In the early hours of a new day, my thoughts are often filled with the crescendo and decrescendo of American life, like a freight train roaring toward me from some great distance before passing without a trace, disappearing into silence — unlike songs sung to grandchildren of the Virginia love story of Pocahontas and John Smith, or whitewashed history learned by school children of the first Thanksgiving and Plymouth Rock – all the stories we tell ourselves – all the internalized sugar and spice from the Cherry Tree to Bunker Hill, through Andersonville & The Fort Delaware Death Pen to Drones over Stop & Search New York.
As the Titanic sank in April 1912, men chose to stand by their posts and continue to serve, knowing that would surely doom any hope of their survival, doing so, so others might live. A hundred years later, corporate leadership is America’s iceberg cutting deeply into our support structure: the Middle Class, and willingly sacrificing those who Stand on The Wall, to increase their sales of weapons of mass destruction.
Without a new composition, this dissonance will harden into an American story and become our song.
What’s the story with Pope Francis getting the Trickle-Down Crowd all a twitter? And what’s this chorus of an increasing gap in economic income between the super wealthy and the rest of us?
Wonder if they wonder what happens when they can’t find the technically savvy among those they’ve under educated/served/employed. Will board room greed face the music and, if not pass, at least share the torch with a new generation of American immigrants.
Unlimited corporate expansion – adding millions more international subscriptions, prescriptions and deceptions for untold herds who, ignoring the fine print in favor of 140 characters, miss that stories and songs are written and sung for those who build the walls too high on the backs of labor below.
Even when their overtones are diminished temporarily by harmonious carolers singing Lift Every Voice and Sing We Shall Overcome, there’s no FDR or JFK to deliver Obama healthcare, from the recurring corporate refrain – disarming jingles and product placement, that confuses the very natural direction of nature, with a meltdown Trickle-Down serenade seducing even the animal kingdom with climate change. Alas, the very geese play follow the leader in, which way do we go?
From the cities behind the walls, they conduct the desperate for bargains — violently pushing Black Friday and Cyber Monday profits – the army of shoppers occupying their malls beyond the Walls. Then after the roar of the crowd greasing their palms, the dissonance in decrescendo, they reprise the score.
Now, what’s your story?
Singing in the rain of tears, over life savings garnished by the burning Bush, flying by China’s rules, kneeling before an Iowa King?
Will you settle for an Obama second chorus of Truman’s Do Nothing Congress? Or shall we Reach for the Sky, key changing our American story, with songs whose lyrics better practice what we preach.
Can you hear our song: Frances J. Crosby, The All American Girls Baseball Players, all the riveting Rosies, Emma Lazarus Alice Paul, Rosa Parks, Hillary Clinton in harmony? And can we not sing in grateful chorus as we recall Congress and The Trans-Pacific Partnership.
Let us make a joyful noise for all in the land for peace over war and affordable healthcare, instead of Insurance Industry’s Get Well Cards.
Let us house and employ the veteran and grant equality of treatment for the mentally ill. Let us make our story one of progressing America through civility and unity to the Blessed Assurance of non-violence.
This is our story, This is our Song: not this.