Them and Us

Greetings folks. Here’s Friday Letter #60. It’s fairly direct and gritty, so be ready. (Not harmful to children, just . . . direct and gritty.)

Just another myth

It sure sounds good on the face of it: We’ll ask around to find out who wants to be a leader of men; we’ll get together and “vote”; our duly elected representative will carry our wishes to the council.

Wrong.

When a person works for the government – whether he’s elected or appointed – that person becomes one of “them” and hence can no longer be one of “us.”

The government official doesn’t even represent the government, let alone those who chose him. Who does he represent? Why, himself, of course.

Representative government is a myth.

You might ask, “Give me an example,” and I would respond:

A few years back, an acquaintance of mine came to me and asked if I would vote for him in an upcoming City Council election.

He said he would, if elected, work to solve problems in our neighborhood. I suggested that these problems would include flooding caused by the lack of any city storm water removal system and a hazard to pedestrians caused by the absence of curb, gutter and sidewalk on either side of Highway 34 Business from the railroad to the Highway 85 bypass.

I did vote for the guy – Ed Phillipsen – and he won. Later on, I asked Ed how it was going – you know, what action he had taken on behalf of the neighborhood to abate the flooding and reduce the pedestrian hazard.

These things take time, Ed said. Vote for me for a second term and some of the groundwork I’ve done will begin to bear fruit. So I dutifully voted for him a second time. (I know, you’re saying how stupid of this Mr. Tommy to vote for the proven ineffective public servant a second time. Read on.)

Months went by. Years. Flooding continued. Laura and I were still being endangered daily while walking to and from work. So I began to campaign my duly elected city representative, and found out the truth.

Ed doesn’t like it when I point out to him that he made unfulfilled campaign promises – twice. He doesn’t like it that I repeatedly point out his false promises.

In fact, City Councilman Ed now acknowledges that he doesn’t represent me at all. He refuses to speak to me on the street. He turns his face away when I say hello. I think that’s a pretty clear sign that he’s not working on my behalf. My persistence and my continued presence have become an irritant to him.

So, if Ed isn’t representing me, what is he doing? Why is he continuing in office? We could say, his elected job amounts to nothing more than a paycheck. That could well be. There are people, even some who live in the snooty Historic Cranford District, who could use a paycheck.

Maybe Ed doesn’t need the paycheck; we don’t know, maybe he donates the whole thing every month to the Red Cross. Could be.

So we look for a second motive. I may have struck on it: It’s the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Especially when the mayor can’t come, Ed gets to stand there looking good with the giant scissors while the Tribune takes a picture.

It could also be that groundbreaking ceremonies, with the gold shovels and gold hard-hats, are Ed’s forte.

Naw, now that I think about that idea, Ed wouldn’t want his photograph taken while he was wearing a hard hat. Bad for the Cranford image. So ribbon cuttings, it is.

Watch for Ed! He’ll be there. He may even own his own pair of giant ribbon-cutting scissors.

On a roll

Having landed on poor Ed with both feet, let me pick on an even more formidable opponent.

The Christian Motorcyclists Association.

“Yipes,” you’re going to say, “Why does Mr. Tommy want to pick on those guys?”

So here’s your background:

At the end of World War II, young single male survivors began coming home in huge numbers. Some of them took an interest in motorcycling. At that time, motorcycles were finally being made with a modicum of dependability and utility.

These daring and adventurous men began roaming around the country on motorcycles. Some of them hung on to friendships they had formed during the war, and motorcycle riding was a good focal point.

Bingo. Suddenly, we had the “Biker.” And almost as suddenly, we had the “Biker’s Club.” Eventually, there was a distillation of this social process, and certain clubs became bigger and more powerful. Many became seriously territorial. Some became outright criminal. The best known today is the Hells Angels.

Fast forward to the late 70’s when the Harley-Davidson Motor Company was struggling for its life. Part of the problem was the biker club “image.” Harley consulted spin doctors and came up with “The Harley Owners Group.”

“HOG,” as it became known, adopted the imagery, the visuals, of the Hells Angels and others. Lots of embroidered eagles, U.S. flags, cute sayings and rude acronyms were adopted.

Truth be known, however, HOG was (and is) lame and tame. HOG is nothing more than a Motor Company Support Group whose members wear biker-looking paraphernalia. The motor company’s idea was to use public relations devices to change the “image” of riding a Harley. HOG membership is purely, uh, meaningless.

Frankly, a guy wearing a bunch of HOG patches on his coat or vest is no territorial threat whatsoever to an HA, a Son, a Bandito. HOG people are posers, safely playing biker with real Harleys. Clubbers have no truck with them. (Fair warning: don’t try wearing a patch on your back that says anything like “Colorado” or “North Colorado.” Trust me. Don’t do it.)

Shortly after HOG came on the scene, here comes the CMA and dozens of others just like it.

“Riding for the Son,” their patches say. “I am riding my motorcycle for Jesus,” these folks will tell you.

It doesn’t happen in other realms of influence. You don’t see a club named “Golfers for Christ” with members wearing caps embroidered “I Putt for Jesus.”

That’s because golfers know they’re doing something pointlessly self-indulgent and wouldn’t dare hide behind the Lord to rationalize it.

I myself have been known to ride a motorcycle. I can say unequivocally that riding is for one’s own pleasure. Pure and simple, that’s all there can possibly be to it. Claiming I’m doing something useful for the less fortunate by joyfully riding my bike is a falsehood, a lie.

So why do the many Christian bikers jump through the hoops and become club members?

It’s because it’s safe. A CMA-er or the like will never be a threat to any Hells Angel. The average Biker-for-Jesus is no threat to a clubber. Clubbers will have no truck with them.

But to the public, that same safe biker has all the bells and whistles, all the scary but superficial appearances of the hard-core rider.

It’s safe, and phony. Phony as a Clinton three-dollar bill.

I will insert a small softening statement here. I do see that HOG chapters do fund-raisers for charity, and I do see that CMA members visit prisons to visit the incarcerated.

Any of that can be done without ever touching a motorcycle.

Sorry guys. You might be riding your motorcycle to the place where the ministry occurs. But you’re doing the ministry for Jesus, you’re not riding for Jesus.

You are riding only for yourself.

A reminder

Sometimes folks respond to the Friday Letter by writing us a personal e-mail. We like to post those responses on the “blog,” so look there to see what you wrote – or what others may have had to say.

It’s difficult for me to find these comments, so it’s understandable if you can’t. Look at www.tommys18thstnews.blogspot.com; go to the bottom of the column (Last week’s was “Under Pressure”); “click” on “comment” – it may be listed as “x comments”

Word of the week: Justice. This word comes through Middle English and Old French, from the Latin, “justitia.”

It means the quality of being righteous, impartiality, fairness. It is the quality of being right or correct. It means reasonable, right, valid. Justice can also be a penalty as deserved. Justice can be the use of authority and power to uphold what is right or lawful.

Have you received your just deserts today?

From a fortune cookie: “Charity begins at home. Justice begins next door.”

Next week’s word: Lycanthrope.

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Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Reciprocal rant? Feel free to express yourself in the comment section!