The Movie Selma

I am not much of a moviegoer, but on occasion I will make the effort to see a film.  This Saturday I had the opportunity to see the movie Selma at a local theatre.   I found the film moving and well done.  The music finale was unbelievably beautiful too.

The movie chronicles the civil rights struggle of the 1960’s, specifically the right to vote.  Although, Black Americans already had the right to vote, many southern states and local agencies employed a variety of subterfuges to prevent Blacks from voting. 

The late Dr. Martin Luther King led the march to Selma to show the nation the urgent need for the federal government to step in and pass the Voting Rights Act.  It was difficult to watch the physical and mental violence unleashed on the predominant Black demonstrators: intimidation, humiliation, beatings, and even killings by racist white southerners.  It was comforting to see that many white Americans from the North joined the struggle and supported the movement to their own peril. 

So the thought came to my mind.  Where was I during that time?  What were my thoughts about the struggle? Why didn’t I join the march? 

Flashback

I arrived in Augusta, Georgia in May 1957 after completing basic training in Fort Dix, New Jersey.  I had enrolled in the U.S. Army Reserves in 1956, and I was serving my six months of active duty.  I was 19 years old, in the country slightly over a year, with poor language skills, but gung-ho about serving my adopted land. 

I arrived at the bus depot from Raleigh, South Carolina.  I inquired about the next bus to Fort Gordon, where I was deployed for specialized training.  I was told that the next bus would come an hour later.  I was very tired.  The trip from New London, Connecticut to Raleigh by train was an adventure.  I believe that I changed trains several times in order to get to Raleigh some 26 hours later.  

I entered the coffee shop at the depot and ordered a sandwich at the counter.  On my way out I saw two water fountains.  One was labeled “White” and the other “Colored”.  I had not seen colored water before so I approached naively the colored faucet and opened it.  The water that came out was not colored, as I expected, but colorless. Suddenly, the coffee shop manager started to yell at me: “What in hell are you doing?  That faucet is for color people." I apologized and started to walk out. I then noticed that Blacks were being served meals through a side window.   They obviously were not allowed to come in and eat inside.  I found the situation uncomfortable and embarrassing. 

The bus finally came.  I entered with my heavy duffel bag in tow and proceeded to the back of the bus where I thought I could be more comfortable and possibly catch a few winks.  No sooner I sat down the bus driver came over screaming. “Why are you sitting there, soldier?” I answered so that I could sleep a bit.  “Don’t you know that the back of the bus is for coloreds?  Move forward, soldier!”  Reluctantly I obeyed his command and moved forward.  The bus was empty.  I was the only passenger on board. 

These images remain indelibly sculpted in my memory banks.  Suddenly I realized that I was in the Deep South, the segregated south about which I had heard so little back home in New England, but as an abstract concept, I admit now. 

On one of the weekend passes, during my assignment to Fort Gordon, a couple fellow soldiers and I decided to go to Savannah, Georgia for an overnight stay.  We had heard that it was a nice beach town.  We got there by bus from Augusta.  After a quick lunch at a fast food joint we decided to go to a nearby bar for a beer.  Once inside, we sat at a table and waited for the bartender to come take our order.  When he asked me what I wanted, I told him that I wanted a bottle of dark beer.  He noticed immediately my accent and he asked me if I was a “Spic.”  I answered politely: “No sir, I am Italian.”  To which he said: “Then you are a Spic!”  “No, sir, I am Italian!”  “Do you know who is a spic?”  “No, sir, I do not.”  He then explained that Spic is an acronym for “Spanish, Porto Rican, Italian, and Colored.”  To which, I said:  “I guess I am a spic after all.” “Come with me, soldier!”  I reluctantly followed him to the front door.  He then asked me if I had read the sign on the door when I entered.  I had not.  “What does it say, soldier?” I read the sign out loud: No Spics or Dogs Allowed. 

My fellow soldiers did not passively stand by, they wanted to do mayhem.  I asked them to leave quietly with me and find a friendlier place.  Reluctantly they followed my advice.  We did not look for another bar, disconsolate we returned to base.   I found the experience humiliating and profoundly troubling.  Southerners did not just dislike Blacks; they apparently also disliked Latinos and Southern Europeans. 

Back to the Present

I was living in sunny California during the civil right march, busy raising a family, and anxious to get my budding career off the ground.  I would watch the nightly news with Walter Cronkite and see the disturbing scenes.  They were abstract and distant.  

I wondered out loud why such hate and violence, but I rationalized that there was little or nothing I could do about it.  The only tool at my disposal was my vote as a newly minted U.S. citizen, and I vowed to use it to support more enlightened politicians.   After the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy and Martin Luther King, I chose not to vote in silent protest for over two decades. 

To this day, I regret that I did not have the means or the opportunity to march in support of the civil rights movement.  Many folks, Black and White, suffered, persevered, and a few died so that Spics like me would also be able to eat at any establishment, be treated with respect, benefit from equal employment opportunities, and be permitted to live our lives happily and safely.  

I owe much to Dr. King and the many who followed his campaign for equality and social justice.  Their sacrifice was not in vain.  They made it possible for all of us, regardless of race, national origin, gender, age or handicap to enjoy life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Where were you during the 1960’s?  What are your thoughts about the civil right movement?  How might we advance equality under law and social justice?

The Limits of Freedom of Speech

We celebrate freedom of speech as one of our cherished rights.  But is this freedom without any limits?  Should we be permitted to offend another person’s family, religion, physical traits, and country?  I do not think so.

Events unfolding in front of our eyes in France, Belgium, and Denmark highlight the need for circumspection about the right of free speech.  It is not limitless.  Like all rights we enjoy there are boundaries.  Those boundaries are violated whenever others find our speech offensive, in my view.  Flaunting freedom of speech obscures the  limits set by good manners and in some cases by laws.

Pope Francis reminds us that insulting one’s mother could be met with a slap in the face or worse. So when does speech by one person become an insult to others?  Are free to insult others willy-nilly?  I do not think so.  Should our speech provoke and be offensive to others?  I do not think so. 

A day does not pass that we are not subjected to gruesome pictures of murders of all kinds … drive-bys, mass executions, bombings, ethnic and religious strife, and so on.  There is no end in sight, it seems.  The reporting often seems to distort the causes, the impact, and the suffering.  There appears to be emphasis in reporting who commits these crimes, and not that these crimes are all irreprehensible.

Perhaps one of the most troubling aspects for me is the hypocrisy of society at large.  We are taught to be civil, politically correct, least we offend others who are different in skin color, religious persuasion, gender, age, handicap, and heritage.  We even have laws that prohibit racial, gender, or ethnic slurs, for example, contributing to a hostile workplace. 

Although I am against killing of any kind, the fervor about freedom of speech in Europe leaves me cold.  Some of the cartoons deriding Prophet Muhammad appear to be provocations and incendiary.  Insulting someone else’s religious beliefs, in my view, goes beyond the boundaries of good taste and the political correctness that we proudly promote. 

I am not an apologist for the actions of those who in the name of God commit murders. I am just a by-stander fed up with the carnage I see every night or read about every day.  I say stop insulting other people’s beliefs … have more respect for our differences. 

Freedom of speech does not include diarrhea of the mouth.  I do not see the point of ridiculing someone else beliefs in the name of freedom of speech.  I do not approve of provoking others to commit assaults of any kind.  Do you? 

  

Publishing My First Book

    For years colleagues and friends have suggested that I write a book about my experience as an international consultant, executive, and organization development specialist.  I have demurred for lack of a burning desire to do so, and by the thought that I might not have much to add to what has already been said more eloquently by others.  

     Since my retirement I publish two different blogs.  In one I share my thoughts, insights, and observations with colleagues and ex-coworkers collected over many years of working, managing, and consulting.  In the other I share general observations about world events, politics, and social issues. Of the one-hundred plus postings, about 20% have generated interest and commentary.  Although my sample is relatively small, it seems that, on occasion, I do push some buttons.   There is no hidden, running theme among these postings or any particular message behind them.  Some are humorous; others possibly intriguing; and a few perhaps painful caricatures of life.   

     I have been complimented by friends and colleagues on my story telling ability.  Perhaps, there is a little Fellini in my approach.  Federico Fellini, the well-known and award-winning Italian movie director and screenwriter, captured our imagination with his neo-realist films.  In his films, he combined fantasy and baroque images to illustrate the day-to-day life of common people.  He was a master of irony, combining often comedic with tragic events to take the edge off painful life situations and challenges.  I am not in the same class as this great artist, just a humble imitator.  

     

     Another person that has impacted my style is the well known Nobel Prize winner for literature and fellow Sicilian Luigi Pirandello.  His famous play Six Characters in Search of an Author has been a cherished pair of lenses that has helped me peek inside contemporary organizations.   Pirandello’s play describes the relationship between authors, their characters, and theater practitioners.  The play showcases the unexpected arrival of six strangers.  It turns out that they were unfinished characters in search of an author to finish their story.  During my working life, I have seen different people assume different roles inside an organizational story … leaders, individual contributors, managers, wives and husbands, and owners … sometimes hiding their real self and not ready to play out their part.  I am not in Pirandello’s class, by any means either, just a humble admirer.

   A third person captured my imagination as a student of organizations. His name is Jerry B. Harvey, Professor Emeritus of Management at the George Washington University.  He is the author of more than 50 articles and two books:  The Abilene Paradox and Other Meditations on Management, and How Come Every Time I Get Stabbed in the Back, My Fingerprints Are on the Knife?  He is also featured in three classic teaching videos focusing on organization behavior:  The Asoh Defense, The Gunsmoke Phenomenon, and The Abilene Paradox.  Harvey is a master storyteller.  He interjects humor with an aw-shucks style to bring across complex organizational principles and insights.  I credit his work as a big help in my practice as an organization consultant.  When possible, I try to imitate his approach, surely not with his level of effectiveness.

     It has been said that we spend, as adults, most of our time, awake, inside organizations, first as employees and later, if we are at the right place at the right time, as managers or consultants.   To my knowledge, there is no course in high school or college that prepares us for working and living inside such a complex system.  We are usually taught abstract concepts and theories intended primarily for managers, consultants or aspirants.  I do not feel qualified to write this course. 

     Instead I have chosen writing a novel, my first one.  It is a fictional story about a young man who grows up in a sea of contradictions, but lucky enough to be at the right place at the right time.  He goes about living a successful academic and professional life, but he never manages to resolve significant incongruities.  The title of the novel appropriately is Giacomo’s Luck Runs Out.  It will be published in April and it will be available on Amazon in paperback or in Kindle versions.  I have chosen the pen name of Antonio G. Sacchetta.  I hope you will read it and send me your comments. 

     I have already started my research for my second novel.  I have discovered that writing is addictive and that it is an easy way to discover your own unresolved issues and dilemmas.  I encourage you to write, even if it is for just yourself.

The Myth of a Classless Society

Increased inequality in America is a hot topic these days.  I wrote some about it in two previous blogs. 

The dialog inevitably includes a discussion about class, a subject Americans love to avoid.  The word “class” does not align well with equality.  After all, Americans rejected a stratified society when they rebelled from Britain centuries ago. The country was built on the cornerstone principle of equality.

But, how can you be equal, when someone else has more or less money, education, power or status than you?   That is the question.

Some Useful Definitions

The web defines class as “a set, collection, grouping, or configuration containing members regarded as having certain attributes or traits in common; a kind of category”.   In other words, a division based on quality, income, rank, or grade.  Whether we like it or not, America can be sliced and diced in several ways:

·      Upper class – the wealthiest members of our society, who also yield the greatest political power.  Another label for this grouping is the familiar 1%.

·      Middle class – on the upper side, professionals distinguished by high educational attainment as well as high economic security; and, on the lower side, semi-professionals with less education, and lower economic means.

·      Lower class – people having the lowest social rank due to low income, lack of education or skill.  In other words, people, who work for wages, especially low wages, unskilled or semiskilled laborers and their families. 

Low class is also a term used to mean vulgar or crude. As a result, people avoid using the term as to not offend people.  Politicians, in their deft use of politically correct language, prefer to juxtapose the term working class when referring to the lower class.  Socialists and communists preferred to use laboring class or proletariat.  Karl Marx used the terms synonymously to include all those who expand either mental or physical effort to produce economic value for those who own the means of production.

I have always believed that working class, as used by politicians, is misleading.  I know many folks in all three main classes who work.   Those who inherit wealth or the aristocracy, in my view, do not fit the working class definition.

Increased Inequality

It is no secret that the middle and lower classes have not grown economically as well as the upper class.  The rich have gotten richer, and the poor poorer, some say.  There are many reasons for this problem:

·      The loss of high paying jobs to outsourcing.

·      The decline of the manufacturing sector.

·      The erosion of our advantage in several sectors.

·      Inadequate education and skill building.

·      Ill-devised governmental policies and practices.

·      Rising unemployment and falling employability rates.

·      The breakdown of the traditional family unit. 

The Medicine?

While it is deplorable to see this inequality persist or grow, it is foolhardy to blame the upper class for the misery of the lower classes.  Politicians would have us believe that increasing taxes on the upper class somehow would solve the problem. 

Instead, it might be a better approach to help the middle and lower classes do better in the years to come by fostering policies that educate more and better, by helping small and middle level employers grow and prosper, and by promoting more freedom and self-reliance.

Nobody likes pigeonholing, especially, as it relates to social and economic mobility.  We need more social and economic fluidity, not less. 

Your thoughts?