Being a white guy who grew up in a town where there were exactly four black people, of whom one spent most of his life in and out of mental hospitals (He was crazy, you see. He kept showing up at town hall meetings and demanding to be heard in public.) and the other three were never seen in public, I can say with a good deal of certainty that I know probably next to nothing about racism. Oh, I learned all about it in school, of course, especially the part where it's all in the past so we should all just move on already. Still, even in my highly sheltered state, there have always been a few things that stood out to me as being odd about the Utopian post-racial paradise we white people are so graciously -- and generously -- affording colored folk these days.
At the top of this list, for some reason, is the way that in every city there is a street running through the ghetto named after Dr. Martin Luther King. Again, I am hardly the authority on these matters, but it seems like the act of naming a street after a hero -- for many people THE hero -- of the Civil Rights movement, while casually neglecting the part of town where that street is located, is a little disingenuous. Like millions of people beaten down by centuries of the most heinous abuse and violence and oppression are going to break out into spontaneous song and dance because some asshole at City Hall renamed a road.
Now, take that sentiment and multiply it about a hundred thousand times, and you will be an honorary citizen of Jackson, Mississippi. There are two things I noticed right away upon arriving in that place. First, there is the fact that the state flag of Mississippi still contains the Confederate flag (because the state has a proud history, and don't you go thinking it's for any other reason at all). The second is that Jackson's airport is named "Jackson-Medgar Wiley Evers International Airport," and it flies that Confederate flag right over the top of the name banner like there just ain't no such thing as horrible, wretched irony in the world.
Honestly, I am not all that well traveled, but I know a shit hole when I see one, and I am here to tell you that Jackson, Mississippi, is a shit hole. That it is the largest, most sophisticated and most modern city in Mississippi portends many things about the state, none of them good. The airport is the first and last sign of actual civilization a person is likely to see there, for outside its pretentiously white-painted walls there lies a slimy serpent of a little town that has only joined the 21st century because they finally ran out of calendars for 1947 and had to order a new batch for the handful of people living there who can read.
The road snakes away from the rental car garage into woods so thick you'll think you've surely taken a wrong turn. The woods themselves are beautiful; it's too bad someone had to go and mess them up by filling them with the most god-awful third-rate "city" you may ever have the misfortune of witnessing. It's all broken down pickup trucks and "IMPEACH THE MUSLIM USURPER" signs, and nary a person skilled in the art of picking up wayward trash from the side of the roads. Eventually, you top a hill and can see the city's entire breadth stretch out humbly before you. It has all the hallmarks of a normal town, by which I mean it has some paved roads (full of pot holes) and a few buildings taller than the trees next to them, but there's something missing. The city has never really had any economic boom to speak of, it has instead expanded slowly in fits, beleaguered and thwarted by backward social and economic policy borne of widespread terror at the prospect of the future ever arriving.
I spend exactly 36 hours in this place, and my soul screams for escape from the first minute my boots hit the ground here. I do not see one black person the whole time I'm in town, other than the kitchen staff in a restaurant. All the customers were, of course, white. Next time I go to Jackson, I'm going to make it a point to eat on the wrong side of town, because any city this far South that looks this lily white has got to be hiding something. My suspicion is that it's hiding something pleasant that the natives don't want anyone to find out about because it might encourage outsiders to come more often.
Welcome to the Deep, Deep South.
I've heard some fucked-up things about Jackson, all right.
Your point about the street names after MLK is, of course, unmistakably fact. It is never, ever, ever, a shiny new boulevard in the suburbs or an avenue in the new fancy high-rise and medical office part of the city they're developing. That might give Those People the wrong idea about where they belong. Worse, it might keep the Right People away. No, it is always whichever the poorest, most battered main street in the black part of town is.
Quote from: Mrs. Nigelson on November 06, 2013, 05:37:30 AM
I've heard some fucked-up things about Jackson, all right.
Your point about the street names after MLK is, of course, unmistakably fact. It is never, ever, ever, a shiny new boulevard in the suburbs or an avenue in the new fancy high-rise and medical office part of the city they're developing. That might give Those People the wrong idea about where they belong. Worse, it might keep the Right People away. No, it is always whichever the poorest, most battered main street in the black part of town is.
If I hadn't learned in 7th grade civics class all about how we left the shitty parts of our history behind in the 60s, I might be discouraged by this sort of thing. But I have no fear, for we are into the fourth decade of the Age of Reagan and Reason, and I know that if there are poor people, it is only because they are lazy. And they ought to be thanking their lucky stars that we let them stick around at all.
Quotea slimy serpent of a little town that has only joined the 21st century because they finally ran out of calendars for 1947 and had to order a new batch for the handful of people living there who can read.
Fucking awesome.
Jackson is as you say. Indeed, most of Miss. is as you say. I'm thrilled you're continuing these series.
If you spend any time at all in the American South, you'll quickly pick up on a peculiar thing about this region. It's something the South has, that the rest of the country just doesn't, or at least something the South has so much of, it seems like it's unique to this place. And no, I'm not talking about lynch mobs or Jim Crow, though I suppose at one time or another (and maybe again if things keep backsliding the way they are) those things could be similarly described.
In the South, for whatever reason, everything permeates everything. There's not a single aspect of life, culture, work, or recreation in the South that isn't just completely Goddamn inescapable. It's just plumb full of itself, I guess is what I'm saying. And something else, you'll probably notice as I type this out, it's as sticky as the humid air that keeps everything here teetering on the brink of a black mold pandemic. Everything in the South is an advertisement for the South. Even the street signs are printed out in that famous Southern Drawl, somehow, even though everything's spelled the same as it would be anywhere else. The South gets on you, and if you stay too long, it just don't never ever come off again.
This is true for most of the South, and not everything about it is evil, exactly. The place is hospitable to a fault, after all, and Jesus H Christ do they know how to cook down here. It's alluring, in a sort of "never you mind the rest of the planet, just cozy on up to the counter there and have yourself some grits" kind of way. It's inviting, it's instantaneously comfortable, and if you don't watch it you'll feel like you've come home. It doesn't help that as far as America goes, the South is probably the only region that has much of a cohesive social culture at all. Compared to the South, everywhere else feels pretty sterile, with the exception of the Pacific Northwest -- which can never feel sterile, on account of all the damn hippies. There I go again.
So that's the warm and inviting side of the South. Lucky for me, of all the things I am a sucker for, Southern comfort (small c) isn't one. I find that as I settle in for a week or so of this place, my dread of it is not abating. The air is too thick and heavy, and I can't for the life of me put out of my mind that the very ground I walk on was at one time trampled by the bare feet of actual god damn slaves. For fuck, how the people here can manage to leave the symbol of that system in their State flag after all these years is beyond me. So I find myself being Wrong again. As wrong here as anywhere. It's a little depressing -- not because there's a single bone in my body that wishes I could just go along with it, but because everything this place promises to be, it could, in fact, be. If it weren't for the stubborn, unrepentant insistence of people to base their social hierarchy on reverence for corrupt tradition and the enforcement of the "Know Your Fucking Place" rule, the South really could be an awesome land. Well, except for the humidity and the bugs.
Fuck yes.
The idea occurs that if we all kicked in some cash, we could send Vex to some truly fucking awful places.
For science, naturally.
Seconded.
LMNO
-slightly disposable income.
The further idea occurs that if travel was purchased and pre-paid for, He'd pretty much be obligated to go. This is how the internet works.
Lake Charles/Westlake Lousiana.
Seriously.
Lynn, MA.
Holy crap, if love to see a V3X take on that shithole.
I am not as opposed to that idea as I probably should be. Imagine a nice coffee table book titled "Shitholes of America."
Quote from: V3X on November 18, 2013, 08:52:36 PM
I am not as opposed to that idea as I probably should be. Imagine a nice coffee table book titled "Shitholes of America."
Last chapter should be Tempe. With maybe somewhere nicer (Nogales, maybe) as a palette cleanser right before it.
Nah, if you're gonna make him do Arizona there's no reason to half-ass it. Gila Bend or nothing.
Quote from: Jet City Hustle on November 18, 2013, 09:04:35 PM
Nah, if you're gonna make him do Arizona there's no reason to half-ass it. Gila Bend or nothing.
Gila Bend isn't really a shithole, it's more of a map dot. The people are not as insular as you'd expect, but their main advantage is that they aren't Buckeye (the town that put up a 30' statue of a hobo as a joke, and then was depopulated by the 2007/2008 crash).
I haven't been through there in many years, but I remember it being soul-crushingly awful in a slightly hard to pin-down way. I also remember parking my truck on the side of the highway just past Gila Bend and just wandering into the desert with wild eyes and a head full of absinthe, coffee brandy, hashish, and dayquil layered on top of a 3-day adderall-fueled nonstop drive through the sick black heart of America and that weird hormonal almost-hangover you get when you end up randomly hooking up with a girl you really like who's way out of your league and doesn't live anywhere near you. I remember wanting to check out this beautiful and fascinating rock formation that I could see about a mile or so from the highway. And I remember what I saw out there instead and I don't 100% trust my eye-brain connection at that particular moment in time but I'm pretty sure it was actually real and actually happened and maybe it was just a tangle of mesquite branch but mesquite trees don't wear wristwatches and it was holy fuck it was bad.
Quote from: Jet City Hustle on November 18, 2013, 09:21:41 PM
I haven't been through there in many years, but I remember it being soul-crushingly awful in a slightly hard to pin-down way. I also remember parking my truck on the side of the highway just past Gila Bend and just wandering into the desert with wild eyes and a head full of absinthe, coffee brandy, hashish, and dayquil layered on top of a 3-day adderall-fueled nonstop drive through the sick black heart of America and that weird hormonal almost-hangover you get when you end up randomly hooking up with a girl you really like who's way out of your league and doesn't live anywhere near you. And I remember what I saw out there and I don't 100% trust my eye-brain connection at that particular moment in time but I'm pretty sure it was actually real and actually happened and maybe it was just a tangle of mesquite branch but mesquite trees don't wear wristwatches and it was holy fuck it was bad.
Well, yeah, but that's not Gila Bend's fault. :lulz:
Heh. I just realized that my mind had brought that back up as though it were a long-ago story but it was actually fall of 2010 I think. Might even have been 2011. Whenever I was supposed to stop by Tucson but ended up getting screwed on my timetable because of a disintegrated tensioner pulley followed by a blown tire valve core. All of that said, it's gonna be hard to out-awful Mississippi.
Quote from: Jet City Hustle on November 18, 2013, 09:26:31 PM
Heh. I just realized that my mind had brought that back up as though it were a long-ago story but it was actually fall of 2010 I think. Might even have been 2011. Whenever I was supposed to stop by Tucson but ended up getting screwed on my timetable because of a disintegrated tensioner pulley followed by a blown tire valve core. All of that said, it's gonna be hard to out-awful Mississippi.
I remember that. It was 2009 or 2010, IIRC. Your vehicle was trying to save you. To "take one for the team", as it were.