loss dampened his reputation, some say, because he pulled out in the middle of the fight due to a shoulder injury. Vitali's 6-foot 7-inch, 248 lb. frame dwarfs 6-foot 5-inch, 256.5 lb. Lewis' prior opponent, a Shitzu in comparison: the 5-foot, 11-inch Mike Tyson.
Ding Ding Ding: This fight has all the excitement and action of Rockys I-IV, one of the most exciting heavyweight bouts in years.
Vitali Klitschko, flanked by brother Vladimir, also a heavyweight contender, comes out and into the ring, calm, stoic-looking, determined. He seems very aware of the upcoming opportunity. Meanwhile, the unconcerned(?) Lewis waits in his dressing room and watches HBO. He watches Klitschko wait in the ring and delays his own entrance as a "psyops" sort of ploy. When Lewis hears the TV announcer comment on this, he then finally makes for the ring with mello-mahn Reggae music playing.
Round 1: These huge guys make me want to get a bigger TV. Lewis comes out throwing bombs. Klitschko is enormous and doesn't seem very coordinated in the least. He's like a newborn colt desperately trying to find his feet and take his stand. The two go at it and, by the endbell, Klitschko has found his feet.
Round 2: (1:48 left) A huge, head popping straight right by Klitschko makes time stand still. This punch sends shivers down the spines of millions. Lewis' chin disappears in a nanosecond, replaced by Klitschko's glove. Lewis stumbles around with an embarrassed smile, warding off further attack. Had Lewis been on Clayton street in this condition he'd have certainly been picked up for public intoxication. This was the moment that all great fights begin with: the moment which raises eyebrows and seems to say, save your own aghast speechless mug, "Oh, my, we're in for something, here. This is big!" Lewis hangs on to Klitschko like a baby to its mom, naps and wakes up mad and swinging, landing a hard blow of his own. Then some more beating by Klitschko and it doesn't look like Lewis'll make it through the round. He bends over, nearly down from fatigue and more Klitschko rights. The round nears its end with five unanswered hard punches to Lewis' noggin. The bell rings and Lewis' trainer informs him that he's losing the fight. He's losing the belt.
Round 3: Within the first 10 seconds we're reminded of how and why this man, Lewis, is indeed the champ. A thunderous overhand right and the seats in the audience at this point are unnecessary. The fateful "cut" punch amazingly doesn't seem to daze Klitschko at all. He comes back with, all in a perfect cadence, four left jabs: 1 Mississippi... 2 miss'i... 3 miss'i... 4 miss'i... to Lewis' head.
"There has never been a heavyweight championship fight between big men with this kind of intense action," prompts Larry Merchant as women scream and men yell. The two men exchange hard blows throughout the round, blows that land not only hard but frequently. Even the boxers themselves stop at times to admire their brutal work for an awe-ful split second, only to be rocked right back by a more inventive, sweat 'n blood slinging set 'a blows than their own. Lewis, like a shark, notices the blood under Klitschko's eye. He seems to be in better touch with his feelings now, unafraid to act on his anger, and frenziedly attempts to feed. Two appetites within the ropes now fiercely seek satiation. The bell sounds, and the best full round of boxing I've personally ever seen is done. Between rounds, a close-up of Vitali brings everyone to their knees. The gaping cut above his left eye is horrendous. It looks like another eye.
Round 4: Lewis comes out with hard pressure, and they both hit the canvas together. Lewis, by golly, in the heat of battle, offers a glove to help Vitali up and the crowd claps and cheers and they go back at it. Those Rocky fights don't seem so unrealistic anymore, as they both exchange and land hard punches throughout the next few minutes. Round over, and Vitali's got another cut starting on his left cheekbone.
Round 5: HUGE uppercut by Lewis seems actually to hit the jaw of someone in the crowd who goes flying up in the air as if a snake bit his ass. But Klitschko comes back, and with a minute and a half left in the round Lewis is almost down again, wavering against the ropes. Klitschko doesn't "bite," though, doesn't finish the job, perhaps being patient and waiting for the right moment. The round closes. Klitschko's new cut opens. Blood all over the left side of his face and in his eye, pouring down from the two gashes.
Round 6: A couple more huge uppercuts by Lewis, followed by a Klitschko uppercut. They've slowed down a bit and, although Lewis finally wins a round outright, he is exhausted, and as the bell rings he collapses to his stool and almost through the ropes. Klitschko, in comparison, has a sprightliness about him except for all that blood.
Fight Called: Spider Monkey calls it, on the advice of the ring doctor; Klitschko couldn't see and so couldn't defend himself, or something like that. Lewis retains the belt by way of TKO. Commotion and emotion in the ring. Klitschko agonizingly protests to the ref. Degloved Lewis puts a lone finger up and declares, "Number one! Number one!" Ironic, since, had the fight not been stopped at that moment, and what with Klitschko up on the scorecards and Lewis running only on fumes, number-one is exactly what Lewis would be: the number-one ranked contender to the world heavyweight champ, Vitali Klitschko.
Lewis was clearly not in good shape for the boxing match. Maybe that's why Klitschko was so close to knocking him out. Rematch? Lewis agreed, "if the money's right," while Klitschko pleaded, demanded, begged, raising his gloves to the cheers of the crowd and his new, won-over fans. A rematch could be a very different story. But note: the 31-year-old Klitschko absorbed some incredibly hard punches and not once seemed to be in trouble, while Lewis, at 37, may not even be able to get in any better shape. What a gift, this fight, to the world of boxing. Especially the fans, who didn't have to dish out 50 bucks to see it, so long as they had or knew someone with HBO. As for the rematch, though, I'm afraid I'm gonna be stuck dishing out the dinero, as it'll certainly be on pay per vi... pay per vi... pay-per-viva! I'll in a second pay to live! I don't remember ever feeling so alive as when I watched this fun, inspiring, infuriating, breathtaking battle. All right, maybe I can think of a few times, but, damn I love boxing!
Mike Simpson
This is, we think, the first published writing from Mike Simpson, who is otherwise employed in the local food service industry.
Two Bush Protestors
Puttin' On The Ritz
At the Living Wage meeting "Odessa" mentioned that the President was due to be in Greensboro the next day, and asked me if I'd like to go with her to protest. Always ready to pull my War is Not the Answer sign out of my kitchen window, I said sure.
I read the email from the Georgia Peace Coalition when I got home from the meeting, and it sounded easy enough. I sure wanted George to know that not everyone in Georgia was ready to write him a check for his next campaign.
Odessa picked me up around 5 a.m., and we went south. Directions in hand (we thought) we drove past the airport on the left, and saw all kinds of limos and secret service guys. We got a little thrill from that. We passed signs lettered onto bedsheets saying, "the Cantrells love President Bush" and "Welcome to Bush Country." Saw folks with folding chairs set up in their front yards in rows, waiting for the great man to pass by. The flag was displayed outside most businesses and a majority of the homes, and balloons and bunting were everywhere. But no protesters that we could see. We realized we'd made a wrong turn somehow, and asked a couple that were out in their yard for guidance. They told us we'd come way the wrong way, needed to go back into town, turn left, and follow the signs. Okay, that didn't sound too hard, so off we went.
It turned out there were two lefts that advertised I-20, so we stopped and asked directions again.
They are not kidding when they print that the President would rather stop way out in the middle of nowhere than deal with the protesters in Atlanta. It was way, way, way out in the middle of nowhere. And the scariest part of the drive wasn't the state troopers parked in every driveway, prepared to block off the route of the motorcade. Nope, it was the shameless, blatant display of conspicuous consumption - new money gone absolutely wild - that was in our faces from the time we found the correct turn to make until we drove right up into the turn-around of the Ritz-Carlton.
Yes, protest veterans, right up into the venue. They weren't expecting anything but fans of the President to show up.
"Hey," Odessa suggested, "why don't we ask a state trooper?" So we pulled up to a fella sitting alone in his car, and I just came right out and asked him where the protesters were. He said he hadn't seen any so far, and started to ask whether we were there to start one, and thought better of it. He waved, laughing as we drove off. Odessa wanted to stop and take pictures of ourselves with our signs right there, but there wasn't anywhere to park, and she was almost out of gas. So we headed back, slowing to a crawl at every likely spot hoping someone would materialize who wasn't waving an American flag and holding a "we love you" sign.
We had to stop for gas quickly, so had only made one turn when we pulled in. We didn't really pay attention to the trooper in the driveway until he pulled across it and got out of his car. Odessa was pumping gas, so I grabbed our signs and went out towards the road. The Trooper looked at me, perplexed, so I gave him a huge grin and said, "It's exciting, isn't it?"
"Yes Ma'am," he said. "Could you move back, please?" By this time the other customers had realized that something was happening, and were making a move towards the road, too. I was jumping up and down, wishing Odessa would hurry; some of the limo drivers had made nasty noises when I ran by with our signs. I ignored them, and Odessa came running, too. We took pictures of each other with our signs, because we weren't clear on the sentiments of the folks around us, and didn't want to ask them to do it. Let's just say none of them had signs.
One Lexus SUV was not willing to wait. The young guy driving pulled up to the trooper, showed ID, and said very clearly that they had to get to the airport. The trooper was polite and told him there was no traffic allowed on the road. At that point, I became convinced that Donald Rumsfeld was in the passenger seat. I tried to get Odessa to take a picture of him (there was some pointing and squealing involved), but she said he looked too young to be Rumsfeld. All I know is that when they pulled up again and showed his ID, instead of the driver's, the trooper let them go.
The high point of our two-person protest was definitely the motorcade. We couldn't help it, we admitted later, there was something thrilling about all those SUV's with the red white and blue lights, and all the motorcycle cops looking so proud. At that point I had my sign high over my head in one hand, and was flashing a peace sign with the other. And, as Odessa is my witness, I swear, a hand from within one of the big SUV's flashed me a peace sign back! Odessa saw it too, and we both noticed it was wearing a glove. We tried to figure it out later; maybe he had an honor guard with him, and they were still in dress uniform. I don't know, but it absolutely had me jumping up and down with joy - with the placard still over my head, and peace sign waving, too, of course.
Madelyn C. Powell
Madelyn C. Powell is a local political activist.
Institute Index:
America, Idle
o Percent of U.S. TV watchers who tuned in to finale of "American Idol": 33
o Percent of U.S. citizens who voted in 2002 mid-term elections: 39
o Number of people who voted on the show's finale, in millions: 24
o Number of Southerners who voted in the 2002 elections, in millions: 22.5
o Out of 12 "American Idol" finalists, number from the South: 8
o Percent of Southerners who sing while driving alone in their car: 53
o Percent who say they "drive faster" if they like the music: 8
From last month's Southern Exposure, published by the Institute for Southern Studies, subscriptions available for $21 on-line at www.southernstudies.org/support.asp.
George W. Bush and "I will leave no child behind." For all my obvious disdain for the President's dis-ease with language, I feel that this one sentence will come to define his presidency. Ironically, though, the phrase leave no child behind was borrowed - just as many administration officials were taken from previous administrations, just as his "Patriot Act" was taken from existing legislation, just as his economic ideas are contemptibly cheap, refried, Reaganist trickle down economics.
According to Ralph Nader, in a May, 2001, editorial in the San Francisco Bay Guardian, "leave no child behind" belongs to the Children's Defense Fund, which has long used it as a motto. The CDF, according to Nader, had words with administration attorneys concerning their appropriation of the phrase, but they were unable to stop it (www.sfbg.com/nader/151.html).
If the motto is important enough to steal (the CDF's campaign, "Act to Leave No Child Behind" is now a registered trademark), it can be considered a priority by which to evaluate the Bush administration. And the expression is general enough to apply to key components of administration policy.
On the most literal level, "Leave No Child Behind" refers to Bush's education policies. Campaigning, he pledged to ensure that all children would receive a quality education and that all teachers and all schools would be responsible in their delivery of the same. The "Leave No Child Behind Act" was passed with all due fanfare on January 8, 2002, and one year later, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton assessed its effectiveness in a statement on her senatorial website.
"After 8 years of increases in education funding averaging 10 percent, President Bush has suddenly slashed education funding. Last year he provided an increase of only 3.7 percent - just enough to keep up with inflation - and this year it appears that he is slashing the federal education budget.
"Against the objection of Senator Harkin, Senator Kennedy, and all of my friends here today, the President has proposed to cut $90 million from the No Child Left Behind Act and to provide $6 billion less for Title I than the Act calls for. Instead of ensuring that 'No Child is Left Behind,' the President is leaving countless children behind." (http://clinton.senate.gov/~;clinton/news/2003/01/2003108819.html).
Well, I guess if the money's not there; it's just not there. But where it has gone?
Bush inherited the largest budget surplus in American history. According to the Annual Report on the United States Government for the year 2000, a publication of the House of Representatives Policy Committee, there was a budget surplus of $236,990,000,000. The previous year the surplus was $124,362,000,000. The Federal debt was reduced by $333 billion dollars between 1998 and 2000. Public debt, which in 1993, stood at a "peacetime high" of 50 percent, had fallen to less than 35 percent of the gross domestic product (http://policy.house.gov/assets/ann_rep2000.pdf).
The 2003 report is less perky. According to government stats (http://policy.house.gov/assets/ann_rep2002.pdf), total revenues fell by five percent, from $2,406, 081,000,000 to $2,283,533,000, while expenses rose seven percent, from $2,278,804,000,000 to $2,441,183,000,000. That's a deficit of $158 billion dollars, and a turnaround from the year before, when there was a surplus of $127,227,000,000. The deficit for 2002 was $157,650,000,000.
According to the same report, the factors contributing to the deficit are related to the sluggish economy and to increases in government spending. The report states that the deficit "was primarily attributable to a $162 billion increase in 2002." Revenues during the same period fell five percent, but the only factor cited for the fall is "substantially lower capital gains tax collections due to the stock market decline."
What this means is that spending (the war on terrorism, as well as the normal everyday costs of the government's doing business) grew at a rate for which the government was unprepared to cope. However, the only reason mentioned for the reductions in revenues was a loss in capital gains revenues, which are blamed on the economy.
What's remarkable because of its absence is any reference of the impact of Bush's tax cuts on government revenues, which, let us admit, is how the government pays its bills. The chairman of the House Policy Committee, Republican Christopher Cox, is notably silent on this issue. In a brief letter attached to the end of the report, Cox says, "[D]espite real growth in the U.S. economy of over 3% in 2002, tax revenues fell for the second consecutive year. The result was the first deficit in five years. To avoid a return to chronic deficits, controlling spending and encouraging stronger economic growth must be our highest fiscal priorities."
If spending increased under a Republican controlled House, Senate and White House, the spending must have been seen as necessary. If it was necessary, then it strikes me that fiscally responsible folks (surely our elected officials fit into that category) would have the foresight to make sure there's enough money to pay for the new measures.
But revenues have decreased. The only reasons given are the slump in the economy and the obligatory nod to the war on terrorism.
I keep coming back, though, to Bush's tax cuts. According to the Center on Budget and Policy Priorities, the original $1.35 trillion tax cut (the one that gutted the surplus and left us fiscally unprepared for the spending levels required by the "war on terrorism") will cost us $2.1 trillion dollars over 10 years (www.cbpp.org/2-7-01costshort.htm). When fully in effect, the tax cut will be "four times as large as the budget for the entire Department of Education"; "more than three times as large as the Department of Veterans Affairs or the Department of Transportation"; and "twenty-four times the size of the Environmental Protection Agency." (www.cbpp.org/4-17-02tax.htm).
If this is the President's idea of leaving no child behind, I'm against it. In fact, I think they should all be left behind. No child should have to face kind of future such negligence and self indulgence is concocting.
Billy Claude Puckett
Billy Claude Puckett is a car salesman living in south Georgia. He is an ex-Peace Corps volunteer and a minister in the Church of Signs Following. He takes up serpents.
Sensible, Positive, Visionary
And Good For Everyone, Too
What if the White House and Congress were to do something sensible, positive, visionary and good for everyone, instead of... well, you know, the opposite of all of the above, as they've been doing?
Here's one big idea that would definitely be a plus for our people and for future generations: Launch a 10-year, $300 billion, crash program to provide energy independence for America. This would be a nationwide effort involving millions of us grassroots people to develop, build, and run a high-speed rail network, a distribution system for hydrogen-powered cars, energy efficient buildings and appliances, solar and wind-power systems, and other means to kick our nation's costly oil addiction.
It's called the Apollo Project, and it's a proposal that has been put together by 10 unions, including the Steelworkers, Auto Workers, Mine Workers, Service Employees, Machinists, and Electrical Workers. Among other good results, their bold plan can restore America's manufacturing jobs, link blue-collar America with the environmental movement, eliminate the need for more oil wars, build a sound energy infrastructure for the future, spur a national construction boom, stimulate the economy from the ground up, excite and unite workaday Americans in a shared mission and provide a positive model for the rest of the world.
Now that's sensible, positive, visionary and good for everyone!
Froodle-doodle, cry the naysayers in the White House, Congress and oil corporations - where are you going to get $300 billion to finance this? I say we should get it from where it went. Washington just doled out $350 billion from our public treasury to enrich elites who were already super-rich. Let's put $300 billion of that back in the treasury to finance this Apollo program for the good of all, instead of watching the privileged stick it in foreign bank accounts or buy more mansions in France.
This is Jim Hightower saying... To see the Apollo proposal for yourself, check out www.apolloalliance.org.
Jim Hightower
Jim Hightower is a political columnist, radio commentator and former Texas agriculture commissioner.
The More Things Change,
Flagpole Stays The Same
On June 20, a Friday, I stopped by the Globe for an afternoon beer. Before entering, though, I opened up the door to a dirty, turquoise Flagpole magazine bin and found it empty except for a brittle, faded newspaper sitting there dolefully. I grabbed it and headed into the bar, ordered a cold one, and sat down for a read.
What I found was yesterday's news. Okay, it wasn't really yesterday; it was 1994. The week on the front of the magazine was current. June 15, it said. But the year was long ago. I had unearthed a Flagpole as old as my pubic hair. Puzzled, I opened the crispy periodical and browsed the happenings of eight years prior: Page three: a letter from a reader named "Miss Sunbeam" written in a frustrated tone to a recently deceased Nirvana singer. Page six: a column entitled Ghost Fry by late beloved local poet/historian John Seawright, documenting the resistance in Northeast Georgia to the First World War. Page 17: a review of the Beastie Boys' latest effort, Ill Communications. Page 22: Movie Dope, featuring the likes of Tombstone, The Crow, Schindler's List, Crooklyn, and Speed. I looked around suspiciously. These were indeed the happenings of the past, but were things really any different now? Shit. I flipped to ABC. Nathan Sheppard was scheduled to play at DT's. There was a Boneshakers ad reading, "Something for Everyone," with a photo of a hard-abbed beefcake. There were dutiful reports in the politico section by Pete McCommons, exposing local dirtbag Commissioners. I took a deep breath. Get a hold of yourself, I thought, and gulped the last of my beer. What if, I thought, what if I walked outside into the sultry summer sun and saw the shiny oblong head of Michael Stipe? Would I ask him what their latest album was? And if he told me they were about to release a record entitled Monster, would I freak and run away, knowing I was trapped in a time warp?
I approached a pedestrian heading toward the Theatre. "What year is it?" I asked him.
"Huh?" he said, tilting his head slightly.
"Ah, forget it," I said, and walked away.
This is childish, I thought. Had I really done that many drugs in high school? There was only one thing to be done, I knew. So I put my hand to my brow, blocking the setting sun, and spotted another turquoise bin. I walked straight toward it, eyeing it the whole way. Before opening it, I told myself, "You're not 13. It is not 1994. You've been laid. You got your driver's license long ago. Hell, you've even voted. Just open the bin and forget all about this mess."
And there, on the yellowing pavement, I reached in and pulled out a colorful, modern-looking Flagpole. At the top it read, "2003." I breathed easy. I flipped it open and read today's news. I wondered if in 2010 there'd be Hollywood movies, stupid politicians and the timeless notes of Nathan Sheppard rising from the music underground. Of course there will be, I thought. And I betcha there'll be a magazine in a turquoise bin proving that it all went down.
Tanner Brown
Tanner Brown is a local writer who tells it like it is, even if it isn't.
Lewis vs. Klitschko
Heavyweight Fight
The Fight: The fight went six rounds and then was stopped per doctor's advice to the referee, Lou Moret - or, one balding spider monkey, as I thought of him while watching this super bout between a combined 13 feet of human height and 504.5 human pounds. Yes, this fight had it all, all the makings of an incredible drama, save not the blood and guts.
The Champ: 40 wins, two losses, one draw, 31 knockouts. Lennox Lewis attempts to defend his belt after the longest layoff of his career, not having fought in 377 days. Interviews show that he isn't in the least concerned about his replacement opponent. (The planned opponent backed out two weeks prior to the fight because of injury.) Lewis predicts he'll be the only one standing by the fifth round. Cockier than ever, the champ - always considered by many a "class act" - now appears more of a "crass act."
The Challenger: 32 wins, one loss, no draws, 31 knockouts. Vitali Klitschko is the number-one WBC Heavyweight contender. The Ukrainian speaks four languages, has a Ph.D. in sports science and has been waiting for this moment all his life. The lone loss dampened his reputation, some say, because he pulled out in the middle of the fight due to a shoulder injury. Vitali's 6-foot 7-inch, 248 lb. frame dwarfs 6-foot 5-inch, 256.5 lb. Lewis' prior opponent, a Shitzu in comparison: the 5-foot, 11-inch Mike Tyson.
Ding Ding Ding: This fight has all the excitement and action of Rockys I-IV, one of the most exciting heavyweight bouts in years.
Vitali Klitschko, flanked by brother Vladimir, also a heavyweight contender, comes out and into the ring, calm, stoic-looking, determined. He seems very aware of the upcoming opportunity. Meanwhile, the unconcerned(?) Lewis waits in his dressing room and watches HBO. He watches Klitschko wait in the ring and delays his own entrance as a "psyops" sort of ploy. When Lewis hears the TV announcer comment on this, he then finally makes for the ring with mello-mahn Reggae music playing.
Round 1: These huge guys make me want to get a bigger TV. Lewis comes out throwing bombs. Klitschko is enormous and doesn't seem very coordinated in the least. He's like a newborn colt desperately trying to find his feet and take his stand. The two go at it and, by the endbell, Klitschko has found his feet.
Round 2: (1:48 left) A huge, head popping straight right by Klitschko makes time stand still. This punch sends shivers down the spines of millions. Lewis' chin disappears in a nanosecond, replaced by Klitschko's glove. Lewis stumbles around with an embarrassed smile, warding off further attack. Had Lewis been on Clayton street in this condition he'd have certainly been picked up for public intoxication. This was the moment that all great fights begin with: the moment which raises eyebrows and seems to say, save your own aghast speechless mug, "Oh, my, we're in for something, here. This is big!" Lewis hangs on to Klitschko like a baby to its mom, naps and wakes up mad and swinging, landing a hard blow of his own. Then some more beating by Klitschko and it doesn't look like Lewis'll make it through the round. He bends over, nearly down from fatigue and more Klitschko rights. The round nears its end with five unanswered hard punches to Lewis' noggin. The bell rings and Lewis' trainer informs him that he's losing the fight. He's losing the belt.
Round 3: Within the first 10 seconds we're reminded of how and why this man, Lewis, is indeed the champ. A thunderous overhand right and the seats in the audience at this point are unnecessary. The fateful "cut" punch amazingly doesn't seem to daze Klitschko at all. He comes back with, all in a perfect cadence, four left jabs: 1 Mississippi... 2 miss'i... 3 miss'i... 4 miss'i... to Lewis' head.
"There has never been a heavyweight championship fight between big men with this kind of intense action," prompts Larry Merchant as women scream and men yell. The two men exchange hard blows throughout the round, blows that land not only hard but frequently. Even the boxers themselves stop at times to admire their brutal work for an awe-ful split second, only to be rocked right back by a more inventive, sweat 'n blood slinging set 'a blows than their own. Lewis, like a shark, notices the blood under Klitschko's eye. He seems to be in better touch with his feelings now, unafraid to act on his anger, and frenziedly attempts to feed. Two appetites within the ropes now fiercely seek satiation. The bell sounds, and the best full round of boxing I've personally ever seen is done. Between rounds, a close-up of Vitali brings everyone to their knees. The gaping cut above his left eye is horrendous. It looks like another eye.
Round 4: Lewis comes out with hard pressure, and they both hit the canvas together. Lewis, by golly, in the heat of battle, offers a glove to help Vitali up and the crowd claps and cheers and they go back at it. Those Rocky fights don't seem so unrealistic anymore, as they both exchange and land hard punches throughout the next few minutes. Round over, and Vitali's got another cut starting on his left cheekbone.
Round 5: HUGE uppercut by Lewis seems actually to hit the jaw of someone in the crowd who goes flying up in the air as if a snake bit his ass. But Klitschko comes back, and with a minute and a half left in the round Lewis is almost down again, wavering against the ropes. Klitschko doesn't "bite," though, doesn't finish the job, perhaps being patient and waiting for the right moment. The round closes. Klitschko's new cut opens. Blood all over the left side of his face and in his eye, pouring down from the two gashes.
Round 6: A couple more huge uppercuts by Lewis, followed by a Klitschko uppercut. They've slowed down a bit and, although Lewis finally wins a round outright, he is exhausted, and as the bell rings he collapses to his stool and almost through the ropes. Klitschko, in comparison, has a sprightliness about him except for all that blood.
Fight Called: Spider Monkey calls it, on the advice of the ring doctor; Klitschko couldn't see and so couldn't defend himself, or something like that. Lewis retains the belt by way of TKO. Commotion and emotion in the ring. Klitschko agonizingly protests to the ref. Degloved Lewis puts a lone finger up and declares, "Number one! Number one!" Ironic, since, had the fight not been stopped at that moment, and what with Klitschko up on the scorecards and Lewis running only on fumes, number-one is exactly what Lewis would be: the number-one ranked contender to the world heavyweight champ, Vitali Klitschko.
Lewis was clearly not in good shape for the boxing match. Maybe that's why Klitschko was so close to knocking him out. Rematch? Lewis agreed, "if the money's right," while Klitschko pleaded, demanded, begged, raising his gloves to the cheers of the crowd and his new, won-over fans. A rematch could be a very different story. But note: the 31-year-old Klitschko absorbed some incredibly hard punches and not once seemed to be in trouble, while Lewis, at 37, may not even be able to get in any better shape. What a gift, this fight, to the world of boxing. Especially the fans, who didn't have to dish out 50 bucks to see it, so long as they had or knew someone with HBO. As for the rematch, though, I'm afraid I'm gonna be stuck dishing out the dinero, as it'll certainly be on pay per vi... pay per vi... pay-per-viva! I'll in a second pay to live! I don't remember ever feeling so alive as when I watched this fun, inspiring, infuriating, breathtaking battle. All right, maybe I can think of a few times, but, damn I love boxing!
Mike Simpson
This is, we think, the first published writing from Mike Simpson, who is otherwise employed in the local food service industry.
Two Bush Protestors
Puttin' On The Ritz
At the Living Wage meeting "Odessa" mentioned that the President was due to be in Greensboro the next day, and asked me if I'd like to go with her to protest. Always ready to pull my War is Not the Answer sign out of my kitchen window, I said sure.
I read the email from the Georgia Peace Coalition when I got home from the meeting, and it sounded easy enough. I sure wanted George to know that not everyone in Georgia was ready to write him a check for his next campaign.
Odessa picked me up around 5 a.m., and we went south. Directions in hand (we thought) we drove past the airport on the left, and saw all kinds of limos and secret service guys. We got a little thrill from that. We passed signs lettered onto bedsheets saying, "the Cantrells love President Bush" and "Welcome to Bush Country." Saw folks with folding chairs set up in their front yards in rows, waiting for the great man to pass by. The flag was displayed outside most businesses and a majority of the homes, and balloons and bunting were everywhere. But no protesters that we could see. We realized we'd made a wrong turn somehow, and asked a couple that were out in their yard for guidance. They told us we'd come way the wrong way, needed to go back into town, turn left, and follow the signs. Okay, that didn't sound too hard, so off we went.
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It turned out there were two lefts that advertised I-20, so we stopped and asked directions again.
They are not kidding when they print that the President would rather stop way out in the middle of nowhere than deal with the protesters in Atlanta. It was way, way, way out in the middle of nowhere. And the scariest part of the drive wasn't the state troopers parked in every driveway, prepared to block off the route of the motorcade. Nope, it was the shameless, blatant display of conspicuous consumption - new money gone absolutely wild - that was in our faces from the time we found the correct turn to make until we drove right up into the turn-around of the Ritz-Carlton.
Yes, protest veterans, right up into the venue. They weren't expecting anything but fans of the President to show up.
"Hey," Odessa suggested, "why don't we ask a state trooper?" So we pulled up to a fella sitting alone in his car, and I just came right out and asked him where the protesters were. He said he hadn't seen any so far, and started to ask whether we were there to start one, and thought better of it. He waved, laughing as we drove off. Odessa wanted to stop and take pictures of ourselves with our signs right there, but there wasn't anywhere to park, and she was almost out of gas. So we headed back, slowing to a crawl at every likely spot hoping someone would materialize who wasn't waving an American flag and holding a "we love you" sign.
We had to stop for gas quickly, so had only made one turn when we pulled in. We didn't really pay attention to the trooper in the driveway until he pulled across it and got out of his car. Odessa was pumping gas, so I grabbed our signs and went out towards the road. The Trooper looked at me, perplexed, so I gave him a huge grin and said, "It's exciting, isn't it?"
"Yes Ma'am," he said. "Could you move back, please?" By this time the other customers had realized that something was happening, and were making a move towards the road, too. I was jumping up and down, wishing Odessa would hurry; some of the limo drivers had made nasty noises when I ran by with our signs. I ignored them, and Odessa came running, too. We took pictures of each other with our signs, because we weren't clear on the sentiments of the folks around us, and didn't want to ask them to do it. Let's just say none of them had signs.
One Lexus SUV was not willing to wait. The young guy driving pulled up to the trooper, showed ID, and said very clearly that they had to get to the airport. The trooper was polite and told him there was no traffic allowed on the road. At that point, I became convinced that Donald Rumsfeld was in the passenger seat. I tried to get Odessa to take a picture of him (there was some pointing and squealing involved), but she said he looked too young to be Rumsfeld. All I know is that when they pulled up again and showed his ID, instead of the driver's, the trooper let them go.
The high point of our two-person protest was definitely the motorcade. We couldn't help it, we admitted later, there was something thrilling about all those SUV's with the red white and blue lights, and all the motorcycle cops looking so proud. At that point I had my sign high over my head in one hand, and was flashing a peace sign with the other. And, as Odessa is my witness, I swear, a hand from within one of the big SUV's flashed me a peace sign back! Odessa saw it too, and we both noticed it was wearing a glove. We tried to figure it out later; maybe he had an honor guard with him, and they were still in dress uniform. I don't know, but it absolutely had me jumping up and down with joy - with the placard still over my head, and peace sign waving, too, of course.
Madelyn C. Powell
Madelyn C. Powell is a local political activist.
Institute Index:
America, Idle
o Percent of U.S. TV watchers who tuned in to finale of "American Idol": 33
o Percent of U.S. citizens who voted in 2002 mid-term elections: 39
o Number of people who voted on the show's finale, in millions: 24
o Number of Southerners who voted in the 2002 elections, in millions: 22.5
o Out of 12 "American Idol" finalists, number from the South: 8
o Percent of Southerners who sing while driving alone in their car: 53
o Percent who say they "drive faster" if they like the music: 8
From last month's Southern Exposure, published by the Institute for Southern Studies, subscriptions available for $21 on-line at www.southernstudies.org/support.asp.
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