by Patrick J. Shanahan
06/01/04
City #1: Cannes. The collective psychosis of the left is proudly put on display for all the world to see, as Michael Moore’s anti-American, anti-Bush propaganda screed "Fahrenheit 911" is selected as the Medal d’Or winner at the Cannes Film Festival. Not only does this piece of cinematic tripe win, but the bunch of over-privileged white guys in attendance - led by the absolutely odious Quentin Tarantino - provide a fifteen minute standing ovation for the greasy fat slob Moore, thereby sticking it to the man in a big way. And sticking it to Disney for not distributing the film. No more shall President Bush’s corporate shills oppress the noble dissident with impunity!
Thus, for a short few days, the epicenter of global leftism is shifted to the south of France. Now that the festival is done, it will re-disperse to Brussels, NYC, Hollywood and the academies, where the brethren will populate coffee shops, slap even more anti-Bush bumper stickers on their cars, and mumble quietly to each other about Halliburton and neoconservatives.
City #2: Minneapolis. A bold new initiative is underway in Minneapolis. Spearheaded by our new, exquisitely PC, Chief of Police it is designed to encourage diversity and to stop violence. This will be achieved by producing billboards covered with diverse faces, accompanied by “stop signs” with the slogan “Stop the Violence” on them.
Wow. The audacity of it take’s one’s breath away. Who woulda thunk it? Billboards! And just think of all the money we have wasted on law enforcement and drug rehab. All we really needed were billboards and radio spots!
Thus is encapsulated the perfect image of the liberal worldview. Smiling faces of government officials unveiling the new campaign designed to educate the common people as to their ignorance. “Do what the billboard says, kids, and everything will be better.”
The crotchety conservative’s list of problems with this effort is almost endless. Near the top of the list is that there is no evidence whatsoever that Minneapolis has a problem appreciating diversity. It’s pretty much all one hears. Secondly, virtually all violence is within specific ethnic or racial groups. Black on black. Hmong on Hmong. White on white. And, of course, the presumption that any of this will do anything whatsoever to curb any problem whatsoever is simply absurd. It is stupid. It is ignorant. It is condescending.
It is big city liberalism to its very core.
City #3: Belle Plaine. If you flee the billboards and drive south out of Minneapolis on US Highway 169, you pass through prosperous inner ring suburbs, then wealthy outer ring suburbs, then less wealthy exburbs.You will pass the exit for the casino, and the horse track, and the amusement park. And then you enter the incredibly fertile bottomland of the Minnesota River valley, past a seemingly endless number of grain mills. Past the farms, and garden centers and orchards. About ten miles past Jordan, about 45 miles south of Minneapolis, you will spy the town of Belle Plaine. One approaches the town in the wonderful way of the flatlands, with the first sign being church steeples on the horizon, followed by gas station and fast food signs and, finally, the entire town rising as if by magic out of the prairie.
We have come to Belle Plaine (which, as the sign at the entrance to town proudly declaims, is French for “Beautiful Prairie”) on this gray and misty spring day to celebrate Germany Day. Belle Plaine is a town that is ethnically about half Irish and half German, with precious few of the Scandinavians that Minnesota is famous for. On Saint Patrick’s Day the Irish families parade through the center of town while the Germans watch and drink beer. On Germany Day, the Germans march while the Irish watch and drink. This is the very definition of synergy.
I have come here today with my beautiful wife Karol to march with her family - the Wolperns - in the parade. As an act of Celtic defiance I wear my “I’m the Irishman your mother warned you about” t-shirt. We gather down by the Lutheran home, all the Schmidts and Behnkes and Wolperns, the Germany Day Queen contestants, the Grand Marshalls in fancy cars, the Fire trucks and the flags. And we march the six blocks to downtown, proudly holding family banners and throwing candy to the children. All the townsfolk line the route, with the old folks watching from cars (“there’s Grandma Elaine!”) or in lawn chairs on their front lawns.
At the center of town there are the eight taverns that are a requirement in Midwestern towns. A jerry-rigged stage is set up for the judging of the Germany Day Queen contest, replete with the local radio personality from the “K-Czech” station over in New Prague. The local concertina orchestra pumps away on a sidestreet while the crowds mill about moving from the brat and kraut stands to the cheese curd stands to the bars. We duck into The Red Door for a cold one, which we bring outside with us. Downtown has been sealed off, and this is one of two days in the year a person can wander downtown with an open beer.
The center of town is a perfect crossroads. The eye is drawn down the broad, treelined streets, lined with modest but prosperous homes. There are four churches within eye’s view: The Lutheran church (Wisconsin Synod), the other Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod), the Catholic Church and the Presbyterian Church. And you know there are a smattering of other protestant denominations here and there throughout town. Churches have always, and continue to, play a very strong role in community life in this world. A world that could not be farther from the corruption of Cannes and the vanity of Minneapolis. This remains so despite the appearance of old man Schmidt attempting to imitate lederhosen through the creative use of red suspenders and gym shorts (iiiiissshhhh, gimme another beer).
Then it’s time to announce the Germany Day Queen winner. Kids are kids, no matter where they live, and it’s entirely possible that our contestants shed their belly piercings and hid their tattooes for this contest, but I doubt it. A more wholesome bunch of girls is hard to imagine.
After the winner is announced, to great applause and many gleaming teeth, the K-Czech fellow asked us to join with him in honoring our fighting men and women by sing along with the song “Proud to be an American” by some country singer fellow. Were such a request to be made in Cannes the requestor would be stoned. Ask it in Minneapolis and much squirming, protesting and mockery would occur. Ask it here in Belle Plaine and the leather-clad harley riders join the German grandpa, the farmer’s kids, the banker, the polyester-clad Lutheran grandma, the illegal immigrant Mexican with his children at his feet, the middle aged barflies, Old Man Schmidt in his glorious lederhosen and the rest of this mass of middle America in enthusiastically belting it out.
This isn’t Hollywood. We aren’t very good singers. Just as in church, some mumble the words while others sing at the top of their lungs - with absolutely no regard to musical talent. But we all sing. Nobody is self-conscious or uncomfortable. Of course we support our troops, and our country. Of course we are proud to be Americans. Those things aren’t a byproduct of star-spangled, flag waving, hyperpatriotism or fundamentalist preachers run amok. They are just facts of life in Belle Plaine. That’s just how life is here. And in a thousand other towns across the country. The folks proudly singing are Democrats and Republicans, liberals and conservatives, and a good many folks who don’t give a hoot about politics at all. This is not an issue of political persuasion. It is an issue of culture.
After the song is over, and a sustained cheer is completed, most of the town sticks around to watch the wrestling match scheduled for six o’clock. But Karol and I need to get home. So we wander slowly through town back to our car parked at the Lutheran Home. We stroll down the neat sidewalks past the blooming lilacs and the singing birds and the playing children, through an America that makes you realize Norman Rockwell wasn’t making it all up.
I like this town. Cannes can keep their festival. Germany Day in Belle Plaine has got it beat by a mile.